I wrote this the morning after since a) I was offline and b) suffice to say I was mostly too tired and slightly aggrieved to have felt like writing on the afternoon that I arrived. All will be revealed.
The day started well. A pleasant evening in Gaillac and a good restful night. I went out early sans rucksack to look for breaksfast and supplies. This was acheived with minimal fuss and I returned to attach rucksack and head off.
The path out of Gaillac is clearly marked and passes, as you can see, some familiar landmarks:
Very soon I was out of town and heading into the countryside. The way was initially clearly marked and the signs told me I had 25km to Rabastens.
About 6km out of town I was delighted to see some new signs appearing bearing the marking of the way of St. Jacques, thus putting me directly in touch with the "camino". Off I headed with a sense of purpose. Oh but to trust French signposts!
Here I am passing below the church at Montagut:
About an hour and a half and at least 6km later I came upon a junction of the ways, having climbed through a pretty path in the woods. The GR46 (for this was it) now told me that I had 21.5km left to Rabastens! Oh well...
The middle part of the day passed well, with a few breaks for food and to rest my feet. Overall (it's only two days I know) everything's holding up well, despite the shock of loading my body with the 15 kilos and spending five or six hours walking. Here are a few more shots of little places I passed through, the first is ofthe vines at Saurs:
This place looked like it needed some filler and a coat of paint!
This is what I've been seeing recently as waymarkers. They're not terribly consistent in their application in these stages of the camino:
I managed to stay on the path, although quite where the GR46 had gone is anyone's guess, although I was able to continue following the familiar red and white markings for the footpath. One still comes across some wonderful views, as I gained from a rather steep hill I climbed:
But somewhere along the way I must have missed one of the (often rather cryptic) markings directing me to take a turn, because soon I realised I had come quite a way out of my way and was almost in L'isle Sur Tarn. Oh dear. Determined to stick to the path I headed back north for about 3km to try to find the path marked on my map. The road was there but no markings, so I took it anyway.
At some point along this road I saw more red and white signs but by this point I was beginning to feel very tired. My feet hurt. I decided upon seeing a sign directing me straight towards Rabastens that I would take the direct route, rather than wander around in the countryside for the final few km.
Good job that I did, because those final 6km were quite hard. I was tired and wanted to rest at my destination, so it was head down and forward, no stopping to take photos.
Little did I know it at the time, but I needn't have bothered really. Upon arriving in Rabastens, which proudly boasts of its church Notre Dame du Bourg and its long association with the camino (there's even a sign on the way into town that proclaims "Piigrims' Halt"), I quickly discovered that nobody appeared to have the slightest interest in or knowledge of "the way" - it being a Monday! The woman at the town hall (where one is advised to ask) simply gave me a blank look when I asked about accommodation for pilgrims. I went around to the church itself, only to find nobody present and no information or phone numbers, although I did stop to take a couple of photos, it's that impressive. They're not the best photos really, coming as they do from a compact digital, but they give an idea:
Eventually I knocked on the local gendarme's door to find a very helpful chap inside. After suggesting the local campsite, I realised with a slightly sinking feeling that it was going to be 'roughing it' after what felt like a hard day. When he pointed out the location of the campsite on the map I immediately asked him if there was a local taxi service, as there was no way I was able to contemplate the 3km walk in the exhausted state I was in. Eventually he decided it was easier to take me there himself, which he duly did :0)
I arrived at the campsite to find the office closed but it wasn't a long wait. I then pitched my tent, signed in and had a hot shower. Grotty showers really (as is the campsite) but it did the trick. Feeling revived (although my poor feet were still sore) I asked about food. It was almost with glee that the campsite owner confirmed there was no restaurant and no food on site. I enquired again about a taxi and after again confirming that he had no idea, he obviously took some pity on me and reluctantly looked up the number. Upon calling I realised that there was no mobile coverage so, off again into town on my tired feet!
You can imagine my joy when, after having walked a further 3km into town, I discovered that every restaurant and kitchen (and Hotel!) was closed - it being a Monday. After a much needed cold beer I discoverd a takeaway pizza place. Ordering with a 30 minute delay I went in search of another bar while my food was being prepared. I ordered two in the knowledge that once I leave this campsite, I am heading directly for my next stop and am not going back into that godforsaken town to look for either breakfast or my stamp in my "pilgrim passport". I have a plan to draw my own more appropriate version of the stamp!
So, with cold pizza for breakfast I pack the tent and preparing for another 22km to Montastruc. I'll have to take things easy today, because although I don't have any problems physically, I realise that days three and four are probably the most difficult in terms of acclimatising and the potential to overdo things. By the time I hit Toulouse I expect everything to be fine and dandy.
