One Week Pilgrims (Part One) – Trekking Along the Le Puy Camino Pilgrimage Trail

Several years ago, MK and I trekked the last 200 km of the Camino de Santiago, or St. James Way, a pilgrimage trail that leads to the city of Santiago de Compostela in northwest Spain. It is there that the apostle James is said to be buried in the cathedral.  Over the centuries, many have traveled this route to pay homage to this apostle, some for adventure, some for a culture experience, but most for spiritual reasons.

They do so over the main route that starts just over the Spain/France border in the Pyrenees Mountains and runs over 800 kilometers to it conclusion in Santiago. For those who know about pilgrimage trails, this particular route is rather noteworthy. But what is not as well-known is the fact that there are many branches of the trail, some with their own route to Santiago, but many others that serve as an extension well in advance from the usual Pyrenees start point that reach far into interior France. One of these extensions begins nearly 750 kilometers from the Pyrenees in the city of Le Puy en Velay, France.

It is the first 100 kilometers of so of this Le Puy Camino (or the Chemin du Puy, Chemin de St. Jacques, or Via Podensis – it has many names) that MK and I will trek for the next week or so. We won’t however, do so in the purest sense where every step of the trail will be followed. Instead, due to timing issues and other matters, we will leap frog and skip some sections using a reliable shuttle bus system established for folks just like us.

Day 0 – Le Puy en Velay

Le Puy en Velay and the Le Puy Camino are located in the Massif Central region of south-central France, a land of forested hills, rugged mountains, deep gorges, and high plateaus. The town is very visually attractive and, like many areas in France, it is filled with centuries old buildings, monuments, and churches. There is something also different and very appealing, though, about Le Puy when compared to some of the other cities we have visited in France. The best way to describe it is that it is grittier, less crowded, and less commercialized than, say, Aix-en-Provence, Apt, or certainly Monaco, all of which we have visited earlier in this trip.

We arrived there in mid-afternoon, just in time to tour the older part of the city with the remaining daylight that was increasingly hidden by the growing overcast skies. The Cathedrale Notre Dame du Puy stuns one upon its first sighting. Its massive edifice stands dominant amongst its neighboring buildings which are all grouped in an around the maze of narrow, cobblestone streets and hidden, winding lanes. Looming above is Our Lady du Puy, a statue of the virgin Mary and baby Jesus. Nearby, Chapel Saint Michel is perched atop an ancient volcanic plug of basalt rock that incongruously, but beautifully, thrusts up and out from the otherwise peaceful rolling valley in which it is located.

MK submitted a prayer at the base of St. James’ statue located within the cathedral, asking for a safe journey as we follow in his and thousands of other pilgrims’ footsteps in the coming week. After also saying a prayer in front of the Black Madonna, we visited a nearby shop where we purchased our “Creanciale”, a passport of sorts, that we are to get stamped by the various stores, shops, and hotels we will stay or stop at while on our journey. It will be proof that we actually undertook this journey and will serve as a bookend piece to the passport we received when we did the last 200km of the St. James Way several years ago.

It was now dark and a light rain was falling. We returned to walk the same streets as we did earlier in the afternoon which now sparkled with the reflection of the dim lights from the adjacent shops, lively restaurants, and an occasional corner lamppost.  We made our way back to the main monuments which now where the host of a magical light show where images of fanciful figures and impressions were cast against their massive walls. While our umbrellas shielded us from the rain, they didn’t help in keeping us from getting cold so, after an hour or so, we returned to our hotel room for a good night’s rest before embarking on our trek tomorrow morning.

Day 1 – Montbonnet to Monistrol d’Allier

Our hotel proprietors told us of their upcoming plans to travel the western U.S. They listened intently to our tips and hints and were eager to learn as much as they could about California, Las Vegas and the many national parks they hope to visit.

Just down the street and right on time was our scheduled shuttle bus that delivered us to the small village of Montbonnet where we began our Le Puy Camino trek. The day started cold and foggy. As we ascended up into the surrounding hills, we found ourselves within the low cloud cover which was made darker by the deep forest through which we traveled. We could hear the ringing of cowbells (“I need more cowbell!”) from the adjacent pastures but could not see the beasts whose necks were adorned with them due to the fog.

The skies cleared and the sun’s rays began to warm us just as we took a snack break at a buvette in the tiny hamlet of Le Chier. At this late summer/early fall date, the owner says she sees only a couple of dozen pilgrims a day. In March and April, it’s all she can do to keep items in stock given that hundreds pass by each day. Many of them start their Camino then so that they can finish in Santiago, Spain by the end of summer. She also said that many French nationals and their families come through in August while on holiday, often with a donkey in tow to carry their gear and belongings.

As it neared noon, it was time for lunch and a potty break. The bar/restaurant we chose to picnic at was rowdy for this time of day on a Saturday. The men lined up at the bar were getting more and more boisterous and loud as they quaffed their mid-morning beers.

We decide not to linger after things seemed to be getting out of hand and moved on down the road where we found a tiny village centered around a 12^th century church. It was beneath its bell tower that we found a table in nice sunny spot where we finished most of the food we had in our packs.

From there, the steep descent took us into a gorge formed by the Allier River where we found our hotel for the night. There wasn’t much to the town and many of its shops and stores, what few there were, were closed. The sole boulangerie was closed as well but its sign said it would open again in the late afternoon. And when we returned later to buy some food, it was still closed. While we would have something to eat tonight at our hotel’s restaurant, we were unsure what we would do for supplies for tomorrow’s breakfast and lunchtime needs.

“We may have to resort to ration-mode tomorrow,” MK said half seriously, half jokingly to see my reaction.

