Hiking The Cevennes National Park/Tarn Gorge - Southern France

[s'étonner]

A few weeks ago I completed a 6 day solo hike through parts of the Cevennes National Park and the Tarn Gorge in the south of France. It was my first hiking excursion and I'd been planning it since last year. I still don't know exactly how far I walked but I estimate around 100 miles (~15 miles per day).

I followed two trails during my trip. The first three days were spent following a section of the GR70 or 'Robert Louis Stevenson Trail' through the Cevennes. The walk follows (approximately) the route covered by RLS when he wrote his book 'Travels With A Donkey In The Cevennes' (a fantastic read by the way, and very funny!). Upon reaching the town of Florac on the third day, I then deviated from the GR70 to follow a lesser-known trail which followed the entire Tarn Gorge. My route concluded at the campsite which my family visit every summer, situated at the other end of the Tarn Gorge.

I apologise now for how rambling and badly-written this report is likely to be. Part of the reason I'm writing it is just so that I remember it. I hope that some people on here will find some of it at least mildly interesting!

Also, a big thank you to Sandbender and Shewie from this forum, both of whom were extremely kind in offering me help and advice when I was planning the trip. Cheers guys!

Route:

I'm no good with exporting maps from Google Earth I'm afraid! Here are a few screenshots and links to give a rough idea of where I was walking.





http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cévennes_National_Park

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tarn_Gorges

Equipment:

I camped every night during my hike (apart from the day of arrival where I slept at a Gite before setting off).

I won't bore you all with the multitude of lists and spreadsheets that I created during the planning stages of this trip (much to the amusement of my girlfriend, who for some strange reason, just couldn't understand why I needed to meticulously weigh every single item of my outfit! ). Suffice to say that my motto was: 'the lighter the better', and I ended up with a base-weight (everything minus food/water/fuel) of around 6kg's. This would later bemuse lots of French people carrying massive rucksacks who didn't believe that I was camping. *smug*

Here is a rough breakdown of what I carried. As you will see, I probably should have approached Karrimor for some kind of sponsorship deal. Some of their gear was great (trekking poles) and some not so great (sleeping mat), but all of it was cheap, so that's why I used lots!

Big Three:
ULA OHM 2.0 (amazing rucksack. definitely my best bit of gear.)
Tarptent Notch (super light tent but unfortunately, I discovered that French cats are able to sneak in under the doors of these things during the middle of the night just when you're drifting off to sleep in order to raid your tin of sardines)
Karrimor Synthetic Sleeping Bag
Karrimor inflatable sleeping mat (this poxy thing never stayed inflated during the entire trip, making for some sleepless/uncomfortable nights)

Clothes:
2x Karrimor running t-shirts
Karrimor Running shorts
sondico compression shorts (my single pair of underwear for 6 days. yum!)
3x Karrimor 'anti-blister' socks (worked great until the 4th day, when I developed massive blisters. I think this was because I stopped trying to clean my socks each night)
Karrimor hiking trousers with zip-removable legs to double as shorts.
Regatta thin fleece
Mizuno trail running shoes

Other bits:
Karrimor Carbon Trekking poles (also served as my tent poles! these things are an absolute bargain for 30 quid, although the bottoms of them did melt in the heat)
First aid kit (contained copious amounts of ibuprofen, immodium, blister plasters, and a tick remover amongst other things)
Cook kit (I used a meths stove fashioned out of a small cat food tin and it worked really well)
Navigation equipment (4 Topo maps and a compass)
mp3 player
phone
phone charger
camera

Hygiene:
sun lotion
hotel bar of soap/karrimor keyring hand towel (served as an entire body towel!)
hand sanitiser



I've missed quite a bit off but you get the idea! On with the rambling/photos....


Day 1:

My journey began at about 1am at Leicester bus station, where I got a National Express to Luton Airport, from which I flew to Nimes, landing at 9am French time. Here's a photo I took on the plane as it looked as though the plane was going over the Cevennes, where I would be hiking for the next week:



As I had been travelling all night without sleep, I hadn't planned to start hiking on this first day and instead simply had to get a train from Nimes to a small village called La Bastide Puylaurent where I had a room booked at a Gite (like a French B&B for hikers). I would start hiking from nearby the following morning. The Gite I used was kindly recommended to me by forum user Sandbender, and it did not disappoint! Both dinner and breakfast were included and the food/hospitality were fantastic.

