Day 23 September 18 Moissac to Auvillar

23.3 km 412 ascent 379 descent 5:50 hr. 16⁰C

Down for breakfast at 7:30 am, ready for the day. Jim told us there was a way to avoid the big climb of the day, by walking along the Garonne River Canal. This sounded like a great idea.

It was very cool, not cool enough for a fleece but maybe my hiking blouse (which I mainly use to protect/avoid a sunburn, when necessary).I got by with just my t-shirt.

We very soon crossed the river Tarn and started to walk along the Garonne canal 

along an asphalt path lined with huge ‘elephant’ trees that are full of holes that look perfect for birds to nest in.  

I’ve called them ‘elephant’ trees, because the trunks look like elephant legs, but we don’t know what they are called. The bark is multi colored – with the different colors in the shape of puzzle pieces. We’ll see if we can figure it put.

There were lots of pilgrims setting out. It was lovely. You could see the actual river through the trees off on the side. It is a very large river and we could see some marina’s along the way, with lots of boats. There were also a lot of locks along the canal. I kept looking back for Jim, who I expected to catch up to us to early on.

Russell had us convinced that his GPS track for the day was itself avoiding the climb. At around km 4 we crossed over a bridge to the other side of the canal, near a lock, and headed off in the opposite direction. I imagine the back tracking had something to do with the location of the bridge. Beats walking on water to get across. We then headed off into a farmer’s field and turned back in the original direction. We were following the GR65 markers, we were not consistent with the GPS track. The GPS guy, at this point, seemed to follow the (busy) road.

Well, it didn’t take long before we were confronted with a steep climb. Whoops! Oh well, as I said to Russell, it was probably better than staying along the canal. The asphalt path wasn’t agreeing with my bursitis, and there wasn’t really a shoulder on the path to cushion the way.

Km 5 to 10 was like a roller coaster. The ground was greasy clay (great for the boots which I had finally managed to get cleaned off), but magnificent views of the river and surrounding valley. At Boudou (biggest single climb of that part was about 100 meters) there were services for pilgrims, thank you people of Boudou – you have no idea how much we appreciate it! We also saw two pilgrims at the church at the top of the hill.

Just before the last, and greatest climb of that 5km stretch (about 115 meters), I stopped and filled in some time finishing my tea. The other two pilgrims were close behind, and I wanted to let them pass before we started up. One of the pilgrims was from France and had the biggest back pack I’ve seen on the Camino. I thought, if Kristjan ever decided to walk the Camino that would be the size of his back pack. He really hates to leave anything behind when he travels! The other fellow was from Belgium, but didn’t seem to be able to talk English. So far, everyone we have met from Belgium has spoken at least some English.

I’m kind of worn out from the long distances and all the climbing along this stretch, and wanted to be able to take my time going up the hill. We got to the top about the same time as the others anyway, but there was less pressure to perform this way. Like I said, I don’t have anything to prove. On the other hand, I do have my pride, and a bit of a competitive streak.

I was trying to confirm that we really had completed the biggest climb of this stretch, and was very pleased when Russell told me the structure I said looked like an airport control tower was really a water tower. The Chateau d’eau was clearly marked on our map, and was the highest local maximum of the day.

The view from up there really was terrific, and following the Camino all seemed really worthwhile now that the climbing was over.

Next we descended down to Malause, which on the Micheline Guide map showed as having no services. This was a comparatively big city, with lots of services within visible sight, except the GR65 skirted around the edge of the city, and we missed them all.

We stopped at the lovely municipal park at Malause and had our lunch. There were picnic tables, potable water, and several boats moored there. One of the boats came with three little dogs that seemed to be having a great time. Several families were also about, biking, jogging, and enjoying Sunday.

There was also a fancy bridge over the Garonne Canal, and lots of pilgrims walking by on the other side of the canal. Celine passed by and we waved.

After our picnic, we crossed the bridge and carried on along the canal. Eventually we caught up to Celine. She said she had followed the canal the whole way from Moissac. The lady at her Gite last night had told her she could do that and she welcomed having an easy day. I asked if she had enjoyed the Festival in Moissac, and she said she had visited the church in the afternoon, but was very tired and had gone to bed at 8pm last night and got up at 8am this morning. I told her I too had found the last stretch very difficult and tiring. We talked about Celine Dion. She said she didn’t really like her music but was very proud of her, because she had made Quebec famous. She wondered if she had a happy life. I love Celine Dion’s music, but agree that I sure wouldn’t want to change places with her. She was very loyal to her husband all along, something I hadn’t expected, and she never did anything to bring shame to herself or Quebec. Not many performers have that sort of legacy.

We crossed the canal again at Pommevic. I was wondering if we did that just to go into the city, but that’s not very GR65ish. We stopped and got a coffee at the bar. It turns out we went through Pommevic in order to cross a big bridge, not over the canal, but the river itself.  

Celine had caught up and passed us at the bar, and we passed her again going out. Celine never takes a day off, but some days she goes a very short distance. We said we were taking a day off in Auvillar tomorrow, and might not see her again, but she was pretty sure our paths would cross again. She gets to St. Jean Pied-de-Port on Oct 5, and we get there on the 6^th. We have one more day off after another 10 days, so she is probably right.

I always try to talk French to her, and she talks English to me. She is very nationalistic Quebecoise though. Did I mention that at dinner in Poudhally she was complaining to someone French, in French, that whenever someone present is English, everyone speaks English. I think it’s more that if everyone can understand a particular language, while not everyone can understand another one, it is polite to use the language everyone can understand. But still, you can sympathize with the sentiment.

After the bridge coming out of Pommevic, Auvillar, a fortified city on a hill, loomed large on the horizon.

