Day 8: Estaing to Sénergues

Who’d have thought that fingernail dust would cause such angst for me?

Who’d have thought a small shower towel could be a luxury?

Who’d have thought it could be the done thing to underfeed hungry pilgrims?

Who, you ask, well I’ll tell you my friend: ’tis Senos that does these things

4 May 2024, Saturday

Distance hiked 26.4km (16.4m)

Ascent 1,028m

I’m writing this in a bad mood. I rather like Estaing. And I enjoyed the walk today to Sénergues, despite some sloggingly uphill stuff which by now my muscles are supporting (even though this is the stuff that pushes me to 130+ heart beats per minute).

This is a typical vista from the first half of the Chemin, with a huge range seen from a ridge leaving Estaing

But when I arrived at Domaine de Sénos, drenched with rain, over 7 hours after leaving Estaing, I couldn’t have been more disappointed. No reception, no welcome. Take your shoes off in a cold room (oh well, they won’t dry out). Observe a whiteboard saying Simon Pollack room 4. Uh oh…so are a bunch of other men.

Walk into room 4. Three sweaty men, already settled, have colonised the place. There are 5 beds. I got the worst that wasn’t a top bunk. No light, no bedside table. No place to dry sweaty or washed clothes (as all places had already been taken). I shoved my socks and my sweaty flannel I drape over my head to absorb the honest perspiration as I climb mountains onto a corner of a radiator under a window. Didier and Michel are both older than me and friendly (didn’t catch the other guy’s name, but he had a paedophile’s moustache and a strange strut so I didn’t want to make friends).

So you sleep on a sheet but there are no top sheets. You just place a rough blanket over you. A cheap ten-quid mattress supports you not at all. It is too hot with the windows closed and too cold with them open. There is no towel. And there is nobody around to ask for one (which would cost money, fine, but at least be there to furnish one for Christ’s sake).

I need perhaps to explain how physically challenging these days are, at least for me. Hoofing it for say 17 miles over 7 or 8 hours of walking including just a couple of breaks when you take the weight off your feet is hard. This walk has some very challenging bits of steep climbs, steep descents on narrow paths full of scree, and wet muddy areas. These all take a physical toll and are mentally tough for the concentration needed not to sprain an ankle is intense. And I weigh some stones more than I should. And I’m 52 with concomitant joint seizings-up. And I’ve never been sporty. And I’ve had that knee surgery. And I’ve got blisters on my left foot. Hell, even if it was easy flat going, just walking 15 to 20 miles a day, day after day, would be a challenge. Eventually you arrive somewhere aching and knackered, very sweaty and begging for a comfortable rest. You can’t lie on a bed in that state: you really must have a shower. Then a stretch. Then, maybe, a clothes wash by hand ready for the next day. And only then can you rest. The remainder of the evening usually goes dinner, read for about 2 minutes and then sleep.

And so basically I had a shower in a shabby smelly little shower room and put clean clothes in my wet body. Thank you, Domaine de Sénos.

As I came out Michel was standing by the window using its light to do something intimate. I worked out he was clipping and filing his fingernails. Right above my flannel that I use to wipe my face while walking.

When I went downstairs to the communal room I saw that the owner woman had a sign saying she was around from 5.30 to 6.30pm to be paid. Ah, that’s why you’re nowhere to be seen. You want to get all the profit-making into a short period of time so you can watch daytime soaps in your little flat over the way.

That’s why I couldn’t have a towel. That’s why I couldn’t ask you what happened to the private room I’d asked for my email. That’s why I couldn’t get additional sheets.

Praise be there was an offered wash. I could deal with Michel’s fingernail dust. 5 euros (normally it is 3) this money-grubber charges. But that’s OK they’re only doing one so it is mixed up with everyone else’s washing. At least I thereby save 2.50 as one other person is doing it. But then she charges the same 2.50 for drying (normally it’s 2). As it turned out, I lost an item (my neck snood) because the other person took it. No biggie, really, but annoying.

The meal for 15 people was horrible. Tiny, in fact. One slice of pork each (being about a third of a pork chop, I’d say). Some vegetables. And one tiny ring of baguette each. We couldn’t believe they wouldn’t at least be generous with the bread: we were bloody hungry! Three times someone got up to get more, each time they came back with a grudging 3 or four extra little baguette rings. Unbelievably stingy.

No booze: you could buy wine. But I was damned if I was going to increase this shabby enterprise’s profits. There was no charm, no welcome, no warmth, no service, no comfort, no joy. Not a thing to redeem it.

And so to bed. Michel snores like a 747, about 120 centimetres to my left. He drowns out Didier’s more modest snoring. And so I’m typing this begging to let tomorrow arrive soon.

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