May 11: A day of skies and smells

There is a 3-day gap in my posts from last week. This is s combination of (i) lack of cellular/wifi; (ii) late arriving bags (I’ve chucked my laptop into my carry-forward bag for east of day-walking) and (iii) long days and/or “gîte evenings”, that include compulsory socialising in French, at the pace of the slowest eater. All of this meant little time in the evenings to reflect or write.

I thought about doing a catch-up. But, even yesterday is forever ago on the camino. One day blurs into another,. Not in a “blah” way, but rather that being, now, defines the experience. Yesterday is past. Tomorrow will come when it does. Who/what/where/why are you right now? That is everything, because it is.

Anyhow, the things that stand out:

· An aperitif of local dessert wine in the courtyard of our idyllic hilltop farm-stay on Friday, where there were enough English-speakers to make the meal very enjoyable;
· the studious way EVERYONE ignored the (vast) trail of dog-poo on the astro-turf in the “garden” in our gîte in Lauzerte. Our host eventually swept it off, hours later, dumping it into the pile of garbage beside the gate, leaving a brown stain that I still fear future guests won’t know represents faeces;
· the punch of red on the blue-black iridescence of 6-spot burnets, foraging in the hot-pink orchids on the high heathland on Thursday, and just how ugly field crickets actually are;
· an extraordinary aurora around the sun throughout the morning, also on Thursday, making a virtual scallop shell in the sky…

Today, was a day of water. Moissac lies on a broad river, covered in mist this morning after overnight rain. Our path took us from riverside to the towpath of the Bordeaux-Toulouse canal, along which we walked for 15km. It barely felt like a “camino” day: easy underfoot, no climbing. We strolled. It was such luxury.

It was also a day of smells. The towpath was being cut back by expert operators, moving large machinery in and out of the spaces between the huge plane trees (planted, well-over a century ago to shade the horses. I counted, they are 12-paces apart). There was no margin for error. They filled the air with the scent of mown grass, sawn woody stems, crushed flowers. We also walked past Eucalyptus plantations, gently fragrancing their environs. As we sat in the old-school hotel in Auvillar, enjoying a beer on their patio before heading on to our gîte, the smell of thunder was palpable.

We made it home, just behind the edge of the storm, feeling the heavy splotches of the early rain, clutching our elicit snacks (outside food is forbidden on the premises. We snuck them through like guilty teens). We charged in, upstairs and watched the heavens open with lightening and all the sound effects. There is nothing like watching a downpour from your dorm room (with chips and cookies) to remind you how little it takes to make a day a good one.