Dinner time has now doubled to 16 – our Canadian friends from the canal walk – a Swiss man ‘becoming a friend’ , who is interested in my Parkinson’s walk and ‘wants to be keen’ on writing poems of the walk – a French father and daughter – a French woman taking time out from family for 2 weeks with a woman friend – a blind man with his wife and daughter – 2 men from north of Paris out for a weeks walk – 2 young French women – and us. The usual 3 course meal with wine and bread was had as we talked mainly with this lovely woman taking time out, at a table on the lawn.
Walking through much larger land holdings now – huge delightfully undulating wheat fields, all cornered and sparsley decorated with Poppies – rows of fruit trees that drift into the valleys, beautifully built lakes, small streams with their thin forest cover, and similar cover along our path, all with spacious farmhouses watching from their tree lined oases above. A long chat with 2 Frenchmen walking ‘2 week sections’ over many years ensued as we bathed in our surroundings.
Later, walking in an unlit forest, we saw a large black dog, sitting just off the track. As we walked past he appeared to be waiting for us and slowly followed for a few paces. He then ran in front of us doing his ablutions, looking back now and then, as though to check we were following. As he turned a corner still on the pilgrim track, I said to Corrie (as though the dog was a private eye): “Let’s take another track” – he didn’t follow. So we took the right track with him for another km. into the medieval commune of La Romieu.
I tried the ‘wrong track trick’ again but he wouldn’t follow. He instead led us into the commune and disappeared.
We soon came to the small hill village of Casteinau-sur-l-Auvignon, a valley away, that had been a famous resistance stronghold during the war. Such a valuable organisation to France with it’s brave and clever people doing exraordinary things not just for the French but for all allied forces and the Jewish people. We wondered whether that black dog was possibly a reincarnation of a resistance fighter, as he seemed to do all those things that I have seen at the cinema. Waiting for us – checking we were on the path – following the secret symbols – signs to us without words – keeping a safe distance – and then when we wanted to thank him – disappearing into the ether. And maybe – I have been walking in the heat for too long.
Another luscious valley away, and we’re at Condom (no relationship to the contraceptive even though it has a very small population). After settling in to our second Gite of the journey – where you choose a dormitory or your own room, I noticed a young French woman reading and laughing, so I enquired of her mirth. It was an old novel talking about the insecure behaviour of men controlling their wives, so I shared with her a story about a famous Samurai warrior. He was king at home while she was his slave. She would do all the domestics, entertain him with song and poetry, provide sex when he desired, as she lavished attention on him worthy of a God. But deep inside in her thoughts she was a confident well adjusted woman who performed unimportant rituals to please him like a child. The French woman said to me instantaneously: “So she was the real samurai.” I reflected on this as Corrie gave the young male owner our clothes to wash and asked him if he could provide us with an early breakfast.
How lovely was the black dog-your own little Dougie over there eyre to keep you on your toes,xx