ON THE STEPS OF ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON
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| le Monastier sur Gazeille et ses vaches |
In 1878, Robert-Louis Stevenson spent six weeks in le Monastier sur Gazeille, a small village about twenty kilometres South East of Le Puy en Velay, before beginning a twelve-day journey on foot down to Saint Jean du Gard. He had bought a female donkey, called Modestine, to carry his load. His journey was the basis for his account titled "Travels with a Donkey in the Cévennes" which has become a reference for people keen to follow his steps.
Today, people usually start the journey from Le Puy en Velay and walk to le Monastier over a path that crosses a mixture of forest and fields on a hilly terrain. It had been raining copiously over the previous days and the forest paths were muddy. Some stretches were even looking like small water streams which had to be navigated by moving from one protruding stone to the next.
There was a lovely view as we came towards the nascent valley of the Loire, which we crossed in Coubon, with the castle of Bouzols and old round green volcanoes as a backdrop. After crossing the lively river, we walked up the hills leading to le Monastier. A storm broke out on valleys right and left of our path, hiding part of the lanscape behind a thick rain curtain. Fortunately we escaped most of the curtain rain.
Two hours later, cows were grazing peacefully, while the sun was appearing through a tormented sky, on the height of Monastier which is now a village stretching over two kilometres along the main road. It has a very interesting church front which is a patchwork of volcanic stones of different colours and shapes used to form patterns and occasionally finely carved. There is also a castle which is now a museum for ancient beliefs (that is to say witchcraft, paganism etc...). The castle is massive with round towers at each corner of its square shape and additional ones in the middle of each sides. The whole building has a fairly flat roof with terracotta tiles.
There was a lovely view as we came towards the nascent valley of the Loire, which we crossed in Coubon, with the castle of Bouzols and old round green volcanoes as a backdrop. After crossing the lively river, we walked up the hills leading to le Monastier. A storm broke out on valleys right and left of our path, hiding part of the lanscape behind a thick rain curtain. Fortunately we escaped most of the curtain rain.
Two hours later, cows were grazing peacefully, while the sun was appearing through a tormented sky, on the height of Monastier which is now a village stretching over two kilometres along the main road. It has a very interesting church front which is a patchwork of volcanic stones of different colours and shapes used to form patterns and occasionally finely carved. There is also a castle which is now a museum for ancient beliefs (that is to say witchcraft, paganism etc...). The castle is massive with round towers at each corner of its square shape and additional ones in the middle of each sides. The whole building has a fairly flat roof with terracotta tiles.
We stayed at the small Auberge des Acacias, which has just four rooms to rent. A cosy place run by a lovely couple Phil and Vero, who are found of the region and of mushroom hunting. Good food and warm atmosphere guaranteed.
We had lunch in a local wine bar, apparently the alternative spot of the village which served burgers and home-made french fries and playing rock music. Green golden-rimmed flags with words like "philosophy" where hanging along the stone walls, perhaps as an invitation to talk about it over a glass of wine.
Next to the beginning of the Stevenson path, there is a chapel with an elaborate wooden panel at the end of the nave, but nowadays the place is empty and probably only used for temporary exhibitions. Not far from it, there is a stone that marks the official point where Stevenson started his journey with Modestine on September 22nd, 1878.
We followed their steps, or rather what is now marked as GR70. It is by no means as popular as the Camino de Santiago, probably 6000 people do it every year, compared with over 100,000 perhaps for the Camino, but everyone agrees to say that it becomes more and more travelled. Walking is increasingly becoming a trendy activity for retired people who are still relatively fit, younger ones in search of a (new) direction in their life or those doing the journey in segments every year because they love nature, exercise and being with their friends. Personally, I am keen to explore my own country, the French art de vivre and nature. Also it makes one realize that a huge part of France is rural and free of urban activities, people and road traffic. The paths we followed made us meet more animals than humans: lots of cows, sheep, a few horses and donkeys in pastures) and pets (dogs who would bark to signal their presence and be acknowledged, cats who would quietly observe and occasionally come to rub their fur against our legs for an ephemeral contact. I am always fascinated by the placidity of cows. They are rarely in a hurry, their pace is always slow and measured but unstoppable at the same time, full of inertia like a big vessel in the sea. Younger ones are curious but their short-sightedness pushes them to come slowly closer and look at passers-by with insistance. I sometimes wonder if it would be fun to be a cow for a couple of days. Of course, there are more excitable races that others, especially in the Landes where there are smallish black cows that are very agile and somewhat aggressive for fights compared with their meat or milk producing sisters.
