I spent a fair amount of time yesterday evening wondering about my host of the night. He is clearly a man of intellect. The dining room where we had dinner was lined with bookcases, full of books, though I did not have a chance to examine the tittles. The bedroom where I slept had many books, all in French, on diverse aspects of philosophy and similar themes. He is probably even a little older than I am, since he mentioned he had spent time in Ireland in the 1970s. He was there to greet me on arrival yesterday, so clearly he does not have a regular “9 to 5” job. And over breakfast this morning it turned out that he is a writer. He has written numerous books, including 4 novels, all with a philosophical aspect to them. The novels, he said, dealt with some of the dysfunctionality on modern society. He seems to be quite successful writing in French, but alas, none of his books has been translated into English. A very interesting man.
And so, after breakfast, I was on the trail again. First, I had to go back about a hundred meters to pick up the trail as it ascended above the farmland. The early morning views, captured as best I can in the heading photograph, were wonderful. And then the trail entered the forest. Walking on a surface that is a combination of leaf mold and the shells of nuts from yesteryear is a joy, and in terms of walking this was the best surface of the day.
After that, the trail emerged into farming country. And farming means livestock. I was treated to views of cattle, donkeys, deer, and Dani the Shetland pony. And all this before I had even got as far as Quetan. Quetan is really just a farming hamlet, rather than a village. After Quetan, the trail ascends rapidly into the forest. It was tough going but worth it for the view that greeted me when I emerged at the top. It seemed like the entire department of Isere was spread out in front of me.
From there, the trail descended fairly rapidly, and I came to my first town of the day: Grand Lemps. It seems a sleepy place, but the Bar Central was open, and it was time to have a beer, even though it was only ten-thirty in the morning. On the trail, a beer is welcome at any time.
Leaving Grand Lemps, I dropped in to the church. It is a nice one, with interesting side altars. My photos could not do justice to the stained glass windows behind the altar, but I did capture the ones over the door better. The church also offers a stamp to the traveler. We who walk long distances appreciate such things. The other churches in France that I have been able to enter did not offer a stamp, so this one will be treasured.
From there, the route parallels the main road. It should be more interesting than it is. I went through several small villages, each with its own church. First was La Frette, where the church was closed, but it did offer something valuable to the traveler: Potable water. Then on to St. Hilaire de la Cote. Again, the church was closed. In la Cote de Saint Andre, the older church was not only closed but seems to be falling into disrepair through a mixture of neglect and vandalism. Several windows were broken, and the grounds had several cars that seemed abandoned there. The more modern church was open but largely uninteresting. The route itself is another balcony route with views of the countryside to the south, and occasional objects of interest such as wayside shrines.
As I entered Ornacieux, I was greeted by two sounds, the bells of the church chiming the half hour, and the children in the school playgrounds loudly playing some game or other. As I passed, I was greeted by cries of “Maonsieur, monsieur!”. Looking around, I realised that their ball had come out on the street. I retrieved it and threw it back before trying the door of the church again. It was closed.
Why is it that the French close the churches? In this most catholic country of Western Europe, it does seem strange. I rarely encountered a locked church in Switzerland, and when I did, it was usually because I was there at an unreasonable hour. Even if there are not enough priests to have one in every church, could they not give the keys to a local person who would open them in the morning and close them in the evening. The traveler appreciates a moment of quiet in a cool place now and then, and opening the churches would do a lot for that. Having said all that, many of the churches do have WC facilities in an adjoining building, and those generally are open. The water might not be potable, but even to wash the salt and sweat off the face, they are welcome. But please, if anyone ever reads this, I would love you to open the churches for the traveler to pause and sit a while.
And so I came to the end of the walk at Penol. And this is where I made my mistake of the day. I booked into a hotel in the town of Beaurepaire, which meant taking a bus from Penol, but I waited in the wrong place, and so the bus sped past without me. Luckily, it was not the last of the day, but it meant waiting an hour for the next one. Anyway, I arrived in Beaurepaire, where I treated myself to an excellent dinner,
And the step count for the day: 50,000
Walkingman 