Camino trip - La France
Monday 14th July, 2025
Day 1 of Journey to and from France
Woke at 3.53, seven minutes before alarm due to sound. Shower, last minute repacking, and away in taxi. Streets abandoned, few seagulls on early morning patrol.
4.15 Bristol Temple Meads
Arrive in taxi from Paul and Maria’s having stayed overnight in Westbury on Trym. Watched Sinner overcome his adversary and friend, Alcaraz, then England women cruise past Wales to secure a place in the next round of European Cup.
Station doors locked. Sit on bench listening to two lying on pavement singing Valerie – quite well. Raspy Jazz voices but after the third disjointed rendition…
Code in, Tickets out. Loo stop. Then on Paddington train. Not the one I booked but earlier, 4.50, so I have more time to transfer to London Pancras and Eurostar. Am hoping if they check tickets they’ll be kind.
After a week of 30+ degrees C, the air conditioning on Coach C is perhaps turned up a little too high; my exposed legs and hands are too cold. Hoping for coffee and something to eat.
Ticket collector took one look at my ticket and said OK. I’m mightily relieved.
Coffee and chocolate croissant purchased. And perhaps air con has become less fierce. Or I’ve adjusted.
Swindon. Carriage probably quarter filled. On table seat. Another fella diagonally opposite. Like me wired up, charger on, laptop open. Wonder if he’s writing a journal as well. It’s unlikely we’ll swap notes, interact, or talk. Suits me.
Theoretically, I could use time to add to the novel, but the scene I’m writing requires greater concentration than I can muster at 5.30. And less wobble. The wobble could lull me into a deep sleep but I’m trying to stay awake - and the slight chill isn’t conducive to sleep.
Looking out of the window across the fields, it’s reminiscent of 1976, the famously hot summer with standpipes, gras fires, and parched, straw coloured grass. Maybe not as severe this summer, despite maximum temperatures very similar. Summer of ’75 was also very hot but eclipsed by ’76.
How am I feeling about this trip? Mentally, I’m taking it one step at a time. That’s not intended to be a very weak joke. The truth is that doing so perhaps masks or reduces the nerves I have about the various connections, including catching the earlier train to Paddington. The effect of this is to discard all thoughts about the Camino trail, speaking French, immersing myself in the heat again, worrying about sweating and whether I can physically do the walk and so on, all to a distant future. I am neither excited nor too daunted. Perhaps it’s just too early, but I suspect the under-control-stress of travelling on my own is to blame.
Made it to St Pancras International. Second flat white and this time a pain au chocolat.
Sitting next to a café table inhabited by four old-style East-End Londoners, judging by accents. Difficult not to believe they’re all golf club members, family men, and criminals who’ve made their dosh and spending in their retirement on international travel, swapping stories of trips to Viet Nam…
Have to wait until 8 before I can progress to boarding so I have half an hour to relax and take in my surroundings. Opposite me sit two girls. Could be 16 or 26 difficult to say. Rucksacks. But reason for recording this is that the one on the left is wearing faded blue flared jeans that wouldn’t have looked out of place in 1970s. Respect.
Paul has appeared as if beamed down from another planet. He travelled by bus, I by train.
Morally, I am in deficit. I’ve lied three times thus far. Once by being on the wrong train and twice telling two beggars that I had no money. Neither looked as if money was the highest priority, nevertheless I lied in order to push on with the journey. The first was a young man in his twenties, wearing jeans with more holes than threads in places, and the second was a well-dressed Indian-looking individual who claimed he needed a place in a nearby hostel. I gave the one in Bristol one of my bottles of water, which he asked for. Neither was aggressive, the second was excessively polite. I deal with these situations on a green light basis, listening to the Spirit perhaps. I’d like to think so. But those two ‘little fibs’ were unnecessary.
Good to have 10 mins or so with Paul.
Cleared tickets and Passport check. Now in departure lounge with maybe a thousand others waiting for boarding instructions a la airports.
I could write about the hassles of each step through Paris, suffice to say London is one step ahead of Paris in that it has long since ditched the Oyster card in favour of using one touch credit/debit cards. Paris should follow suit. Nearly missed train from Paris Gard de Lyon due to problems with ticket machines. Ne’er mind, a miss is as good as a mile and I’m now in Lyon back in the sultry heat. Feels like a thunderstorm is needed.
In Starbucks. Cold orange juice. Rest of very expensive baguette and chocolate muffin as company.
Next link in the chain is a train at 16.54 to Saint Etienne. Last time, in 1982, with NW, we nearly slept through St Etienne and would have ended up in Italy the other side of the Chamonix tunnel. Hopefully not so dramatic this time.
Think I’ve retreated into weary traveller mode looking forward to air-conditioned hotel, shower, and not much else. Theoretically, I could continue with novel but not until my temp has equilibrated.
15 minute delay which meant I missed final leg from St Etienne to Le Puy. En route met lovely young family. Arnold, computer engineer Dad, and his wife, Psychiatrist, with two children: Astrid, their lively 3 year old daughter and another daughter not 1. We talked about sport, sadly diminished for Arnold with a knee problem. I shared my miraculous recovery story which led to a brief discussion around ‘religion’.
Now at St Etienne….close, humid, hot. Paul will arrive in an hour, grab a sandwich and we’,ll do the final leg to Le Puy together.
Men’s loos closed. Tempted to use Ladies. Think it’s lockable one person event. Or may tough it out and go on the train. Sat outside in the shade but very suspicious characters looking for money or trouble. Cooled down and retreated to café in the station, small flat white (au lait this time). Too hot.
Paul duly arrived, picked up a quiche. Pouring outside. Hitting very hot pavements. Humid haze but refreshing. Retreated to platform and alighted final train to Le Puy.
Superb views of sun setting over the Rhine/Rhone?? And into Le Puy over the huge Maddona overlooking the town. So old to arrive. Immediately feel as if the Camino trip has begun. The controlled stress of the journey and connections slips away leaving a sense of joy, relaxation, and adventure.
After checking in in our respective hotels, met at the cobbled wonder that is le Brasserie, bar, cum restaurant tucked away behind the main thoroughfare. Our cognac and Armagnac interrupted by loud bangs – neither of us had clocked it was 14 Juliette, Revolution, storming of the Bastille Day. Staggeringly good firework display watched freely from a square which was used to guillotine those suspected of who knows what. We all clapped at the end of the display, returned to our drinks, and added two Irish Coffees to round off Day 1.
Could/it have gone better? Hardly. And even the parts that were tricky e.g. the ticket machines not working, missing connection, the heat at times, none prevented Bristol A From 3am turning into Le Puy B 1am. 22 hours of a memorable trip within a trip.