Here's my room with all my stuff laid out on one of the beds:





Here's the dining area:



A lovely seating area:




Day 2:

I shortened the first days hike by getting a 10 minute train journey from La Bastide Puylaurent to Chasserades that saved me several hours of walking. The days route took me through a few small villages, into lots of piny forest which went up over the Goulet range of hills, and back down past the ruined ancient hamlet of Serremejan. After leaving the forest, the trail then descended some more until finally reaching my destination- the small town of Le Bleymard. The days route also featured perhaps the most spectacular sight of the whole journey- the source of the river Lot (photo to come, hold your suspense for now!)

Approaching the village of Mirandol, with its fantastic viaduct:



Going under the viaduct:



Looking back to Mirandol, and in the distance Chasserades, where I had started walking from:



After passing through Mirandol I came across a group of French walkers. They were two couples probably in their 40's. I began chatting with them (thankfully one of them spoke very good English) as we started the long, steep climb up the Goulet range. I ended up walking with these four people for the rest of the day, all of the way to Le Bleymard! It was nice going at their pace and talking. They were very friendly and it stopped me from ploughing on too quickly and wearing myself out on the first day.

Here is the first of many terrible photos of me! Taken by one of the French walkers as we passed through the eerie, deserted hamlet called Serremejan:







Leaving the ruined hamlet, I encountered the first people on my trip mad enough to attempt the hike with an actual donkey, as an ode to Robert Louis Stevenson himself! Here is the donkey as we passed by, its owners somewhere out of shot eating their lunch.



The piney forest we were walking through was very peaceful, and offered plenty of shade on what was quite a hot day. Eventually, we started to descend, and some nice views opened up from between the trees:



It was at this point that we saw a sign daring us to deviate from the trail by a few hundred metres in order to witness the epic sight that was The Source Of The River Lot. Prepare to be amazed...



































Sarcasm aside it was quite interesting to look at the tiny puddle/trickle of water emerging from the ground knowing that eventually somewhere else in France it would be part of a huge river.

Emerging from the forests, our descent continued through some lovely valleys and meadows. I kept noticing the lichen stuff that coated all of the birch trees around us:



I also saw the most horses hoof fungi on one tree that I have ever come across:



As we neared Le Bleymard, the terrain opened up, offering up some pretty nice views, and more bad photos of yours truly!





Finally our destination of Le Bleymard could be seen in the valley below.



After getting a goodbye photo of my French chums, I departed for my campsite whilst they headed off to find their hotel (wusses! ). It would not be the last I saw of them.



I found my campsite half empty, and with no-one there to take my money!

Wondering what to do, I approached a cyclist who was sitting outside of his tent. I should explain that by this point, I was still having trouble trying to remember the few meagre scraps of French that I actually bothered to learn when still at school. Consulting the bible (my phrasebook), I nervously mumbled some ill-pronounced bits of question at the cyclist, which hopefully meant 'do I have to pay up front.... a campsite.... please...'?

I was met with a puzzled look and a similarly badly-pronounced reply in French. I realised that of course, this man was English too. After ribbing him for apparently being fooled by my perfect French accent, I found out he hadn't paid either and that the owners would probably come to collect their money later in the evening.

I pitched my tent next to the Lot -which was by now happily bubbling its way past the campsite- and wandered off into town for some local cuisine (who wants cous cous mixed with cuppa soup every night when you're in southern France?).

I got back to find my inflatable sleeping mat deflated, and a note outside my tent saying something incomprehensible to me in French. Whether the two incidents were related or not I will probably never know, but I decided to post some euros through the box at the campsite entrance, and went to bed. I was knackered but the carafe of wine that I'd had with my meal helped to ease my tired legs. Tomorrow I was to climb Mont Lozere- the highest point in the entire Cevennes National Park....

 

[sandbender]

I enjoyed that, some good memories for me. Looking forward to the rest.

Any sign of the 'beast' while you were there?

 

[s'étonner]

Thanks Sandbender

Fortunately not- I started after that section to avoid being eaten.

