Wednesday 12 Mar
Sorry
I ended that last letter so abruptly. We just happen to be passing a post office
on our way through Moulins (moulin Means mill) and it was about long enough so
I decided to send it off.
Anyway, after spending the night on the grounds where we
knew we weren't supposed to be, we were eating breakfast when we were
discovered. A man comes driving up in his car from the Chateau (only about 100
meters away) and gets out and is yelling up a storm. I told him, “Je ne comprens
pas Francais” But the next part we understood perfectly. He said, “propertie privee!”
So we just acted dumb and said OK and started packing our things. He threatened
to call the police (by putting his hand to his ear as if he were on the
telephone) but I really didn't think he would. There were no “no trespassing” signs
posted anywhere, and we don't really look like the dangerous, harm-meaning type
people. So we left quickly and had our breakfast elsewhere.
We ended up having a great ride yesterday. There wasn't a
cloud in the sky and it was about 60 degrees. I'm not sure if it was nice
because we're traveling south or because it was simply a nice day. It's
probably the latter but I like to think it's the former reason because that
would mean we are actually accomplishing something from all this work.
Now it's about 5:30 PM Wednesday. We ended up rolling into
a town called St. Pourcain sur Sioule (Which means Saint Pete on the Sioule). You
can probably see it on the map. It was a lovely town, with neat architecture
and lots of vineyards and lots of little cafes along the main road where you
can taste the local wine. Since we'd been riding for five days straight I
thought it would make a great place to just hang out and rest for a day. So we
go to the campground and meet the proprietors on the way in, who tell us that
the campground is ferme. so I ask where we can camp and they don't know. Keith
and I put on our “Oh no, what do we do now?” Faces. The woman asks, “un nuit?” And
I nod my head fervently, and so they let us stay there. So nice because not
only was it free, but there were showers with hot water and heaters in the
locker rooms. And it was right on the river. And it was such a beautiful night
with a great sunset and lots and lots of stars in the sky.
The next morning (this morn) I should have said something
to Keith about staying there for the day because I could tell I wasn't in the
type of condition I needed to be. Especially since we’re starting to get into
some really hilly country. But I just want to get to Barcelona so badly that I
didn't mention my pains. It turns out that I really made a big mistake there.
We spent a large part of the day climbing and all I could think of all day was
how much my legs were hurting and also why I make myself do the things I do.
The day was hot: sunny and about 80 degrees and strange things kept happening.
The first was when Keith and I were going down this little side road looking
for a place to take a siesta, when all of a sudden in front of us is this huge
statue of the Virgin Mary and the Christ child. We slept under the statue and
continued on our journey. Because of what's happened since we slept I've
developed the theory that when we were sleeping we somehow crossed over into a
parallel universe where things seem the same but there are strange, subtle
differences. We made our goal for the day a city called Saint Gervais. As we
approached the city we stopped at a campground, where the proprietor was very
mean and yelled at us when we entered the office uninvited. We just wanted to
look at a map. He booted us out and locked the office door. We're still not
sure whether the campground was open or not. So we went on into the city and
hit the grocery store. We immediately realized something was up when they
weren't playing bad disco at the grocery store, as the rest of France seems to
do. We were leaving the grocery store and a procession of old people was
walking by, headed who knows where, maybe church. Most people stare at us but
these people didn't even seem to notice us. Then, just up the street, a group
of teenagers was sitting outside a cafe playing with this dog who had a deadly
vicious growl. So we heard laughing people combined with this Cujo-type growl
and that was kind of weird. In an attempt to find another campground we
followed the signs to it but we never found it. We followed all of the signs,
but maybe it just doesn't exist in this universe. So we head back up to the
town, passed by tractors going barely faster than we, and they have people in
them who look but don't smile or wave. By then we've gotten a really strange
feeling about the place. We head back into town to try and find the right way
out of town but have real difficulty finding signs pointing us in the direction
we need to go. Along the way we pass people who look like zombies (either that
or Italians) and a man with a really ugly scar. I realized at one point that this
must be the type of city David Lynch grew up in (ask Nathan who he is). So we
headed out of town and managed to find (and we're very lucky to do so!) A
forest, albeit small, where we think we'll remain unnoticed till morning. I
still desperately need to take a day’s break but I'm sure not going to do that
here! The more miles I put between myself and Saint Gervais, the better!
Keith doesn't go for my parallel universe theory; he
thinks they're all just a bunch of inbreds “just like in the hills of Tennessee,”
he said.
It’s days like
today that make Barcelona seem 1,000,000 miles away . . .