Before crossing the rather magnificent Pont de Garonne, which was built after the 2^nd World War to replace a wooden suspension bridge,

we passed through a rather obviously man-made forest of poplars. It was phenomenal. All the trees in line, like in Mortal Combat.

Initially known as a Gallic-Roman city, Auvillar, until the 10^th century, fell victim to a number of invasions, particularly by the Normans who fortified the village on the hill.

Auvillar became attached to the Crown of France with the arrival of Henry IV in 1589. In the 16^th century, the country and particularly Auvillar were the places of conflict such as the 100 Years War and Religious Wars.

The subsequent peaceful period permitted the creation of earthenware pottery. This pottery and the making of goose quill pens enabled Auvillar to become a thriving small town for 2 centuries. In 1830 there were 13 pottery workshops and the port was a waterway. The later construction and use of the Canal du Midi and the railway caused Auvillar to sink into a slow decline.

Today Auvillar is a recognized stop along the Rue St. Jacques and is classed by UNESCO as among the most beautiful villages in France. It has a dynamic fabric of both commerce and craft, and is well-known thanks to earthenware, calligraphy, and sailing on the river Garonne (3,000 boats per year).

It was a very steep climb to get up to the city. We passed the Chapel of Saint Catherine, dating from the time of the Carolingian’s – 8^th Century – the Chapel was built on the orders of Pope Clement V at the beginning of the 14^th Century. It was the place of worship for the boatmen and sailors setting out for long voyages. They came to offer their bodies and souls to their patron saint. On their return the sailors gave models of their boats in thanks. Some of the models are visible in the Museum of the Waterway, in the clock tower.

Known as ‘Lo Putet’, the water source of the ‘Lavoir” nowadays is still from a Roman network of hollowed out tunnels underneath the village. The ancient Roman road ‘chemin de Peyrat” connects the Port with the village, and it is the road pilgrims use to travel through the city today.

We got to our hotel L’Horloge, right beside the clock tower, 

around 2pm and were greeted by Jim. He said he had been there awhile and was waiting for his room to be ready. We went in, and the rooms were now ready. The fellow was escorting us to our room, and I started to run through the usual drill, what was the wifi password, could we get some wine glasses, when we were interrupted by the lady owner of the hotel saying no wine glasses, come down to the bar if you want to drink. I said, ‘how about just plain glasses?’ She just didn’t get it. The fellow leading us just rolled his eyes at that point and gave us the key, which was attached to a cute little stuffed turtle, and told us where the room was. I instantly thought of how Kristine would love the turtle key charm!

We realized we hadn’t established when dinner or breakfast was, and Russell went back down to inquire. He was presented with two wine glasses and told dinner was at 8pm and breakfast was 7:30-10:30am. Jim was just getting into his room at the time, and Russell told him the good news about dinner at 8pm. Even 7:30pm is too late for pilgrims. You end up eating and going to bed. Digesting dinner and getting to sleep don’t really go together well.

We have a beautiful, spacious room. There is a bathtub, but no real shower. Just a hand held shower attachment, but it’s pretty hard to stand up and shower in a bathtub, especially with no enclosure.

Anyway, we had a bath/shower and then went out to the Tourist Office. They told us everything was closed on Monday. Wanting to make good of our time here, we went to the Museum of Art and Folk Tradition, which has an outstanding 18^th and 19^th Century earthenware collection, as well as other artifacts. There is also an Art exhibition here from Sept 4 to 31, so we went to that as well as visiting another Art Gallery of contemporary pottery, wood sculpture, and painting. We both in fell in love with some sculptures at the Art Show.

It’s poor planning having these days off on Monday.

We then came back to the hotel to blog and wait for dinner. 8pm was a long time off, so there was lots of time to fit in a nap as well.

Being Sunday, possibly with The Walking Dead on, I need to tell you about something I forgot to mention when we were in Cahors. Dominque and Marie (and some other of pilgrim friends, I think) stayed in a hotel there called Terminus. 

It was their last night, and they had arrived at Terminus. We got a real kick out that, and asked if they watched the Walking Dead too, but they didn’t.

We had dinner with Jim. We told him we accidently ended up following the GR65. He said that in retrospect, it might have been better to do the climbing rather than walk along the canal for 14km. The whole concept reminded me of the 175km of rice paddies you walk along on the via Francigenia. At least the canal was shaded.

It’s really sad to see him get ahead of us. Actually, as it turns out, he would have gotten ahead even if we didn’t take the day off tomorrow, because he is going to Lectoure (32km) and we are only going to Miradoux (17.5km).

At dinner he told us the story of the French pilgrim. He is doing the GR65 in a camper van with his wife and a friend of hers. In the morning he rides his bike to the next stop, then walks back. He passes his wife and her other companion around noon, they all have lunch together, and then he carries on and gets the camper. That explains why we keep passing him going the wrong way. It also makes sense when I think of what he tried to tell me the first time we passed.

We had a lovely dinner, minestrone soup, pork chop with mushroom sauce and a bit of mustard, organic vegetables, and chips, and a fruit crumble for dessert. It was very good, except I would have cooked the pork chop for at least another 15 minutes.

I showed Jim our turtle key charm at dinner, and we told him the story about Kristine losing her beloved stuffed turtle Splish and how Russell had managed to find one from Britain on the internet. I asked him what he had on his key, and he said ‘I, just have a key.’ How sad, I thought. And how remarkable that we got the turtle, which was so special to us.

We said our good-byes. After I thought, we should have exchanged e-mail addresses and blog addresses. It would be so nice to hear of his safe arrival in Santiago, and how the journey went.