The first thing we did, after leaving Monastier, was to cross the Gazeille deep down in the valley before ascending towards the opposite plateau in the direction of Saint Martin de Fugères. In this early month of June, flowers were blooming along the way in many colours, red poppies, hays of blue flowers, yellow broom and green grass. Trees and harmonious round hills were shaping the landscape pleasantly. But then the track descended abruptly towards Goudet to cross the Loire again. That was the end of the sunshine, the sky became darker and darker as we ascended to the plateau of Le Boucher Saint Nicolas with its landscape of fir and broom, typical of the Margeride, at an altitude of 1200 metres. We met the rain shortly a few kilometres before Le Boucher, enough to get drenched from head to toes as tall grass poured additional drops of water on our legs. Our wet shoes started to make swooshing noise at every steps. There was an unusual light as a few sun rays filtered through the clouds and coloured the dark sky with yellow hues. Le Boucher Saint Nicolas was cold and we were happy reached our room for the night which was far from overheated. We went for dinner at a local restaurant that had a long table for all travellers going along the Stevenson track. An Englishman, called MacRae (as per the name written on his handbag), was telling the story of Stevenson who had stayed in Le Boucher in the same hostel. Stevenson had had to share his room with a young couple and had been impressed by the lady who had displayed her long beautiful arm on top of the bed cover during the night. At our table, the rest of the travellers were all over sixty year old, travelling in groups of friends for about a week.
The next day, we headed towards Pradelles. We left Le Boucher early following a couple with a golden retriever who had fun running along the fence of a pasture where young cows looked agitated and ran amok because of the dog's presence. As we neared them they looked at us fearfully, ready to run away again.
We traversed the village of Landos before ascending the hills dominating the valley of the Allier river. We stopped for a picnic pretty much on the spot of our thousandth kilometre of walking, looking at green fields and small villages. Pradelles looked pretty on the flank of the hill. Old houses and a Cathedral rebuilt in the 19th century with a silvery roof gleaming like a lighthouse. A storm darkened the sky behind the town and strengthened the contrast with the village that was still under the sun. Pradelles is one of medieval village that has been included on the official list of the most beautiful villages of France. A good number of houses were for sale. One of them, huge but fairly dark was going for as low as 25,000 euros! I was thinking that it could be turned into an alternative nightclub after much refurbishment, but it had the equivalent of three or four storeys as one single space which is quite unique. However Pradelles is no Ibiza yet.
The sky was pristine blue and the sun shining as we walked down to Langogne on a market day. The old city was buzzing, it was an unusual experience for us now used to the quiet of the countryside. The market had amazing cheese stands from various stage of maturity, some looked dangerously old but I am sure they tasted fantastic. Ham, sausages, all sorts of pork cold cuts were also inviting to salivate. We left the merriment a bit sad for we had quite a distance to go before reaching our place for the night deep in the forest of La Gardille. The immediate surrounding of Langogne is a mix of fields and pastures and then forest comes a little higher up.