The day started well. A pleasant evening in Gaillac and a good restful night. I went out early sans rucksack to look for breaksfast and supplies. This was acheived with minimal fuss and I returned to attach rucksack and head off.
The path out of Gaillac is clearly marked and passes, as you can see, some familiar landmarks:
Very soon I was out of town and heading into the countryside. The way was initially clearly marked and the signs told me I had 25km to Rabastens.
About 6km out of town I was delighted to see some new signs appearing bearing the marking of the way of St. Jacques, thus putting me directly in touch with the "camino". Off I headed with a sense of purpose. Oh but to trust French signposts!
Here I am passing below the church at Montagut:
About an hour and a half and at least 6km later I came upon a junction of the ways, having climbed through a pretty path in the woods. The GR46 (for this was it) now told me that I had 21.5km left to Rabastens! Oh well...
The middle part of the day passed well, with a few breaks for food and to rest my feet. Overall (it's only two days I know) everything's holding up well, despite the shock of loading my body with the 15 kilos and spending five or six hours walking. Here are a few more shots of little places I passed through, the first is ofthe vines at Saurs:
This place looked like it needed some filler and a coat of paint!
This is what I've been seeing recently as waymarkers. They're not terribly consistent in their application in these stages of the camino:
I managed to stay on the path, although quite where the GR46 had gone is anyone's guess, although I was able to continue following the familiar red and white markings for the footpath. One still comes across some wonderful views, as I gained from a rather steep hill I climbed:
But somewhere along the way I must have missed one of the (often rather cryptic) markings directing me to take a turn, because soon I realised I had come quite a way out of my way and was almost in L'isle Sur Tarn. Oh dear. Determined to stick to the path I headed back north for about 3km to try to find the path marked on my map. The road was there but no markings, so I took it anyway.
At some point along this road I saw more red and white signs but by this point I was beginning to feel very tired. My feet hurt. I decided upon seeing a sign directing me straight towards Rabastens that I would take the direct route, rather than wander around in the countryside for the final few km.
Good job that I did, because those final 6km were quite hard. I was tired and wanted to rest at my destination, so it was head down and forward, no stopping to take photos.
Little did I know it at the time, but I needn't have bothered really. Upon arriving in Rabastens, which proudly boasts of its church Notre Dame du Bourg and its long association with the camino (there's even a sign on the way into town that proclaims "Piigrims' Halt"), I quickly discovered that nobody appeared to have the slightest interest in or knowledge of "the way" - it being a Monday! The woman at the town hall (where one is advised to ask) simply gave me a blank look when I asked about accommodation for pilgrims. I went around to the church itself, only to find nobody present and no information or phone numbers, although I did stop to take a couple of photos, it's that impressive. They're not the best photos really, coming as they do from a compact digital, but they give an idea:
Eventually I knocked on the local gendarme's door to find a very helpful chap inside. After suggesting the local campsite, I realised with a slightly sinking feeling that it was going to be 'roughing it' after what felt like a hard day. When he pointed out the location of the campsite on the map I immediately asked him if there was a local taxi service, as there was no way I was able to contemplate the 3km walk in the exhausted state I was in. Eventually he decided it was easier to take me there himself, which he duly did :0)
I arrived at the campsite to find the office closed but it wasn't a long wait. I then pitched my tent, signed in and had a hot shower. Grotty showers really (as is the campsite) but it did the trick. Feeling revived (although my poor feet were still sore) I asked about food. It was almost with glee that the campsite owner confirmed there was no restaurant and no food on site. I enquired again about a taxi and after again confirming that he had no idea, he obviously took some pity on me and reluctantly looked up the number. Upon calling I realised that there was no mobile coverage so, off again into town on my tired feet!
You can imagine my joy when, after having walked a further 3km into town, I discovered that every restaurant and kitchen (and Hotel!) was closed - it being a Monday. After a much needed cold beer I discoverd a takeaway pizza place. Ordering with a 30 minute delay I went in search of another bar while my food was being prepared. I ordered two in the knowledge that once I leave this campsite, I am heading directly for my next stop and am not going back into that godforsaken town to look for either breakfast or my stamp in my "pilgrim passport". I have a plan to draw my own more appropriate version of the stamp!
So, with cold pizza for breakfast I pack the tent and preparing for another 22km to Montastruc. I'll have to take things easy today, because although I don't have any problems physically, I realise that days three and four are probably the most difficult in terms of acclimatising and the potential to overdo things. By the time I hit Toulouse I expect everything to be fine and dandy.
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