 

[Badger74]

Nice write up, but one question.

Were you sponsored by Karrimor

 

[blacktimberwolf]

Great stuff...........Les Cevennes is prehaps my favourite place in France ( Lozère comming a close second) & I know Le Pont-de-Montvert very well indeed

The donkeys are rented by the way.

 

[Elen Sentier]

I can smell the pine tres just looking at the pix , looking fwd to the next installment ...

 

[s'étonner]

Thanks guys! I should get some more posted tomorrow!

If you read again Badger, you'll see that I debated approaching Karrimor for some kind of sponsorship deal!

 

[leedsbrew]

fantastic, can't wait for part 2

 

[sargey]

great write up! thanks.

quite close to my old stomping gound. was living in nimes many years ago. who knew there flights dreckly from luton!? awesome!

cheers, and.

 

[Dannytsg]

Great write up. Thanks for sharing

 

[s'étonner]

Day 2:


I awoke on day 2 after about 1 hours sleep, (acquired in 10 minute intervals between re-inflating my sleeping mat!) to find that the rain which had begun during the night had still not stopped. I decided to make a coffee before packing up and scaling the peak of Mont Lozere. It was then that I discovered that the man I couldn't really understand properly at the supermarket in Nimes was correct- what I had bought to use as stove fuel was not usable as stove fuel, despite being some kind of flammable, alcoholic liquid. With coffee off the menu I decided to just eat some haribo, neck a few pro plus tablets and get on with doing what I was avoiding- going out in the rain and packing everything away before starting the ascent to the top of Mont Lozere.


When I did get up I was met with a sky that was more reminiscent of England than southern France. Foggy, misty, wet, drizzly greyness. And looming above was the foot of Mont Lozere, disappearing up into the gloom. Mocking me. I bought some alcool a bruler at the supermarket in Le Bleymard (what I couldn't find in Nimes for my stove) and began the ascent.


I should explain at this point that last August, I managed to get a groin strain and achilles tendonitis when running, both on my left side. Even now, both injuries still have a tendency to flare up at times, although physio work is helping. When I started the climb up Mont Lozere, I could feel my achilles tightening up, and I was quite frankly, bricking it. I went at a painfully slow pace as the trail became steeper and steeper, trying not to flex my leg too much.


Here are some photos of the track up Mont Lozere, K2 it may not be, but I assure you that it was a lot steeper than the pictures show!







And just when you thought you were near the top, you'd turn a corner and...




























More...





Its nice to know that when you reach the top the view is going to be worth it....





Alas, this was not the top of Mont Lozere, just a ski chalet and some other ugly buildings situated about two thirds of the way up. After angering the chalet barman by asking to use the toilet before ordering a drink, rather than after (offensive to the French apparently!), I drank a coffee and decided to change my route slightly. Rather than climb to the summit amidst the heavy cloud, I chose to take an easier alternative route via the GR7, which skirted around the highest point, climbing more gradually, before descending the other side of the hill. It was momentarily annoying thinking that I wouldn't be able to brag about hitting the summit, until I remembered that I had another 4 days of walking to go and that there would be no views up there anyway because of all the cloud.

Just as I set upon my way I again bumped into my French friends from yesterday, who looked as though they were not enjoying the weather! We said hello briefly before going our separate ways.

The GR7 started out as what looked like a bit of old abandoned road:





Before leading on to a tiny path that lead me around a ridge and then under a ski lift.



Later I passed one of the ancient stone waymarkers that are found all over Mont Lozere:




I then reached a road which slowly lead me over the rest of the hill, passing through a large forest. I emerged on the other side to a more barren landscape, littered with large granite boulders known by the French as 'Chaos'. The photos I took here don't really capture the rock formations that well, but as the weather cleared up a bit, the landscape almost felt a bit like the wild west.







Rounding a bend in the road, I could finally see the hamlet of Finiels below me, where I would rejoin the GR70 after its descent from the summit of Mont Lozere:




I reached Finiels and stopped for lunch. The road walking hurt my sodden feet, so I decided to put some foot powder on them/air them, which felt divine! The sight of my wet, pruney feet did seem to concern some passing walkers though. If only they'd seen them by day 6!