It was a hot day and we decided to stop for an Orangina in Le Cheylar, in the courtyard of an elderly lady who was running a bar probably more to keep contact with other people than to earn a living. She pointed us to the village fountain when we her asked for water to replenish our supply. It is colder at the fountain than what I could get from the tap, but it is the same water, she said. We had a quick glance at the shape of a chapel dedicated to Notre Dame de toutes les Grâces (our Lady of all Graces), perched on a small hill before departing to the forest as the hostel in Cheylar was full. We therefore had to book a little further in a remote part of the Gardille forest. After a few kilometres of ascend amidst large fir trees we reached the forest lodge of La Gardille. The place is usually booked for private hunting. It has the feeling of a cosy club-house chalet and belongs to a businessman based in Lyon. Strangely, the rooms are accessed through the kitchen. The caretakers are a couple from the North East of France. She welcomed us in a very short summer attire as if to celebrate this sunny day, which may not be too often the case at an altitude of 1300 metres. They had many animals of different sorts, several dogs who were cosily sleeping on the coach of the veranda, geese, chicken that had to be locked for the night to prevent a fox visit. The had a few sheep, one of them was black and had peculiar story. It was rejected at birth by the mother and was taken care of by the dogs who happened to adopt it. Ever since, the black sheep comes to cuddle with the dogs and possibly claim its seat on the coach as well! The following morning, something sinister happened. Two sheep laid down on the grass. One was dead, the second one was only moving his legs feebly. The vet said there was no hope, the second sheep would die soon. In this season of Spring, leaves are sprouting everywhere loaded with sap. Animals love it and feast upon it but some, like sheep can't handle the fermentation that enfolds in their system. This disease is called fluke. The caretaker complained that the sheep were breaking the fence to escape their own pasture. As one puts it, the grass is always greener outside, but too much of a good thing is rarely a good one!
We had lunch in a local wine bar, apparently the alternative spot of the village which served burgers and home-made french fries and playing rock music. Green golden-rimmed flags with words like "philosophy" where hanging along the stone walls, perhaps as an invitation to talk about it over a glass of wine.
Next to the beginning of the Stevenson path, there is a chapel with an elaborate wooden panel at the end of the nave, but nowadays the place is empty and probably only used for temporary exhibitions. Not far from it, there is a stone that marks the official point where Stevenson started his journey with Modestine on September 22nd, 1878.
We followed their steps, or rather what is now marked as GR70. It is by no means as popular as the Camino de Santiago, probably 6000 people do it every year, compared with over 100,000 perhaps for the Camino, but everyone agrees to say that it becomes more and more travelled. Walking is increasingly becoming a trendy activity for retired people who are still relatively fit, younger ones in search of a (new) direction in their life or those doing the journey in segments every year because they love nature, exercise and being with their friends. Personally, I am keen to explore my own country, the French art de vivre and nature. Also it makes one realize that a huge part of France is rural and free of urban activities, people and road traffic. The paths we followed made us meet more animals than humans: lots of cows, sheep, a few horses and donkeys in pastures) and pets (dogs who would bark to signal their presence and be acknowledged, cats who would quietly observe and occasionally come to rub their fur against our legs for an ephemeral contact. I am always fascinated by the placidity of cows. They are rarely in a hurry, their pace is always slow and measured but unstoppable at the same time, full of inertia like a big vessel in the sea. Younger ones are curious but their short-sightedness pushes them to come slowly closer and look at passers-by with insistance. I sometimes wonder if it would be fun to be a cow for a couple of days. Of course, there are more excitable races that others, especially in the Landes where there are smallish black cows that are very agile and somewhat aggressive for fights compared with their meat or milk producing sisters.
