There were 3 women in this pretty 2 storey home on the Rue Abbaye. These nuns welcomed us into their home like no other. While one chatted to us about the abbaye’s long history, another brought us cold apple juice and lemon cake, and the other joked around with us.
They told us about their recent guests, particularly wanting us to know that some Aussies had recently been there, a young Korean couple whom we met in Switzerland last year, and the elusive Argentinian man who is always ahead of us. We talked about the time spent in Cameroon looking after malnourished children, and how her work here continues to be with young kids.
After being spoilt and entertained for some time, they showed us to our own 2 storey home next door – all ours, for no other guests had booked in. A lovely dinner with wine, breakfast and a packed lunch, and all they wanted was a small donation.
They picked flowers for Corrie as photos were taken and waved us off with all the ‘good journey phrases’ they could think of. The journey was tiring early on for me and a little later for Corrie so after a couple of hours, I spotted 2 older men and a woman sitting by a well, chatting.
I took my pack off and asked if there was a cafe – ‘no’ said the portuguese speaking woman, ‘but I’ll make you a coffee’. We declined because it was so hot, so she filled our empty water bottle instead. Corrie chatted to one of the men (who was originally from Salamanca) in Spanish about little things, while the others spoke with me about directions in an assortment of languages. Soon lots of goodbyes and photos.
Another village, and Denise saw us having a rest in a small park and offered us coffee. It was still too hot, and we got another water top up. We talked again about a little of her history, our walk and other things. She was lovely, so friendly and engaging, and it was sad to leave, so photos and goodbyes, a swap of emails and we awaited our next social engagement.
A man pulled off the road when he saw us studying a map and helped us make an important ‘direction decision’, offered us a lift which we declined, thanked him and started on our last stretch home.
An Englishman this time pulled over, warning us of a fast approaching storm. We thanked him and set off a bit quicker. As we entered the outskirts of our new home, he once again pulled over (he was a local), and gave us a large cold bottle of ‘water with gas’, apologising that it was not beer, or maybe cold enough, and drove off. At the final intersection of his town, he pulled over once again to point us the right way.
We found our little home with no-one at home, so rang the number our nuns had instructed. Our keys were at the town hall, which we needed to collect, and to make ourselves at home which we did. Fifty metres from home and the skies erupted, and we silently thanked the Englishman for his timely advice.