Thursday 13 March
Barcelona is still a long, long ways away. We got in about
13 miles today because the hand gear changing mechanism on my bike isn't
working. Keith says that a lot of those same parts have been found to be
defective and so I should be able to have it replaced for free. The only
problem is that we're in rural France. So we tried hitchhiking into
Clermont-Ferrand as we were only about 25 miles west of there. We thumbed it
for almost 2 hours this afternoon with no luck. So tomorrow I'll hop on my now
3 speed and have a very fun day of difficult and frustrating riding.
Keith has been a wonderful sport all through this trip.
He's had to deal with me first shopping for a bike in Paris, having no clothes
to wear cycling (or very few) and so he let me borrow some of his. Now he has
to put up with me going at a painfully slow pace; and now this thing with the
gears . . . if he hasn't abandoned me after all that, I don't think he will.
He's great. I was really lucky to get stuck was such a nice guy. I really
didn't think about it before we left, but all we have for companionship is each
other. No one speaks English and we're around each other 24 hours a day. If he
wasn't a likable guy, I could be going nuts right about now.
I plan to be in Barcelona on around the 23rd or 24th.
After a few days there then Madrid. Please send me these things: any important
mail, news from home, my cycling shorts (in the closet) my bike lock (I think
it's downstairs in the basement) my Patagonia coat, and any other lightweight,
packable goodies.
Send to: Julie WAHL<
capitalize
Palacio des Communicaciones
PL de las Cibeles
Madrid 28070
Sunday 15 March
I guess you can disregard that last part since by the time
you read this I will have phoned you. I hope.
Friday we rode to Clermont-Ferrand, which was straight east,
so we lost a day there. But it turns out that my problem with my bicycle was
not such an inconvenience after all. Riding into Claremont was several miles of
uphill. Then about 10 kilometers before the city we begin a 10% descent which
lasted all the way into the city. Keith said, in all his years of cycling, that
dissent ranks up there with the best. And he cycled in the Canadian Rockies
quite a bit. Halfway down there is a turnoff looking over the city and I
stopped to look. The city looked very new and very Southern California ish,
with this big, huge, black, Gotham City looking cathedral just looming over
everything else. When we got down to the city we stopped to look at it, circled
it a few times, and never did find a way to get in. But we could hear organ
music coming from inside. Hmmm . . . I instantly liked the city and was wishing
I'd gotten stuck there for two weeks instead of Paris. The roads were all small
and windy and there were quaint little restaurants tucked into the smallest
nearest corners and alleys. Keith and I were riding along a cobblestone alley
which opened into this 30-foot square area, where a dinner party was taking
place just out in front of a restaurant. There were about 15 people seated
around the table just really enjoying themselves. I had to smile and stare for
just a few seconds because it was all so picturesque. It was about 1:30 in the
afternoon and such a beautiful day sunny and 17 degrees or so. One thing I like
about what I've seen in France is that when it's nice outside, everything moves
outside. Markets are outside and almost every cafe has chairs and tables
outside. The seats are all facing the street because I guess the French like to
people watch. Anyway, the best part about Claremont is that it's a college
town. The people were really nice, unlike most of the other French we've
encountered. We found out where the youth hostel was and checked in there, and
it turns out that no one else checked in at all that night. So Keith and I had
the entire hostel to ourselves. It was a good hostel, with kitchen facilities
and a clothesline, and it was small only one story. It wasn't a dormitory-type
building like the hostel in Paris. It was very Spanish-looking and open, with
lots of space and lots of open doors. We cooked ourselves a great meal as usual
and decided to have a look around the city (namely the church) at night before
the 10:30 curfew. Of course, it was a beautiful night, following such a
beautiful day and I decided I really liked Claremont.
This morning we awoke early and had breakfast and headed
out to the bike shop where we knew we could get the part I needed, as it was a
specialized part. We had talked to Scott, the guy at Maison de Velo, where I
bought my bike, and he arranged everything for us. We got the bike repaired
quickly, found a large supermarket (large here is smaller than the size of our
HG Hills), and got on our way at around 12:30. We had originally planned on
spending the day and tonight in Claremont checking out the university and such.
But when you start putting those miles behind you it's difficult to stop so we
decided to push on south. We ended up putting in over 40 miles today, pretty
good considering we weren't even planning on riding at all. We've stopped just south
of a city named Sauxillanges, which Keith and I have decided to call “sausages”
since we have no idea of the correct pronunciation. Since it has become
customary for us to find interesting places to sleep at night, we were pleased
to be able to continue the trend tonight. We found an old stone house which
looks like it's been abandoned for about 15 years. It seems like at one time it
might have been a nice little quaint farmhouse but now it's overgrown with
vines and grass and has crumbled a lot. We are camped just inside one of the
outside corners so we will be sheltered from the wind. We have a nice view of
the surrounding countryside which is mountainous and it's just now beginning to
be dotted with lights and since my light is fading, I think I'll close for now.
