Nothing sticks as well,
As French mud.
Cathedral d’Jour…Cathedral of Sainte-Marie
Magical…at these moments I give no thought to my tired feet.
The seven French women reserve a week each year to walk a segment of the Camino. Five ladies walk with guidebooks in hand and daypacks on their back. While two ladies take the mini-bus carrying suitcases and shop for the daily picnic which mysteriously arrive mid-day on The Way.
These ladies fill the day with laughter and make me feel most welcomed. It really doesn’t matter we don’t speak the same language.
Singles…
Supreme Gîte. The host did the cement work and the hostess the tile mosaics. It has a separate building designated for yoga. Yes, I did my Mysore practice to the astonishment of others.
Desiring to savor my moments on the Camino, I’ve decided to abort my agenda in favor of a slower pace, less mileage, and more relaxation. Rather than be driven by a destination, I’ll make the most of the day.
Looks like I’ve become the company of eight French nurses who hike a week’s segment of the Camino each year (I haven’t done the math to figure out how many years that will take) and two German women who travel with a Canadian man
This French couple reminds me of my Aunt Frankie and Uncle Wade. Where as my aunt and uncle sends me off with butter beans, this French couple sends me off with a bag of just-picked cherries.
Along the way today…
Even on a stroll, pilgrims need a break.
Linda Scandore 