11 mar

Walked another 33 kilometres, from La Romieu to Montreal, making a total of 445 kilometres.
And then there were clouds again. Had forgotten what they looked like. It basically was a thick fog. ‘Might not burn off’, meteorologist Julie said, with her fathers voice, after she stepped back into Merlin after the first morning cigarette.
But burn off it did, although it took till after lunch, which Julie and I had together in Condom, a lovely town where we somehow managed to see a pregnant woman. The restaurant was called Mamma Mia, the minestrone excellent, while Julie’s salad was in need of some capers, or something ‘zingy’ as Julie called it. We saw a little boy (with the pregnant woman) and I told Julie, in my imitation Nigella way, it would be nice to be grandparents. Now this is really getting worrisome, one might think. I can remember holding Claire in the palm of my hand like it was yesterday. But the words were said. Julie didn’t grab me by my throat like Charles Saatchi did with Nigella, so I suppose our little family secrets won’t be scattered around in some dirty trial.
Then walked to Montreal. Always wanted to go to Canada, Julie said. Always wondered if they really speak french in Montreal, I said. And we looked at each other and wondered if this was really the level of jokes that we were going to lower ourselves to.
On the way from Condom to Montreal a small terrain 4×4 stopped next to me, just when I was having a drink and peeking at my guide to see how far it still was. If I was lost, one of the guys asked. No I said, pointing at the GR sign, not far away. That just made their day, because the two of them were from the ‘keep the GR-signs clearly visible’-crew. They had just been replacing signs, cutting branches away that might obstruct the sign, and hammering red and white X-es on roads one is not supposed to go into.
We had a nice chat. I mean, I suppose we had a nice chat. The older guy was quite talented in the way he could prevent his fast spoken words to leave his mouth. It was like he swallowed them when he spoke them. And this in a continuous way that was fascinating, but unintelligible. Which didn’t prevent me from nodding and saying ‘Oui, Oui’. I didn’t have a clue what he said, but I do know they are doing a great job in keeping the signs clear. More than 400 kilometres I have walked now, and only once I went wrong somewhere. And that only because I must have been sleeping, the signs at the point where I went wrong were pretty clear. I am glad I met these nice guys. The are the unsung heroes of many a pilgrimage. If I learn how to pray before Santiago, I will pray for them too. I will call them Saint and Jacques.
When I arrived in Montreal I saw a man climbing out of Merlin. It was Jean-Pierre, a new friend Julie dug up when she was walking through town. Jean-Pierre is also a pilgrim, although he uses a different average speed than I do. He started in Le Puy three years ago, having to stop in Cahors a few weeks later to have heart surgery. Now he started again in Cahors, but was waiting in Montreal for some trousers he had ordered, the one that you can zip off to make nice shorts. He wasn’t sure when he would reach Santiago, and didn’t seem to care. While I am frantically trying to get as many kilometres in a day that it would be possible to reach Santiago before Julie’s sister Mary arrives. So that I have some time to follow a different track while Mary’s here.
Why the frantic pace Julie asks. Who knows. But I just think that you see more when you try to get more done in a day. It’s all about experience. The more experience you have the better it is. Anyway, 1003 kilometres to go. Am curious if they mark the millennium sign somewhere.