So far so good

We have survived four days of walking!!!!  We arrived in Briancon by train on day one, and checked into the Hotel de la Gare.  From my childhood, I have known about railway hotels = in my home town, the Railway offered a range of trades = in dubious services.  Some time in the middle of the night, I was set upon by a famished bedbug, which having sized up the dining options, decided that I should be the chosen one, completely passing Michael over:  Having commenced his sup, in a decorative ring around my neck, the offender was caught and despatched. 


Day 2 We start our walking on the GR 653D to a Gite in a very small village at the top of a very, very big mountain:  I find that a relative of the bedbug has transformed itself into my backpack, and gradually sucks the life force out of me as the climb goes on, up, up, up and then more up.  Our Guidebook says that food is available in the village,  but when we finally arrive, there is no food = NO FOOD.  Starving after the climb, we assemble our meagre rations to work out how they might furnish dinner and breakfast.  We have eight rice crackers and some cheese. There are some goats outside and they look mighty tasty:   At sundown; we are joined by another pilgrim who looks a bit lean to eat, but he has a jar of peas and carrots and some breadsticks!  We discover some eggs in the kitchen, and put together a very passable meal of omelette and the vegies, and there's even enough for an egg on a rice cracker for breakfast.

The Gite is a fairly sparten affair, with bunkbeds, but it has a wondrous washing machine and a dryer;  It is also the home of a large telescope, with a special room with an opening roof for viewing.  We don't get to see the view through the telescope, but the view of the nightsky is truly beautiful.

We sleep well.

Day 3 The bedbug gets a grip early in the day.  After the first 30 minutes of climb, I feel exhausted. The mountains are magnificent from a distance, but at close quarters are a torture chamber with the path designed by some twisted mind.  Michael has taken on the form of the devil, and says 'there's not much more uphill', but it's a lie.  Beware of false prophets on the path!  Somehow, after about six hours we arrive in Argentiere. My pilgrim staff props me up, with little rests every hundred metres.  As we stumble into the village, we make our first sighting of fellow pilgrims =  a couple of around our age - I am embarrassed as they catch me at my lowest ebb, doubled over and moaning into the handle of my pilgrim staff.  We discover that they speak French and not much English.  We are too tired to make much of an effort, and they wonder if they should make a wide berth of this insane woman.  We greet each other, and go to our respective accommodation. We walk thrugh the village to our Gite.  We find that our hostess is wonderful, and shows us to a simple room, which is light and airy.  We pack up two large boxes of surplus clothing and chattles at the La Poste; and send them back to Australia.  The bedbug is firmly encased at the bottom of the first box.  We stagger back to the Gite and fall down on the bed.  Our host serves us a beautiful  3 course meal which ends with a creation of creme anglais, stewed peaches, stiffly beaten egg whites and crushed almond macaroons.  I resolve to recreate it when I get back to my own kitchen.

Day 4  Legs getting stronger = first three quarters of the walk to Chateauroux Les Alpes is actually enjoyable.  The scenery is spectacular.  The day is hot, but the path takes us through shady forests, even if it keeps going ever up.  I start to notice the many different wild flowers we pass - trying to drag their Latin names into my exhausted consciousness -was that Exygium or Erigeron?? And that's a hellebore, and there are lots of scabiosa.  Most beautiful of all are the colchicums - or autumn crocus, which fill whole paddocks. If I keep a sharp eye out, there are also ripe blackberries, and surplus grapes on unguarded vines.  Michael even concedes that he likes the walking poles! We find our hotel, just as our legs are buckling.  Our hosts are very helpful, and have been alerted to the Australian couple staggering their way, by the pilgrims we met earlier on the trail.

Day 5  We are comforted by the red and white stripes that mark the way.  Occasionallly in bigger towns, like Embrun where we are today, there will be a path of brass shells marking the way on the footpath.  My heart has a little jump when I see them.  But today, it was wet and we lost track of the red and white stripe markers two thirds of the way up a very high hill.  Michael is a fantastic intuitive navigator but I have no sense of direction.  I rely on the stripes - the STRIPES - where are they!!  After much backtracking along various forks in paths in the grass and muddy tracks, we strike out on a forest trail that seems to be heading in the right direction.  It goes on up, up qnd then more up, into the mists.  We can see nothing below us now.  We hear the bells on cows in the gloom.  A man with a gun looms out of the mist.  We ask him in broken French which way to Embrun - his hands go up and down, then up again, and he says something we don't catch, but it doesn't seem entirely hopeless, so we keep struggling up the path.  Then the path goes down - and down - and we come to a junction where - hallelujah - we're reunited with the stripes!!!!  And we do get to Embrun!!!