Chemin Stevenson, from Langogne

Just as Stevenson found, the long trek upwards and south from Langogne was made in bitter weather. For him, it was in October; for Moonface and myself, in April. The wind and rain were in our faces and as we gained height the rain turned to hail and sleet. The rim of my hat became encrusted in ice and the melting sleet trickled down my neck as we bent into the gale.

This was not how we had intended to start our walk to the flatlands of the Gard.
Nor had we intended to arrive in Langogne with nowhere to stay, but the Gite d'Etape which we had booked proved to be closed when we arrived and was still shut after we returned to it after an hour of wandering the streets. Fortunately we found a suitable cheap hotel nearby which was willing to take us as their only guests that night, and we were treated to a superb meal which was strangely bleached, being nearly all of white and meal-coloured foods. This, the Hotel des Voyageurs (?) had recently been taken over and the proprietor was unaware of the relais Stevenson as a source of guests, as we discussed before Moonface and I left in the rain that next morning.

We underestimated the distance of that first day's walk, so we prudently decided to walk the last few Ks on the road. We hitch-hiked again, and we were even offered a lift by a couple of counter-cultured women complete with piercings and dyed hair. They were kind, as we were neither clean nor dry by that time.

At La Bastide we were again the only guests in the hotel, in a town shut down for winter, as the Lightning Seeds would have sung.


:O)