One more thing- Keith wanted me to tell you that he's
really glad I brought the Silvadene along. You had wanted me to leave it at
home but I didn't. When we started the fire under the Eiffel Tower he got some
second and third-degree burns, very similar to mine. So I made sure he kept
clean dressing on it and it's doing well now. I just thought you might like to
know that it's greatly appreciated.
Monday 18 March, 10:30 PM
I talked with you earlier today. It was a good reminder of
the day afterward but let me tell you about the past two days first since I
haven't written since Saturday night.
Sunday morning we woke up to a very cold rainy, and windy
day, the type of day when you wish you could just stay in bed. Of course, bed
for us is a cold sleeping bag in a cold tent. And staying in bed doesn't get us
any closer to the warm Mediterranean coast (imagine! In a few short days I'll
be looking out on the Mediterranean Sea. I'll probably cry when I first catch
sight of that, too.) Soon after starting up on our way for the day, we realized it
wasn't going to be a really high mileage day. Neither of us could seem to get
the energy juices going. We reached one town after about 7 miles and looked for
a bakery but it was Sunday so everything was closed. We also wanted to find a
phone so I could call you guys. We went to the gare, the train station, and Keith
asked the guy if he could use the phone. Yes, it was OK so Keith called his
mother in Wisconsin or wherever. When Keith proceeded to talk to her in English
the attendant got this panicky expression and I think he probably began to
sweat. It turns out that when Keith entered the station he awoke the attendant
from his drunken stupor. I guess there are so few trains coming through these
small towns that there's not much else to do besides get drunk and fall asleep.
So when Keith ended his conversation he was demanding money from him. Keith did
his customary poor job of trying to communicate to the guy that he charged the
call to his mother. He looked at me in desperation for help. It's kind of
ironic that I have kind of become the communication vessel for Keith. I am his link
to the French world. I, who have never taken a lick of French in my life, and
the one upon whom he relies to do the talking. It's amazing but armed with an
imagination, a brain, and a French/English dictionary, you can communicate anything.
So, I calmly wrote (wrote because my pronunciation is still atrocious) that
Keith had charged the call to his mother in the US. A huge tide of
understanding and relief crossed the guy's slow-to-understand face.
This brings up another point. I have been in France for a
month now and have learned a lot about communicating with French-speaking
people. I've learned words that they all seem to know in English (some
universal words are camping, automobile, bicycle). When communicating it's best
to use as many universally understood words as possible. And sometimes just
using an English word with a French sort of pronunciation makes it
understandable. Keith seems not to have caught on to any of this. It may be
that he just doesn't have a knack for languages, or maybe because he's only
been in France for about 2 1/2 weeks. But I think that a lot of it has to do
with just having a general lack of understanding as to how romance languages
work. This is where all of my years of studying Latin came into use. Keith took
German. Just as important, though is the need to just have open ears and open
eyes. And sometimes it's really difficult to do but you have to at least try to
communicate with people because the more you do the better you get. Like the
woman in the cafe today. She spoke very limited English but could understand it
pretty well. I could tell she wanted to talk to us but was kind of hesitant. So,
I took the map over to her and began asking her about the topography and when our
riding was going to level out. Keith rushed over and said something like “no no
don't ask her that because they don't know what it's like to be on a bicycle
and they always tell you the wrong thing . . .” and I had to explain to him
that I didn't really care about the topography. I just wanted to talk. We ended
up talking about college, unemployment and welfare systems, and travel, etc . .
. and we both really enjoyed it.
Anyway, back to our unmotivated day of riding yesterday. We ended up covering 25 miles, which was good considering about 20 of them were uphill. We camped along the road and shivered through another cold night and awoke to an even colder morning (about 35 degrees). It was so cold I just wanted to cry. I don't have sufficient clothes for the weather, and pretty much everything is wet. I thought about hitchhiking, but the road we were on was pretty desolate. So I had no choice but to go on. For once, I was glad to see an uphill climb in front of me because downhill would be too cold. We both felt much better today. It's really weird how our bodies are so in sync with each other. But I guess that's bound to happen since we sleep, eat, and ride with the same amounts and at the same time. After much consideration, I think the reason we felt so bad on Sunday was because of the altitude change and the lack of oxygen.
A few kilometers before we stopped to camp tonight we
passed a sign that said Montpelier so and so miles, Millac, so and so miles,
and ESPANA! Guess what? I cried. We are finally close enough to Spain to see
directional signs for it and I'm so glad I've done it by bicycle. What a rush.