After continuing on down the valley for another 6km, Chaos strewn across the hillsides above me, Le Pont-De-Montvert came into sight.




I couldn't wait to get there; out of all the villages and towns that my walk went through, this one was always going to be the most interesting, given its history. During the 17th century, this town witnessed an event that started a religious war. At the time, protestantism was outlawed in France and the town archpriest took to brutally torturing Protestants in his cellar. Consequently, an angry mob came to his house one night and stabbed him 52 times! This sparked a religious war that continued for many years afterwards. The town didn't look like it had changed all that much since then either. The same can be said for much of this region of France; you can really feel the history of the place.


Some photos from inside the town, where 3 rivers converge. This was also my first sight of the river Tarn, which I would follow for the remaining 4 days of my trip:
















I was in high spirits upon reaching the campsite at Pont-De-Montvert. I had successfully kept the aches and pains at bay by taking the alternative route around the summit, and by taking my time. I had also managed to overcome the bad weather and slight feelings of trepidation regarding my injury, and had a thoroughly enjoyable days walk. It was nice to know that my preparation in the months before the trip were paying off, and conquering challenges alone really does give a great sense of satisfaction. My spirits were lifted further when I rang my mum to find out that my uni results had been posted, and I'd passed with first class honours- a total surprise. I assumed that she'd read the form incorrectly!

After pitching up my tent, a guy on a bicycle pulled up on the pitch next to me. It turned out that he was an English man named Paul, who was spending 2 months cycling all over France, covering many hundreds of miles. We immediately struck up a good rapport, agreeing that the first priority for both of us was to find the place "where they stabbed 'im" (apparently the building still existed, although only the foundations remained of the original structure). As we discussed our mutual love of Robert Louis Stevenson's famous book and the area in general, Paul managed to put a sizeable gash in his own hand when trying to cut some tape off his broken tent poles. A big laugh was had by us both later that evening, when he reflected that he had picked an appropriate town to stab himself in!

Here is a photo of both mine and Paul's tents pitched up. We had a fantastic view of a chaos-covered hill towering above us:



Meeting Paul was definitely one of the highlights of my trip, as the evening wore on, I got to find out more and more about his own journey, and his life back in Cornwall, where he spent much of his time surfing and out walking on the moors. His day job was as a self-employed stoneworker on building renovations and old walls. Here was a man who clearly lived for the outdoors, and had a lot of practical skills. He had built his own fibre glass/wooden bike panniers and a host of other things. I felt a bit lazy looking at my own outfit, which was all purchased and perhaps a little over-indulgent (particularly my Tarptent!).

I discovered that Paul was covering many miles across the country, cycling from the moment he left the ferry, he kept a journal throughout each day, along with lots of photographs. He was clearly savouring the entire experience and taking in every detail. This reminded me to do the same, when often I had been more preoccupied with just focussing on my next destination. Meeting Paul certainly caused me to appreciate my surroundings a lot more during the second part of my trip, and for that I am very thankful.

We explored Le Pont-De-Montvert together, and having someone familiar with stonework in my company was also very handy considering the multitude of ancient stone buildings that filled the town!

After cooking up some cous cous with sardines and tinned veg on my stove back at the tents, I retired to bed. Just as I was drifting off, I heard a strange noise coming from very close by. I sat up and unzipped the inner tent door to see a cat staring back up at me with wide eyes, standing guiltily over the empty sardine tin sitting in my tent vestibule! I shouted to fend off the feral beast and went and binned the empty can. Lesson learned.

 

[sandbender]

Good stuff, I had better weather, although there was some snow during the ascent of Mont Lozere.

Journals for long journeys, very important I have found.

 

[kawasemi]

Excellent - I am lucky enough to take my Geography students to Mont Lozere in Les Cevennes on a regular basis. A beautiful part of the world. Next year is planned already

kawasemi

 

[s'étonner]

Day 3:


By day 3, the weather was hotting up. The destination was the tourist town of Florac- considered by many to be the capital of the Cevennes. From there, I would begin the second part of my journey, leaving the RLS trail and heading west to follow the Tarn gorge for another 3 days.

