Everything hurts, I have at least two germinating blisters and Paul looks as if he is walking on hot coals, but it is day one and we expect nothing else. More positively, the send-off was incredible. Having walked the 5km from Mas Regala (Nellie's home, for which our thanks go to Marie-Jo Taddei) and persuaded Nellie that the narrow streets of La Roquette were negotiable (after an episode of walking circus-style on her hind legs) we entered Place Paul Doumer and a cheering, clapping crowd of friends, family and supporters of Anne-Marie – a brief sense of celebrity, quickly shattered by Nellie emptying her bowels and bladder, in quick succession. But for me, the highlight in all of this was Lucy's (beloved daughter about to turn 21) unexpected appearance, along with a large number of her friends.
Having left the encouraging crowd behind us, our exit from Arles (a fast track introduction to milling pedestrians and impatient traffic for our equestrian country bumpkin) was supposed to include a brief interlude and photograph in front of St Trophime, except that another horse had got there first. Nellie was ecstatic and no doubt impressed by the high-stepping grey beauty, but we were less enthusiastic. The prospect of trying to tear our horse out of a haute-école display being too horrible to contemplate, Paul and I yanked her in the opposite direction and escaped up a side street. Meanwhile, Alex and Lily were looking after Flea, ensuring that he was neither lost or squashed in the crowds of people. I don't know how we do it, but on every trip we seem to arrive just in time for every celebration of every nationality in every town, and always with fractious horses and huge pack bags. It looks as if the tradition will continue.
From here the walk was uneventful and easy, except for some boys who used Nellie as a moving target and an embarassing moment when my battery-powered eyebrow plucker went off in Nellie's pack – she made no comment, but Paul will not let me forget it. I have always eschewed every feminine frippery, make up included, on these trips, but the first time I sneak the smallest and lightest item a woman could ask for, I am discovered within the first few hours!
Next, the junction for Montmajour – hear my sharp intake of breath as the prelude to yet another diatribe against the Association Grande Randonée and others who trace the pilgrim routes and either forget or dismiss the importance of safety for the people who travel them!!! The proposed route is a main road lined with safety barriers, which forces pilgrims into the traffic, an unacceptably dangerous situation for everyone involved. Now imagine this with a horse that is nervous in traffic and walks on her hind legs everytime a truck drives past. Without Mme?? who saw our difficulty and offered us a way out through her farm, we would have had to turn back. The other positive aspect was that it also gave us a unique and very private view of Montmajour itself, an unexpected bonus. On our return, as on so many occasions before, we will spend time looking for a safe alternative to offer in our guidebook. But from here the travelling is good, off-road and up into the undulating scrubland of the Alpilles and past the remains of a Roman acqueduct. Better still, Nellie is now able to show us what she can really do - a transformation from whirling dervish to mountain goat within minutes of leaving the road. Clearly unaware of the bulky packs on her back, our horse is picking her way along narrow paths and up steep inclines confirming everything that has ever been said about the tough, surefooted and strong Merens breed. We love her all over again. Flea is doing fine too, for a dog who was probably brought up in the Arlesian back alleys and on the refuse of its inhabitants. After initially resisting the rucksack, he now understands that it's what gives him a lift when he is tired, meaning that he runs until he has had enough and then jumps up at Paul when he wants to stop.
Unforeseen – the new byword for this journey. The storm in St Gabriele after a brilliant day is unforeseen, as is Nellie's reaction. None. The heavens open, bang, crash and lit up like Trafalgar square on New Year's Eve, but she remains unperturbed while Paul, Flea and I huddle down and try not to think about all our stuff getting soaked outside and in. Having said this, I have to add that she is anything but calm the next morning, tying herself up in knots on the lead rope and digging a cratar in one of the (fortunately) tolerant campsite owner's pitches.
Accommodation – camping, rating: good/PR. Horses accepted if tethered. Mas Ginoux carrefour St Gabriel 13150 TARASCON 04 90 91 19 83
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