Via Podiensis: Lessons along the Canal

Today was a lesson in listening to your body. Or, rather, a lesson in listening to your foot and not your stomach. Or perhaps, today was a series of lessons that I need to learn, or remember.

Jacopo and I shared dinner last night with a Canadian couple, Etienne and Colleen. I immediately noticed that both of them wore the same “Ultreïa” ring that I wear. Apparently, back in 2017 after completing their first Camino, they got these matching rings to celebrate the walk and the reason for the walk: their 50th wedding anniversary. They are such a friendly and charming couple, and I very much enjoyed talking with them.

After yesterday’s long, hot slog and extended roadwalking, I was looking forward to what I thought was an easy 21 km along perfectly flat ground along the banks of the Garonne Canal.

In fact, when I woke up this morning my injured foot was aching, and I briefly considered simply staying an extra day in Moissac. But, I reasoned that it was going to be an easy day so I should do my stretches and get on with it.

After breakfast, Jacopo and I left the gîte at about 6:30. It was not yet dawn, and last night our host had given us instructions for a shortcut to the Camino.

In retrospect, taking an unmarked shortcut in the dark may not have been the wisest decision.

After a bit of neighborhood road walking, we begin descending a seemingly unending flight of stairs that eventually pass through a tunnel under railroad tracks.

We wound our way through the harsh, halogen-lit streets of Moissac to the Garonne canal that I expected would be my companion for much of the day.

As the sun rose, the air was cool and crisp. The sky was actually blue, and not the doll color of lead we’ve had in the past few days. There were even some wispy clouds across the sky.

About 7:30, we crossed a bridge over the canal and were presented with a choice of routes. And this is where my morning began to go horribly awry.

One route continued directly along the canal without interruption, while the other route headed out past some villages. The prospect of second breakfast was enticing: I was imagining a scene similar to the other day of sitting at a café with a fresh croissant and café au lait.

Jacopo and I elected to leave the canal and take the other route.

And, once again, I discovered that my tracker glitched. I definitely set it before I left, but an hour into the walk, and it was showing less than 0.2 km walked. Aargh.

The diversion started off pleasantly enough. The Camino was now a greenway – grass really, covering the remains of what might have been a dirt road – through garden land and forest and past pear orchards. I thought to myself: as long as this is relatively flat, this is definitely easier on the feet than the pavement we’d walk beside the canal.

Unfortunately, there were soon hills involved, and roadwalking. As the terrain got hillier and rougher, I got more and more angry with myself. My foot was aching worse now, and I finally did what I should’ve done earlier and looked at the actual topography on the map. It was only going to get rougher and hillier. I was practically mentally done with the day, 

And it was only 8:20 in the morning.

So, Jacopo went on ahead, and I tried to find a different way down to the canal to resume the flat walk.

My attempts to get down to the canal by an alternate route were initially a failure, as Google maps was sending me down a road that not only didn’t exist, but was in fact a cliff.

After talking with a kind local woman, it became very clear to me that the only way was to continue forward up and down the hills for at least a little while, and then take a road down to the canal. Assuming it wasn’t also a figment of Google’s imagination.

And so far none of the villages I had passed had a café or boulangerie. So I wasn’t even getting second breakfast out of the deal.

I was very down on myself, angry and upset, that I had messed up and made so much more difficult which should have been literally an easy walk in the park.

Let this be a lesson. Listen to your foot, not to your stomach.

After just a short time the Camino became  a lovely dirt road through forest land. But the only thing I could think of was getting back to the canal.

Finally, I came to an asphalt road and walked along it downhill. I took a hard right and then walked on the shoulder (what there was of it) of a busy highway for about a kilometer and a half. I hate doing this, but I have done it before many times in Spain. 

Finally, I found a turn off, headed down the hill, across some railroad tracks, and over a canal bridge, and I was back on the Camino at last. It was now 9 o’clock in the morning and I was mentally exhausted.

Nevertheless, I began once more walking the canalside path. A line of towering and majestic maple trees hung over the path and even onto the canal, providing cooling shade and making this path almost a Victorian promenade. It was bliss.

There were many bicyclists on the path, and occasionally on the opposite bank a passenger train would whizz by. The maple trees soon get away to smaller trees, possibly ash, with vines and bushes growing up through their lower branches. There were still plenty of shade, and whatever the pathway is paved with was relatively soft on my feet. Even so, I was moving pretty slowly.

When I finally got second breakfast, about 9:30, it was a beautiful Camino surprise. At a picnic bench, I ran into the Canadian couple from last night, Etienne and Colleen. We had a picnic with bread, cheese, ham, boiled eggs, cookies. In truth, they contributed most of the goodies, but I certainly shared cookies! It was absolutely a tonic on the day, and when we left I was feeling much more lighthearted and good about the day.

So perhaps today’s lesson, instead, is that God can bring great blessings out of any hardship.