The first thing we did, after leaving Monastier, was to cross the Gazeille deep down in the valley before ascending towards the opposite plateau in the direction of Saint Martin de Fugères. In this early month of June, flowers were blooming along the way in many colours, red poppies, hays of blue flowers, yellow broom and green grass. Trees and harmonious round hills were shaping the landscape pleasantly. But then the track descended abruptly towards Goudet to cross the Loire again. That was the end of the sunshine, the sky became darker and darker as we ascended to the plateau of Le Boucher Saint Nicolas with its landscape of fir and broom, typical of the Margeride, at an altitude of 1200 metres. We met the rain shortly a few kilometres before Le Boucher, enough to get drenched from head to toes as tall grass poured additional drops of water on our legs. Our wet shoes started to make swooshing noise at every steps. There was an unusual light as a few sun rays filtered through the clouds and coloured the dark sky with yellow hues. Le Boucher Saint Nicolas was cold and we were happy reached our room for the night which was far from overheated. We went for dinner at a local restaurant that had a long table for all travellers going along the Stevenson track. An Englishman, called MacRae (as per the name written on his handbag), was telling the story of Stevenson who had stayed in Le Boucher in the same hostel. Stevenson had had to share his room with a young couple and had been impressed by the lady who had displayed her long beautiful arm on top of the bed cover during the night. At our table, the rest of the travellers were all over sixty year old, travelling in groups of friends for about a week.
The next day, we headed towards Pradelles. We left Le Boucher early following a couple with a golden retriever who had fun running along the fence of a pasture where young cows looked agitated and ran amok because of the dog's presence. As we neared them they looked at us fearfully, ready to run away again.
We traversed the village of Landos before ascending the hills dominating the valley of the Allier river. We stopped for a picnic pretty much on the spot of our thousandth kilometre of walking, looking at green fields and small villages. Pradelles looked pretty on the flank of the hill. Old houses and a Cathedral rebuilt in the 19th century with a silvery roof gleaming like a lighthouse. A storm darkened the sky behind the town and strengthened the contrast with the village that was still under the sun. Pradelles is one of medieval village that has been included on the official list of the most beautiful villages of France. A good number of houses were for sale. One of them, huge but fairly dark was going for as low as 25,000 euros! I was thinking that it could be turned into an alternative nightclub after much refurbishment, but it had the equivalent of three or four storeys as one single space which is quite unique. However Pradelles is no Ibiza yet.
The sky was pristine blue and the sun shining as we walked down to Langogne on a market day. The old city was buzzing, it was an unusual experience for us now used to the quiet of the countryside. The market had amazing cheese stands from various stage of maturity, some looked dangerously old but I am sure they tasted fantastic. Ham, sausages, all sorts of pork cold cuts were also inviting to salivate. We left the merriment a bit sad for we had quite a distance to go before reaching our place for the night deep in the forest of La Gardille. The immediate surrounding of Langogne is a mix of fields and pastures and then forest comes a little higher up.
It was a hot day and we decided to stop for an Orangina in Le Cheylar, in the courtyard of an elderly lady who was running a bar probably more to keep contact with other people than to earn a living. She pointed us to the village fountain when we her asked for water to replenish our supply. It is colder at the fountain than what I could get from the tap, but it is the same water, she said. We had a quick glance at the shape of a chapel dedicated to Notre Dame de toutes les Grâces (our Lady of all Graces), perched on a small hill before departing to the forest as the hostel in Cheylar was full. We therefore had to book a little further in a remote part of the Gardille forest. After a few kilometres of ascend amidst large fir trees we reached the forest lodge of La Gardille. The place is usually booked for private hunting. It has the feeling of a cosy club-house chalet and belongs to a businessman based in Lyon. Strangely, the rooms are accessed through the kitchen. The caretakers are a couple from the North East of France. She welcomed us in a very short summer attire as if to celebrate this sunny day, which may not be too often the case at an altitude of 1300 metres. They had many animals of different sorts, several dogs who were cosily sleeping on the coach of the veranda, geese, chicken that had to be locked for the night to prevent a fox visit. The had a few sheep, one of them was black and had peculiar story. It was rejected at birth by the mother and was taken care of by the dogs who happened to adopt it. Ever since, the black sheep comes to cuddle with the dogs and possibly claim its seat on the coach as well! The following morning, something sinister happened. Two sheep laid down on the grass. One was dead, the second one was only moving his legs feebly. The vet said there was no hope, the second sheep would die soon. In this season of Spring, leaves are sprouting everywhere loaded with sap. Animals love it and feast upon it but some, like sheep can't handle the fermentation that enfolds in their system. This disease is called fluke. The caretaker complained that the sheep were breaking the fence to escape their own pasture. As one puts it, the grass is always greener outside, but too much of a good thing is rarely a good one!