The GR70 does not take a straight forward route to Florac (situated to the west of Le Pont-De-Montvert). Instead, it goes south for a bit, up a load of massive hills where there would likely be little shade from the relentless sun, then eventually snakes its way into Florac. I decided instead to take a more direct route to Florac by following the road alongside the Tarn. This is the route that Robert Louis Stevenson actually took, but I'd be lying if I said that that was my reason for going that way. On the contrary, according to the Cicerone guidebook, by taking the road instead of the trail, I'd be missing out on the finest views of the entire GR70. However, the muscles of my left leg were feeling the effects of two long days of walking and Paul agreed that taking the road rather than following the trail would be a much more sensible decision. Like when I decided to skip the summit of Mont Lozere, it felt like a tough, but a sound decision. My priority was ensuring that I did not irritate my lingering muscle injuries, and could complete the entire 6 days walk in relative comfort.

Taking the road also meant that I could head out of town with Paul, who had agreed to walk a small way with me before then continuing his days journey to far beyond Florac. Being on a bike, he could cover perhaps 2 or 3 times as much distance as me in a day easily. However, as we reached the road out of town, Paul slowly cycling along beside me as I walked, I prepared to say my goodbyes, but he said "I'll just walk with you a little further".

We continued to chat away, stopping at every possible opportunity to admire the landscape. It was the same every 50-100 yards or so- the road would take another bend around the valley, revealing yet another stunning view of the Tarn below us, or perhaps some fascinating old piece of building, bridge or other stonework. We would stop, marvel at it, take some photos, and Paul would immediately have his notebook out, furiously scribbling down what he was seeing.

Here is our view from the road looking back to Le Pont-De-Montvert as we left it behind:


Looking down the valley ahead of us:




After the last days walk, taking the pace slowly and just enjoying the surroundings was exactly what my body needed. It was great just to chat and enjoy the scenery and the atmosphere of the environment. There was always so much to look at. At one point, we passed a collection of bee hives right next to the road:



As I looked over at the hives, and the hills behind them, Paul asked for my camera and took this snap of me (the 'Rock Tape' on my leg is to try to help alleviate the achilles/calf tightness I had been experiencing a bit of):


We continued on, chatting away like you wouldn't believe. Paul decided that he would just camp in Florac with me. I think after 3 weeks of cycling solo all the way from Brittany, he was glad of the company, and the snail-like pace of a walker!

As we began to think about stopping for lunch, we passed a metal drain with bars over it, as I looked down, I saw the only snake I managed to spot during my whole trip, basking underneath the drain cover. Unfortunately, it immediately slithered off into the drain before I could get my camera out.

We wanted to find a place to comfortably sit down for lunch, but the road passed through no villages until it neared Florac. As we turned another bend, we were met with the most amazing scene down by the river. A beautiful cliff face jutting out, lots of smooth flat rock visible below, and pine trees dotted over the hillsides, clinging on where they could.

As we both stood admiring the scene below us, Paul noted something that I had not- the landscape and geology had begun to change; the valley around the river was now narrowing to become the Tarn Gorge. The gorge is something that I have known since I was a child when my family first began visiting this region on camping holidays. The rock formations and the landscape have always fascinated me, conjuring images of stone-age man, and of a world that has existed far longer than humans have. There's a mystery and a harshness to the landscape that I find fascinating and intimidating in equal measure. It was a great moment to see this part of the river, knowing that it was effectively the beginning of the Tarn Gorge, and that I would now follow it for another 3 days to where it again opens up into a large valley.

He is the scene we saw. Obviously my hastily-taken photographs do it no justice.


As we walked on a little way, Paul noted an opening in the vegetation beside the road, up above the river. Wheeling his bike over, he had a quick look, wondering if it was a path. He concluded that it was not. Unsatisfied, I decided to give a more thorough inspection, unburdened by a heavy bicycle, I went through the opening and pushed some branches aside to see that the opening continued down. It was a path!

The perfect picnic spot:






After eating, Paul wanted to dip his feet in the Tarn. This soon turned into a swim. Jumping into the lovely clear, refreshing water of the Tarn after hiking in the 33 degree heat was one of the most memorable moments of my entire trip. I will never forget it. I was reluctant to get in at first, god knows why. But it wouldn't have been the same if I hadn't. I have Paul to thank for that!

