20 years ago today - Day 69

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Saturday, May 11 - Le Beage to Le Puy-en-Velay, 3136 km

We woke to a dusting of snow on the hills around us. A trip to the bakery in Beage for bread and pastries at 9am chills me right through. The morning news says almost a metre of snow fell in the Pyrenees south of us last night. I suppose we are lucky. We dress with sweaters, jackets, long cycling tights and gloves for the journey to Le Puy.

I don't have a detailed map for this section of our route. We had both assumed that the road would drop from Beage, which is situated on the plateau at the top of the Massif Central. There is a road leaving the town that descends into the valley below, but it is not the route we need. Our road drops quickly at first as it crosses the top end of the valley, but then climbs on the far side of the valley to a height well above the town. The climb keeps us warm, in spite of the cold air and a stiff headwind that has persisted since last evening.

It is not freezing, but there is still some snow patches the fields around us. Thousands of daffodils are peeking up through the grass and snow, about 15 to 20cm tall. It occurs to me that I have never seen them in the wild before.

We make good time in the first hour, reaching the town of Monastier. Beyond that point, the road climbs, and then it is a downhill ride through green volcanic valleys. There is a new magical world appearing around us as we descend. Both the rock outcroppings, large and monolithic and the meadows and forests are darker in colour. Our road twists and turns with flow of the land and I anticipate the first sight of Le Puy around each corner. The road descends steeply into a larger valley, less than 5km from the centre of Le Puy according to the highway signs, but we still cannot see it. We cross under the high arches of an ancient Roman aqueduct, round a bend and there the city is spread out before us, surrounded by its spires topped with religious statues and monasteries. It is impressive.

Le Puy is a small regional seat of government set in a mountain valley surrounded by volcanic spires capped with religious statues and monasteries. It is off the main tourist routes, but given top ratings by the Michelin Guide, suggesting that it is worth the effort to get to. That is why we have made the great effort to get here, and why I am anxious to see it.

We follow the established pattern, hitting the tourist information office first to get maps and lists or clues on where to find possible cheap accommodation, finding said accommodation, showering, changing in human clothes and going shopping for groceries. If there’s time left over, or if they are on our route to do chores, we see the sights.

On our way to the tourist information office, Mike uses his superpowers, acquired through a career in international banking, to calculate the best monetary conversion rates at various banks while weaving through traffic in this unfamiliar city. I find it hard enough to dodge the cars and pedestrians, but he does this while he recording the best bargains in the supermarkets and even the location of a couple hostels. He frightens me.

We make it to the tourism office just before it closes at noon. The clerk tells us there is some sort of military convention happening in town and wishes us good luck in finding a room. The rather poor looking hotel we find is on the drab central square near the old quarter. We shower and change and set out separately to follow a walking tour listed on a brochure we found at tourism office. We enjoy our time apart now. It helps to keep our time we spend together more fun. At one point of the tour I run into him in the gift shop of the cathedral, reading though material on a shelf wearing his hot-pink “please mug me” sunglasses. I slip away before he sees me.

The most interesting part of Le Puy is the old quarter that climbs the side of a volcanic cone. I need to climb through a labyrinth of streets to get to the
cathedral is near the top, just before the spire of rock that crowns the hill. On top of the spire is an enormous red statue of the Madonna and Child, both of whom have piercing white pits for eyes, as though the eyeballs were never installed or have fallen out over time. Perhaps woodpeckers got them, or termites.

I stuck my head inside the cathedral, still questioning whether I wanted to see yet another in the unending string of cathedrals. I overhear a young French man giving a tour to a friend in English. He is dark-haired and dark-eyed, with a light shadow of a beard and full, red lips. His French eyes catch me looking and he pauses, acknowledging me with a warm, curious gaze that lasts a couple seconds. Then he nods politely and resumes his history lesson. His friend, a wavy-hair. Red-cheeked blond, registers the pause and glances to see who has caught the guide’s attention. He also flashes me a welcoming smile, but the two of them move on and feel it would be too obvious and in bad taste to follow them.

I run into the same two 20 minutes later, in the cloisters that I paid a ridiculous 18F to see. In an effort to get my money’s worth, I am leaning on a pillar trying to find special details that would impress me. I hear the Frenchman’s voice near me. He has stopped by me to describe the courtyard to his friend. He is standing only two metres from me but now he acts as though he has never seen me.

He excuses himself to go to the washroom. Left alone with his blond friend, I turn and say ‘hello’. He beams with enthusiasm, as though he has been waiting for me to do so for a while. He comes over and stands beside me and we talk. He is German, not English, and his name is Weiland. He’s from East Berlin. He has grey eyes that are not afraid of looking into mine. He brushes his hand against mine and leaves it there for a couple deliciously elongated seconds, as if does this with everyone. I don’t pull away.

His friend Theo is from Lyons. They met a year ago in Vienna and have become close friends, perhaps more, but he doesn’t get the chance to tell me. Theo returns from the washroom and in introduced. His aloofness evaporates and the three of us, happy with our new connections, are having fun. We finish the rest of the walking tour together. We climb another volcanic spire to see a monastery perched on top.

They part with me at the end of the tour, as they are leaving to join a protest camp set up to thwart plans for hydro dam on the upper Loire. Theo draws me a map to show me where to find the camp and begs me to join them. I say I doubt my friend and I can as we are expected in Lyons in two days. Weiland gives me his home address and phone number, and invites me to stay with him when I get to Berlin. I promise I will call him a week before I arrive in Berlin.

I am in a fine mood that evening. Mike insists on doing the grocery shopping since he is the best bargain hunter. He hauls back a full bag of groceries and two bottles of local wine called “Derriere Les Faggots”. The name keeps us joking and giggling while we make a “picnic lunch” in the hotel room. “It has a delicate bouquet,” Mike smirks with a campy tone. “Full bodied,” I add, smelling it lustfully. “But with fruity after taste,” he cackles. “Hmmm, Mikey likes it,” I say, imitating the breakfast cereal ad. “Yes, it’s manly, but I like it too,” he replies, like the Irish Spring ad. We continue like this until our sides are sore from laughing. When we are fully drunk we decide to soak the labels off so we have evidence of our find. I can’t imagine how we got them off without tearing them.

I wake up late in the night after Mike is asleep, or perhaps early in the morning. I heard the hard, steady rain and think of Weiland and Theo braving it out in a cold tent at the protest camp. Except for their company, I wouldn’t want to be there. I hope they are keeping each other warm.


PHOTO 1: snow in Le Beage
PHOTO 2: wild narcissus (daffodils)
PHOTO 3: stone farmhouse on the way to Le Puy
PHOTO 4: our Lady of the blind
PHOTO 5: entrance to cathedral in Le Puy
PHOTO 6: the cloisters of the cathedral
PHOTO 7: St Michel Monastery