Soon after 08.00 we were picked up by a jaunty taxi driver – he was going to ferry Julia and I, as well as Jane and Roger (campadres from Perthshire who had also stayed at the Ibis Styles and had signed up to walk the GR70) to Monastier-sur Gazeille, a town about 15 miles south-east of Puy-en-Velay.
Monastier-sur-Gazeille isn’t really geographically correct! The town sits on a hill a good kilometre away from the course of the river. Monastier early on a grey, cold day looked a bit gaunt. It’s worth remembering that the town is 1,200m above sea level – not quite as high as Ben Nevis, but higher than Scafell Pike! I suspect that life is tough in these high, isolated communities.
Our feet initially took us downhill to cross the restless Gazeille, and then climbed quite steeply up onto a volcanic plateau. Whenever the view opened up, the terrain was unlike anything I have seen before: numerous individual hills dotting the landscape as far as the eye could see. These are puys – isolated volcanic hills, and we spent the morning moving in a westerly direction, circumnavigating these topographical bumps.
At the village of St. Martin-de-Fugères, I availed myself of the public conveniences. And for the first time in my life I came across a lady stuck in the lavatory! She wasn’t fat as mentioned in the schoolboy song, but (as it turned out) rather comely and slender. She sensed my lack of native tongue and so resorted to Franglais to convey her plight to me. The door to the loo had become partially unhinged; she had to pull the door from within the closet to open it, but the bottom corner of the door stuck on the floor. It required a minimum force from without to allow the wonky door to open. And yes, I admit it, I allowed myself to bathe in the glow of such heroism.
From St. Martin, there was a steep descent into the Loire valley and the village of Goudet. There were dramatic views of the Château de Beaufort sitting atop a puy on the opposite bank. Goudet, astride the Loire, was pristine with houses decorated with colourful shutters. But it was quiet and cold.
As is usually the case, a descent is followed by a climb. And the ascent out of the river valley was arduous even at my tortoise pace. At least it warmed us up. The ascent brought us to the hamlet of Montagnac and on to the village of Ussel – a suitable place for a late lunch with the commune providing a welcome picnic table.
Our afternoon was slow progress, because of weariness. This was a tough walk particularly for a first day! At Bargettes, we crossed the busy RN88, a rude reminder of the bustle of the 21st century, after a day of bucolic tranquility. My tired legs were delighted to spot the church tower of Le Bouchet-Saint-Nicolas, and when we eventually found ourselves within the village, we rolled up to L’Auberge du Couvige with its metalwork depiction of Modestine (the name given by Stevenson to the donkey that he bought in Monastier), in pride of place outside its entrance.
The auberge, run by two young men, seemed friendly and warm. We were allocated a room with four single beds – the auberge obviously operated as a hostel – but luckily, Julia and I were to be its only occupants. R L Stevenson had stayed at this very hostelry, but shared his room with a married couple, an arrangement which seemed to cause him embarrassment and arouse his curiosity in equal measures!
We popped out before supper to walk around the village. The little grocery shop opposite was open but all else was shut, including the imposing church whose tower had been our guide for the last couple of kilometres of the day. It was starting to rain, so as it happened, our walk only lasted a few minutes.
We scrubbed up before a convivial supper. It was clear that following in the footsteps of RLS is popular with French ramblers; even this early in the walking season, there were many staying at the auberge who were walking all or part of the trail. Although the establishment was full, its car park was empty!