Numerous pilgrims passed as we ate, including Antoine and Brigitte, a French-American couple that I have not seen since before Figeac. I was quite surprised, as I assumed they would be days ahead of me.

When the Camino passed near the town of Malause, it briefly became a little dirt footpath through the grass next to the canal bank. Absolutely lovely. Eventually, it was back to asphalt again. However, the giant maple trees had returned, this time on both banks of the canal, and there was a long line of riverboats moored in their shade.

I passed some painted words on the side of the canal. The translation is “who am I? Who owns this body?” There was an image of a heron with the words.

On this piece of art? graffiti? The heron seemed to be saying “who do you serve?”

The answer, of course, is that I serve the Lord. Jesus. And with all my heart. And in doing so, I must trust in Him to find the Way. Indeed! He is the Way. And in serving Him, I am called to serve His people and His church in some capacity that makes use of the talents He has given me.

I’ve been thinking a lot about this on this Camino, of course, but particularly since last night. After the moment in the Abbey church, I climbed the steep hill back to my gîte in prayer and promise to the Lord. It seems to me that today He is asking me, in several different ways, “are you sure?”

Yes. Here I am Lord.

I wandered up into the hills, but I realized my mistake and made my way back to the water.

I have said this before on this blog, but the entirety of the Camino is full of potent signs and symbols, sometimes almost sacramental in character, or at least made so much richer when seen through a sacramental worldview. God is a poet, and on Camino we better dispose ourselves to read His poetry.

And speaking of poetry:

As I was pondering these things, I passed another sign with the heron, this time written on the controls of a canal lock. It is apparently a quote from Goethe, “traveler, I take what I can”.

You may think the Lord speaks in riddles, but He is always prompt with his replies. I laughed. And still I walked alongside the beautiful, tree-lined Garonne canal.

I reached the village of Pommevic at about 10:45 AM, and the Camino crossed the bridge over the canal again. It seemed to me to be heading in the wrong direction, but apparently the Camino makes a detour into the village, before crossing over the canal again and heading cross country.

The route through the village took me past some much-needed public restrooms, and then to the village church. It proved to be a little Gothic gem. Despite its obvious age and need for some restoration, it is clearly loved for and cared for by the people here. There were fresh flowers hanging outside the door.

I admit that I was a little taken aback by the use of electric candles throughout the church, and it is clear that the old pulpit is no longer used, but the place was clean and well cared for. There are five altars in this little church, arranged in a very peculiar way that speaks of centuries of additions and changes. The paint on the ceiling and walls was a mixture of old and new, some of it clearly inspired by the Moissac Abbey church. The bell tolled eleven as I sat there.

I had an Orangina at the local café, and then pressed on to tackle the last 5 km of the day. It was pushing 80°, so the umbrella came out. 

The road crossed a long bridge over the canal and the river running nearby. And then it was strictly roadwalking with farmland and farms on either side.

About 12:30, I stopped in a little Gothic village church in Espalis where the altars and statues had all been remade over in a beautiful, if colourless, neoclassical style. I did find the blinking Christmas tree lights on the high altar to be a trifle weird. I prayed a moment, and then went on.

The road led out through a forest of beech trees and over a suspension bridge spanning the Garonne River.

The Camino pass through the sleepy little village of La Port, past a Carolingian-era chapel dedicated to Saint Catherine. Unfortunately, the doors were locked.

And then it was uphill, to my final destination of the day: the hilltop village of Auvillar. My first stop was, predictably, the office of tourism to attempt to secure a gîte for the night. However, unlike any of these that I’ve previously been to, this was closed in the middle of the day from 12:30 to 2 PM.

So I paid an initial visit to the neo-gothic masterpiece of Saint-Pierre church, currently undergoing restoration. The place feels enormous, probably because of the height of the nave rather than the actual size of the footprint. It abounds in glorious 19th century artwork. The reredos at the high altar are magnificent, but also sensitive and moving, with the central painting of the Assumption of the Virgin being an almost hypnotic work.

Here and there on the walls, there are fragments of what appear to be medieval painting from the earlier iterations of the building. Thanks to a history of war and revolution, it has been reduced to ruins and then rebuilt several times before achieving its current form. 

I hadn’t thought that it had ever been a monastic church, but perhaps it had canons at one point, since there is seating in the sanctuary choir for 22 people.

By now the temperature was just over 90°.

In the center of the village square is a large covered structure that was used in centuries past as the center for a regional grain market. Today, it was mostly being used as a shady place for hot and tired pilgrims to rest.

We ended up at quite a nice gîte, so time to shower. And once again, the Canadians are here. There is a pilgrim Mass at the church at 6 PM, and today is the Nativity of the Blessed Virgin Mary. 

And, somehow, my foot feels better now than it did this morning. I think it may have been the long bit of walking on a flat surface that stretched it out properly. Who knows? In any case, it wasn’t bothering me much up that last hill at all.

Date: 08 September 2023

Place: Auvillar 

Today started: Moissac 

Today’s Photos!