We reluctantly left the beach, half playing with the idea of wild camping there for the night, (which in hindsight would have been absolutely incredible). But alas, it was still afternoon, and unlike Paul, I had a tight itinerary to stick to. This is why my next trip needs to be for at least a month- it allows you to change plans!

The remaining walk to Florac passed through some nice little villages, before we began to encounter groups of GR70 hikers, who were finally stumbling down from the hills, looking shattered after their long slog. We both agreed that an afternoon swim and stroll was much more welcome! And of course, we were far more authentic, as we had followed Stevenson's original route

Here is a snap from inside a small village just outside of Florac:


And the only photo I have of Florac itself, as I tried desperately to conserve my camera battery, which had been on 1 bar since Le Pont-De-Montvert!


In truth, Florac was perhaps the least favourite of the towns I passed through. Not that it wasn't extremely pretty. It just felt so bland and modern having just left Le Pont-De-Montvert. After pitching up at a rather large campsite on the outskirts of town, we went to get some food shopping and a cheap dinner somewhere. This was a rare treat for Paul, who had ended up having the laziest day of his entire trip. He'd covered perhaps a quarter of his usual daily distance, during which he basically just rolled along on his bike, and for the first time in the past month, he wasn't cooking his own dinner in his tent. After cycling there from Brittany, I think he probably deserved at least one rest day!

I went to sleep slightly anxious about the following day. I would be leaving the popular and well sign-posted GR70 for a lesser known trail, which I would follow for the second part of my trip. I would likely encounter very few other walkers on this route which would be nice for the solitude, but bad in an emergency. However, it was great to think that I was now embarking on my own journey to follow the entire Tarn Gorge, rather than walking amongst many others on the more well-trodden path of Robert Louis Stevenson's route.

 

[s'étonner]

I said my goodbyes to Paul in the morning and set off to the river bank in Florac, where I picked up the trail that I would be following for the next 3 days. It was pretty nerve wracking at this point because I knew I had to cover 30km to reach Sainte-Enimie, where I would be camping for the night. This was a long day for me, especially given the 30+ degree heat! My main concern though was how well way-marked the new trail would prove to be.

I joined the start of the trail on what felt a bit like a canal towpath, this then became a lane for a while, leading me to a tiny hamlet up on a hill with some ruined buildings amongst it. Here, there was a little stone hut and a sign that indicated I was at the beginning of the Tarn Gorge trail:





I left the hamlet, encountering a tiny dog which had no fear and followed me down through all of the houses, barking furiously at my feet until I was off around the corner!

The path was now what I had been expecting: rocky, gravelly old drove road that wound and contorted its way up and down with the gorge, the river rushing away somewhere far below me. That was until I reached a lovely section that passed through pine forest, on a surfaced track, on which I encountered several people on horses, and also bikes. All of whom seemed a bit bemused, and even amused at the sight of me hiking!



I eventually descended on this lane, reaching an impressive old bridge which allowed me to cross the river into the beautiful town of Ispagnac, where I could have a look round before crossing the river again to rejoin the trail.



An incredibly scenic little town, the high point was surely the 11th century church:



It was surreal walking down such picturesque little streets.





Seeing such a pretty place certainly did a good job of distracting me from the long distance I still had to cover. But I was soon back across the river and onto the trail once again. Whilst the way-markers were more sporadic on this path compared to the GR70, they were still fairly regular, and at the trailhead following each town, you'd get a sign like this:



The yellow and green stripes would be what I was looking out for over the next 3 days walking. As I left each town along this trail, there would be a familiar pattern whereby the path would start out as a nice surfaced track, before turning into windy, rocky drove road again.

Looking down the gorge after leaving Ispagnac:






The terrain was becoming much more challenging than on the GR70; the constantly undulating pathway, which clung to the side of the gorge, sometimes passed across loose slopes of scree. Looking down would often give me a bit of a surprise as I realised just how much of a long way down the river was. You wouldn't want to fall over. At one point, I was passed by a couple who were brave enough to be mountain biking this bit of the route. I had just spotted a fossil right in the middle of the path, and I excitedly pointed it out to them as they neared. I have never seen two more disinterested people!





