Day 19: Moissac to Espalais
- Simon Pollack
- May 15, 2024
- 4 min read
Updated: Apr 4
Some may like the dullness of straightforward clean concrete
But though we’ve suffered the mud-ness, I prefer soft under feet
While Véronique’s meal awaits us, we know not what for sure
Is it to be rice or potatoes? No matter, we’ll ask her for more!
15 May 2024, Wednesday
Distance hiked 20.6km (12.8m) | Ascent 107m |
This was a rather short, rather boring, walk compared with some of the adventures on recent days. Actually, some people said they enjoyed it for the route had no mud and took us along a canal. It was the straightness, and the monotony of the surface, that bored me. And the canal was hardly a thing of beauty, with some of France’s shabbier villages and a semi-ruined industrial concern along the way.
This being the Tarn et Garonne region, just south of Moissac these two rivers merge in a basin, and the canal is clearly a managed flow from one or both of the rivers. In fact, while the canal is to the right of you, you have first the Tarn and then the Garonne on your left as you walk away from Moissac; but this idyllic lyricism (I’m trying to write industrially) doesn’t do justice to the lack of inspiration the walk delivers. It’s made worse when you go to Malause for lunch, the little town you reach at about the time your belly starts to rumble, and today I needed a substantial lunch for dinner last night, while tasty, was vegetarian and didn’t seem to have enough protein for me. I couldn’t get out of there fast enough, though, because Malause is a town that feels like its name sounds: sad, lonely, deprived. So I grabbed a shabby sandwich from a grocery store, the only excitement of which was when a pilgrim (a certain Jean-Luc who I criss-crossed from here all the way to the end of my walk) ran after me with my walking poles that I’d left, inattentively, in the shop.
I’d passed Anne-Laure and the pair of friends Bertile and Hélène along the path, in conversation with an older man, some time after I had overtaken the three Toulousians. And as I sat at a bench next to the church with my horrible sandwich, down plopped Bertile and Hélène and we caught up. While we all enjoyed last night at La Petite Lumière, what was interesting was that they’d stopped to help Anne-Laure out with this man, who it turned out was a menace and a lascivious one at that, admiring all the curves of the girls. I’d had no idea as I walked passed or I would certainly have stopped and helped out myself. It just shows the different experiences of men and women on the walk (and, I suppose, in life).
Auvillar is a lovely town, perched atop a hill, but there was no accommodation for me when I tried to book. I’m actively avoiding dormitory living if I can, which takes many options away from me, with a preference for chambres d’hôtes and hotels. Thank you, Sénergues! But this meant I stayed at Le Clos d’Espalais, run by the magnificent Véronique, in Espalais a mile or so short of Auvillar. I’d become bored on the walk so I’d sped up to get past the monotony and I arrived rather early: normally hosts don’t like you to turn up before 3 or 4 o’clock but at 2 I called Véronique to let her know I could be early and she was happy to receive me. A perfectly charming lady in her early 60s, she sat me down at the table and asked me all about my walk, my experience to date, and indeed my life. And I was interested to understand her background too. She loves having pilgrims pass through her lovely big house and is interested in where they end up and how they get there. Meanwhile she’s rehydrating me with mint and fruit cordial. After half an hour another two pairs turned up, an aunt/niece combo and a father/daughter couple (I’d overtaken each duo on the way in – perhaps I’m getting good at this). It’s nice to say hi but also it gave me the opportunity to go and freshen up. One thing that Véronique did, much appreciated, was to take our shoes and put them in her boiler room downstairs. They were still wet from yesterday’s drenching. Although they didn’t fully dry out, by the next day I started to believe I’d one day have dry feet.
Dinner was a magnificence that reminded me of the experience two weeks prior at Lajos with Rachel. All home-made (including the bread), the main course a unique version of a Toulouse sausage cut lengthwise and covered with cheesy mashed potatoes, all baked in the oven. This was bookended with a delicious soup and a perfect home-made pear tart with Crème Anglaise (custard done by the French: elegant, and far less gloopy than ours). Along the way we had a local apéritif based on Armagnac called “Floc”, this being the region for Armagnac, and a local red wine. Each dish, and each drink, was presented by Véronique with its composition, how it was made, where it comes from and who (if not she) made it. She didn’t dine with us, but she was a perfect hostess.
Meanwhile, Sybille and Marie-Claude had arrived while I was showering, and we reacquainted ourselves following the brief encounter we had had out of Lascabanes, where as it happened they’d started their walk. They’re very nice and I would end up getting to know them much better through some adversity a few days later. I could never forget the name Sybille because this is what we have called our insurance software (spelled Sybil) that forms the business I now run. She’s the only person I’ve ever met called Sybil, and she’s nothing like the harridan wife of Basil Fawlty.
Comments