May 15: Mud, mud go away...!

We had our shortest day today – I have only 17.3km today, which includes a trip to the supermarket to buy a picnic after having finished the official walk. The going was very sticky. After all the rain, the way was muddy and gummy and our boots got heavy very quickly. We were actually diverted to an alternative route because of flooding. The reservoir was beautiful, but evidently well-above its usual banks. A birch tree was standing a good 3 metres into the water, surrounded by floating greenery that turned out to be briony and briars. All were under water after the last week of thunderous squalls. The revised trail was marked by signs evidently printed on paper and slotted into a plastic sleeve, but we were grateful for whomever it was who cared enough to do it.

Someone (perhaps the same person) had also dropped old fence posts onto particularly bad bogs at several points on the “revised” trail. They were essential to making it across significant portions of the way while retaining both boots today. It feels like a lesson in consequences. The rain may be passed, but the consequences persist, and may even be “worse” (flooding, cloying mud, falling on slippery surfaces). But, also, how much easier it is to handle those consequences once the rain has stopped.

We came into Condom at lunchtime and found (as usual) the single bar open in the town. It was not yet midday, so we had coffee and a pain au chocolat. It was a sports bar, showing the terrifyingly competitive horse-drawn buggy racing on big-screen TVs. They were very nice to us – a welcoming kindness for our poor French and damp persons. We found our hotel, which is giving 1970s’ style “motel” vibes. They do not offer dinner, so we headed off to the Intermarché supermarket to buy a picnic. As we snuck ourselves back up the stairs with a couple of bagettes and a back-pack full of wine and chorizo, one of the staff rushed after us – to offer us a tray “for eating in the room”, pretty much the OPPOSITE reaction from what we had expected. I guess they are used to cheap-ass pilgrims here!

As you can imagine, Carey is full of giggling school-boy energy about staying in “Condom”. It’s right up there is “Cockfosters” (London – end of the Piccadilly line). His childish amusement does bring me a secret joy, although I wish he was a little bit less puerile and Anglo!

Anyhow, we are enjoying our lazy afternoon, listening to podcasts, drinking our supermarket wine and munching on our room picnic. Our room has a bath, which is a splendid luxury. The rural stone gîtes are beautiful and characterful, but they are also often cold and damp, especially after rain. An unimaginative 1970s building with good plumbing can be hard to beat when you are washing your socks (and yourself) on a cold day. I am so looking forward to washing my hair tonight.