The fossil:


Whilst much of the path would be high up in the gorge, it would regularly descend down towards the river, leading you through dark shaded areas with interesting rock faces and yet more abandoned buildings from many years ago:



However, the path would soon have you scrambling back up towards the top of the gorge, to admire the views.



This was proving to be a long days walk, and it was lunchtime. Reaching a lower section, I passed the cycling couple, who were perched on a wall eating their lunch beside the Tarn. I didn't want to sit with them as they seemed pretty grumpy, so carried on for a few minutes to find the perfect lunch spot- an unopened campsite beside the river which had picnic benches placed in the shade of a massive tarpaulin strung up between some trees. Lovely. I was smug. I took off my shoes to air my feet, and tucked in to my daily lunch: demi baguette, sausage, and cheese. Lots of cheese. All of the cheese. France surely has the best hiking food. Cheese.



One notable experience after lunch occurred when I entered a practically empty campsite to top up my water bottles in at a toilet block (I always liked to keep around 3 litres on me). The taps looked filthy, and the sink had some leaves in. However, the water coming out looked clean. I decided to fill one of my small bottles before noticing some elderly people sitting outside a nearby caravan chatting. I piped up with something that hopefully meant "excuse me, is this water safe to drink?". One of the women, smiling, said yes, before she was interrupted by an angry looking man next to her who shouted something to the effect of "and do you have permission to take the water?". It was at that point I decided to leave (with my newly-acquired litre of water).

Walking during that part of the day was extremely hot! I always set off early in the morning but I would inevitably end up walking during the heat of the day regardless, as I never liked to rest for too long. I would always top up my sun tan lotion around lunchtime, put on my sunglasses (I always wore a sunhat) remind myself to drink even more water than usual, and take regular little breaks in the shade. The heat really was relentless. Luckily the views were stunning as usual:













I eventually came across one of the most memorable little villages of my trip, known as Castelbouc. The first thing I saw as I rounded a bend, was the ruined Chateau de Castelbouc, which towers over the village, perched atop a rocky outcrop:



Up close:













Here I encountered some German students, who were on a school trip. They'd been dropped off at Castelbouc and had to hike a few km's down the river before wading across this weir.



I continued on. More abandoned buildings and stunning views:





















Stopping for a break beside the river:



The face of a man who has walked too far....





After what had been a very long day, I finally left the trail to take the road to a campsite just before Sainte-Enimie. My legs could just about carry me!



Collapsed inside my tent:



At 15 euros, this campsite was the most expensive that I encountered on my walk (over double what I had been paying previously), which was somewhat ironic as unlike any other campsites, the facilities left a lot to be desired. Not that it really mattered, it was just what I needed. Especially with a view from the tent like this:



The campsite:







My evening at this campsite was actually a low point of my trip. I was exhausted and it was annoying not having Paul around to cheer me up! I found myself feeling pretty sorry for myself. It really is a much more intense experience when you're alone on a trip. You have to be very good at taking a step back from your own emotions and rationalising them, because no-one else is there to give that perspective for you. A hot meal of cous cous and cuppa soup before bed certainly helped! I just wish that I hadn't have been so tired, then I could have walked down the road to Sainte-Enimie and explored the town- I wouldn't have time in the morning. But unfortunately, my legs were just not going to let me do that!

 

[Elen Sentier]

I'm loving this . Makes me want to go back, was there in the late 80s and early 90s.

 

[s'étonner]

Glad you're enjoying the write-up. Thanks for reading! I want to go back already and it was only a month or so ago that I finished! I think next year I'm going to do a longer hike that also goes along the plateau at the top of the gorge.

 

[Elen Sentier]

Glad you're enjoying the write-up. Thanks for reading! I want to go back already and it was only a month or so ago that I finished! I think next year I'm going to do a longer hike that also goes along the plateau at the top of the gorge.

Should be beautiful ... wish I was there . Like the look of Sandbender's gite too ...

 

[sandbender]

Enjoying these, I'd actually forgotten about Castelbouc.

 

[digitracker]

Best write up i have read on here, love the photos as well, well done. Glad you had such an exciting adventure.