I'm such an emotional wimp. I can only imagine what will happen when I get to
Barcelona and actually see a Gaudi building. Talk about melodramatic!
Wednesday the 20th
Wow! I really rambled on in that last part of my letter,
didn't I?
It's
been an interesting 36 hours or so since I wrote last. We awoke yesterday morning
to a very cold wet morning. The cold and dampness was beginning to have a very
detrimental effect on me, plus the fact that it's taking so long to get to
Barcelona. We wanted to get to Millau by 5:00 PM because there's a hostel
there, which meant we'd have to cover 65 miles, IE a lot of miles. The first 12
miles was all downhill which was really bad because I didn't have a chance to
work up a sweat and so by the time we reached the town at the bottom I could
hardly feel anything. Then it was level for a while and when we hit Saint
Germain du Tiel we went uphill for about 12 miles, at 7-10% of an incline. On
that stretch, I did something I swore I'd never do. I walked my bike. I was so
cold and tired in my butt was aching and my body was just generally aching all
over. At the top of the climb, we were in the clouds and it was raining (I'm
surprised it wasn't snowing!) And I was in a bad mood. When we hit the next
city, Severac le Chateau, we decided to take a train the rest of the way (about
20 miles) to Mill. The scary part is, I was prepared to go the rest of the way
by bicycle even though I would have probably caught the flu or something harsh
like that in doing so. There's a really frightening part about my personality
that makes me do things which go way beyond the threshold of courage and I
wonder when the time will come (if ever) when I will go too far. Let's hope it
doesn't. We got to the hostel in Millau at about 5:30 and got settled in. By
the way, the train trip getting us there really showed us what beautiful
country we're in. This is what I think of when I think of the South of France
lots of green, lots of rivers, lots of mountains, and quaint little villages
with neat architecture dotting the countryside. Millau was quite a bit warmer
as we descended several 100 meters to get there. We decided that the first
thing we needed to do was wash our clothes, so we went to the laundromat and
washed pretty much everything. I was wearing my swimsuit and a sweater and
Keith was wearing his cycling shorts because we had to wash the clothes we'd
been wearing that day and everything else was dirty. We were quite a sight.
People would see us when they drove by and usually, the young people would
laugh, the middle-aged people would stare prolongedly and the older people
displayed the typical French attitude of “how dare you?!” We went back to the
hostel took showers and prepared dinner, I wearing a sheet and Keith his
cycling shorts because we didn't have enough money to pay for drying our
clothes so they were all still wet. We raided the kitchen for all we could- used
their lettuce and spices and drank the wine that was sitting out. We made some
awesome pizza that we had today for breakfast, too. Today we headed out to the
bike store so I could buy a few maintenance-type things, as Keith has to leave
me in about 8 days or so. Going towards the tourist office I happen to notice a
bungee jumping poster and had the wild idea of inquiring about it. I mentioned
it to Keith and we just sort of looked at each other and I'm sure we were both
thinking the same thing, something like “I'd love to do it but that would prove
that we're nuts” so we went on. A few minutes later I said, “let's just get the
telephone number in case you want to find out about it.” The kid in the bar said,
“wait a minute” and went running down the street and returned 30 seconds later
with a man. This man leads the expeditions and told us it happens on Sundays at
2:00 PM in Alzone and it costs 250 francs. $50 for the experience of a
lifetime! I think we're going to do it. So now the temporary plan is to ride
the rest of the way to the coast, leave our bikes, and hitchhike back up on
Sunday to Alzon. We'll do the jump and hitchhike back to the coast and go from
there to Barcelona. I think Keith’s going to hitchhike to Barcelona, but I want
to ride it. He just doesn't have time. But if I do this jump and you tell
people I've done it they're really going to think I'm off my rocker. What it is
is your feet are bound together with an elastic line about 200 meters long. You
jump off a bridge head first (so I guess dive) and free fall for about 300 meters
or so and stop when the elastic is taught. It's the kind of thing that's just
recently become the rage. I learned about it a few years ago and thought how
neat it would be to someday do it. But I think mentally I didn't really think
I'd get around to doing It because it would be such a frightening experience.
But now the opportunity is here and if Keith decides to do it with me I'll do
it.
Well, I'm here at the post office in Millau so I'm sending
this off now. It's a beautiful day sunny and 15 degrees (60 degrees) and once
again I'm glad I'm cycling. Yesterday I wasn't so sure. Till next time.
Love,
Julie
After Spain, I’ll head towards
Aix en Provence on my way to Germany. If you want to send me anything there
send it to me c/o Jason Parker Vandy in France 15 rue cardinal 13100 Aix en Provence
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