“Umm, yes,” I nodded but wasn’t fully listening. But then her comment became clear. “Wait. What?!”

Day 2 – Monistrol d’Allier to Saugues

“Honey?”

“Oui, mon cherie”

“Would you be a lamb and go down to the store and get some bread?”

“Why of course, my love. I’ll be back in a jiff.”

Now, for us Americans, this would mean getting in a car, driving to the store, parking as close as we can to the front door, buying a loaf or two, and heading back home. 

Not so in this part of France. We were finishing a climb of 1,000 feet or so up out of a valley where our overnight town was located to a small village perched high above. As we continued lumbering ever upward, an elderly man, with knapsack full of bread on his back, scooted past us, barely breaking a sweat, likely just finishing what for him, in his part of the world, was a routine errand his wife wanted him to run down into the valley and back home since no grocery stores existed in his small village. 

After seeing this, MK and I both looked at each other, sighed with disbelief, and took a breather on the steps of a church built into the side of the cliff.  

We eventually topped out into a broad plateau of sparse trees and expansive pasture land. On the side of the gravel road that was our path was a man who was getting out of his van to reach for something through the back door. He stopped speaking to us in French when we apologized for not being able to understand him. But through gestures and a few recognizable words, he told us he remembered us (MK in particular) from breakfast at the hotel this morning. He was out here serving as SAG support, waiting for his friends and family who were hiking up to meet him to be transported to a spot further down the trail. We would end up seeing him several more times in the coming days, always shaking hands and saying a hearty “bonjour” when we did. 

It was mid-afternoon when we finally reached the town of Saugues where we would spend the night. The hotel we originally booked was shuttered and dark. We received notice a few days earlier that they had a family emergency and had to cancel all bookings for their hotel. We scrambled and luckily found a lovely B&B that was not only nicer, but also included breakfast, all with a price that was considerably cheaper than the hotel that had to cancel on us. 

After finishing dinner at a place off of the town square, we asked the owner to stamp our “Creanciales” – our trail passports. He directed us to Madame Jeanine who lived in the house next door. 

Apparently, nothing gets done here in the square unless you first run it by Madame Jeanine. She graciously let us into her living room, ceremoniously stamped the passports, asked me to place a small red dot on her globe to show her where we were from, and then gave us her business card while telling us (at least so I gathered trying to understand her French) that if we have any problems here on out, to give her a call and she’ll take care of it. 

Madame Jeanine's house

Madame Jeanine and MK discuss matters concerning our "creanciale"

Around the corner was a museum that was unfortunately closed for the evening. I would have liked to have read more about the stories and seen the supposed relics of the Beast of Gevaudin. In the 1700s, this area, once known as Gevaudin, was terrorized by packs of wolves which killed livestock, lonely shepherds, and young maidens out walking alone. The story took on mythical proportions after its constant retelling to where the killings were the doing of one large, cow-sized werewolf-like creature which had a penchant for ripping into victim’s necks and tearing off their heads. Nowadays, it’s simply good storytelling and a tourist marketing ploy, with storefronts advertising Gevaudin this and Gevaudin that, sometimes in caricature fashion.  

(photo courtesy of the Smithsonian Museum)

Day 3 Chanaleilles to St. Alban sur Limagnole

The view out the window was disheartening. Cold, wet, windy – very dreary in other words. We’ve been very lucky during our month in France. The weather has been spectacular. But today, our luck has run out. Donning wet weather gear, we headed to the bus stop for our shuttle to Chanaleilles where we would start today’s hike.

The town was quiet. Other than the sound of the wind and the falling rain, nothing was heard. All was still. The villagers smartly sheltered indoors while we where out in it all while hiking through.

Soon we found ourselves in a mix of open pasture with sporadic deep forests. The thick trees made for an even darker, more ominous type of day.  If I was a Beast of Gevaudin, it is here that I would lie in wait for an unsuspecting passer-by.

MK, my young maiden, could be a target of the "Beast"

Our pace was quick, not out of fear, but because to do so kept us relatively warm given the 40-50 degree temperatures. At a stone gite, we were relieved to find they were open and selling coffee. Other pilgrims were already inside, many with cold hands wrapped around large mugs of hot coffee. We met and chatted briefly with five Americans who were on a much longer pilgrimage than we. They were around our age yet had stamina that rivaled even the youngest of people.

The skies began to clear as the day wore on. The sun was welcomed as it tried to warm us with the incessant winds. At Chapelle St. Roche, we found a shelter to block the wind while MK prepared a satisfying lunch of tomato, cheese, and apple slice sandwiches.

By early afternoon, all vestiges of the rain and cold wind had disappeared. We shed our jackets and other cold weather clothing and rather enjoyed ourselves and the routine we found ourselves in. A snack bar was hidden around the corner of a stone building in one of the small villages we passed through, about a mile from our end point for the day. No one was there but, fortunately, signs printed in many languages told us to help ourselves to coffee, drinks and snacks and, using an honor box, pay whatever money we thought what we took was worth.

Another solo pilgrim was there. I had a Google Translate conversation with him, or made a valiant attempt to do so, using the app on my iPhone that we passed between ourselves. It got the job done asking and answering some of the basics about our day and the days ahead.

The town dogs showed up looking for a handout. When we offered none, they began very aggressive form of play between themselves, snarling with bared teeth and guttural growling. We gathered our belongings to move on when we sensed that they were about to mistaken our packs for fire hydrants.

Part Two of our one week pilgrimage is at the following link:
https://paintthemap.blogspot.com/2018/09/one-week-pilgrims-part-two.html
Also, a video of this trek and another in the Provence region is at the end of part two of this trip report