We resumed our walk through the Gardille forest and the neighbouring Merçoire forest. We came across a few isolated farms and quite a few more cows. Two old men were fishing in the lovely pond of Auradoux. How is it going, I asked. The fishes are lazy today, they are not interested in our bait, answered one, we'll call it a day, anyway lunchtime is around the corner. We descended in the Allier valley towards the village of Luc, whose name comes from Latin and means "Sacred Wood". It was a place where Mercury was worshipped by the Romans. Later a castle was erected in this strategic location overlooking the Allier valley. The castle's square dungeon was turned into a chapel dedicated to the Virgin Mary. In 1878, a large statue of her image was erected on top of the dungeon which required to build a pyramidal concrete shape on top of the chapel. Stevenson and Modestine would have sees the freshly erected statue as they passed through Luc.
We crossed the Allier at Pranlac over an old bridge which demarcates the border between Lozère and Ardèche department. On the other side of the bridge is the village of Laveyrune. It was now time for us to climb the next hill and spend the night at the Cistercian Abbey of Notre Dame des Neiges. Its name is well chosen because snow is abundant in winter there. The place is propicious to silence and remote enough for the Monks to serve God entirely away from the agitation of the world.
The Abbey is nested in a vale at an altitude of 1200m. The Monks have been around in the region since the 12th century but not in the present form. The current Abbey has been built next to a farm, le mas de Felgère. It is only in the sixties that the Abbey has started to run a large hostel open for pilgrims, who are following a pilgrimage called Régordane, and other people coming for retreats at the Abbey in a brand new building. Nevertheless, hospitality has always been offered by the monks to individual travellers like Stevenson who remembered that he had had a lively conversation with the monks because he was Protestant. Nowadays, the Abbey is managing to run their spiritual activities and the hostel in a very balanced way. Pilgrims can attend mass and the management of the hostel is efficiently run to minimize the need for human resources. For instance at dinner, a head of table is nominated and responsible for picking the dishes from the kitchen and to bring them to the table. Then at the end of the meal, pilgrims have to do the washing-up and tidy-up the place. So to speak outsourcing to the customer is the business model.
We crossed the Allier at Pranlac over an old bridge which demarcates the border between Lozère and Ardèche department. On the other side of the bridge is the village of Laveyrune. It was now time for us to climb the next hill and spend the night at the Cistercian Abbey of Notre Dame des Neiges. Its name is well chosen because snow is abundant in winter there. The place is propicious to silence and remote enough for the Monks to serve God entirely away from the agitation of the world.
The Abbey is nested in a vale at an altitude of 1200m. The Monks have been around in the region since the 12th century but not in the present form. The current Abbey has been built next to a farm, le mas de Felgère. It is only in the sixties that the Abbey has started to run a large hostel open for pilgrims, who are following a pilgrimage called Régordane, and other people coming for retreats at the Abbey in a brand new building. Nevertheless, hospitality has always been offered by the monks to individual travellers like Stevenson who remembered that he had had a lively conversation with the monks because he was Protestant. Nowadays, the Abbey is managing to run their spiritual activities and the hostel in a very balanced way. Pilgrims can attend mass and the management of the hostel is efficiently run to minimize the need for human resources. For instance at dinner, a head of table is nominated and responsible for picking the dishes from the kitchen and to bring them to the table. Then at the end of the meal, pilgrims have to do the washing-up and tidy-up the place. So to speak outsourcing to the customer is the business model.
Images:
1/ Monastier sur Gazeille et ses vaches
2/ Le Boucher Saint- Nicolas under the rain
3/ the market in Langogne
4/ the black sheep of La Gardille
5/ Notre Dame des Neiges
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| Le Boucher Saint- Nicolas under the rain |
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| the market of Langogne |
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| the black sheep of La Gardille |
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| Notre Dames des Neiges |
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