At the hotel in Aumont Aubrac, a serving of the famous aligot – cheesy mashed spud – filled four big holes. (The next night I was to eat a different version of aligot, using coarsely scalloped spuds.)
We were going to need our aligot. Check this view from the window next morning:
After breakfast, Cecil peeled off from the group to return to Germany.
A day later, to get down to a slower pace, I took my leave of the québecois. Sad stuff, these Camino divorces. Still, we’re all in touch. (Are you reading this, les compagnons?)
There’s little to tell of those days. Even when still together, the weather kept us apart. Wind, rain, snow, sleet, ice, mud…Did I leave anything out? Here’s the view from our last shared accommodation:
Our last moments together before they headed down the plateau from Nasbinals, where I spent the night. Alone!
The restaurateur advised my friends not to take the track, known as GR65, for the descent, as it was thick with fresh snow.
He advised the road, which had been cleared for traffic.
To miss one marker in the fog or blizzard conditions could result in…well, figure it out. The Canadians took his advice, and I was to do the same the next day. A number of people took the GR, some came through well, others got into trouble. I hope everyone who went that way went in enthusiasm, not in grim conformity to some imagined law of the Camino.
Purists abound on the Camino: people who believe one should always go on the traditional track, people who object to luggage-carrying services, people who think rest days and short days are defeatist. If you’re a purist, you’re on the wrong blog.
I’m a dawdler, a daydreamer, a mucker-about. An impurist.