Morning, Nellie wakes with a soft whinny, that might have been an equine version of «what time do you call this then?» We get up, aching and sore from the various rocks and roots we have been sleeping on, but otherwise in a reasonably good state, though Flea is shivering with the cold. We find the coat that was supposed to have growing room in it, but it is far too small and Paul comments that he must be the only pilgrim wearing a Burberry on the Chemin de St Jacques. Then we get going - walking along the top of the world, staring incredulously across valleys that we have crossed and re-crossed and seeing, for the first time the distances we have travelled and the heights we have reached. Incredible.
Midday, we are in Tallard, riding under the shadow of its chateau, but also looking for a place to stop for a beer and a sandwich. We are dithering around because we can't find a good place to tether Nellie. «Put her in the boulodrome» a man shouts over from the bar. «But what if she shits in there?» I ask. «The lumps will test their skills.» He shouts back. So we go in, drink a number of beers, share some bread with Nellie and receive more excellent instructions, this time with regard to a quieter road out of the town and in the direction of the place where we will be staying for the night.
All goes well until we come off the quiet road and onto a main one that takes all the traffic to Marseille. Nellie, as ever, ignores the trucks and speeding cars, but when two collide to her left with a screech of brakes and smashed headlights, her calm is briefly and understandably shattered, as is mine. What the hell happened? The two cars have stopped some 50 metres ahead and a woman is screeching and waving her arms around. At first I think she must be hurt, but I quickly realise that she is swearing at us in best Marseilleise and the bloke (her partner) is joining in. «What happened?» I ask. «What the f... are you doing on this road?» the guy demands back, while stompinging in our direction and concluding by thumping me hard in the chest. Paul is there in two seconds, fist poised to smash his nose onto the other side of his face, but fortunately the woman holds her partner back before the situation gets even worse, though she keeps on shouting, as does he. «You're not even from our country.» He goes on. «You've no right to be on our roads.» My response that we live here and probably pay more taxes than he does is lost on him, but when I suggest that we call the police instead, his girlfriend takes over. «No, no police, we are on our way to the doctor, we are stressed ….. no police. Just fuck off and go.» So we do, as fast as we can, though not before partner has spat at Nellie and told her and her owners to get back to their own countries. I am rarely speechless, but it takes me at least ten minutes to produce a rational explanation for what has just happened, in fact I am still struggling to understand it as I write. I suspect that the two cars were following each other too closely and that the driver of the second one was distracted by seeing a horse on the side of the road and ran into the back of the first. Someone had to be to blame, and as they were all friends, the only other scapegoat could be the 'foreigners'. From here the madness continues, but in the most congenial of ways. Our chambre d'hote is just a kilometre ahead and home for just about every animal you could imagine. First there are the goats (Nellie's favourite – she stops and stares wistfully every time we pass goats or hear their bells), then the chickens, the donkey, the shetland pony and finally the emus. Our host proposes that we let her loose in the field and see what happens. I am not so sure. Nellie is already reacting badly to the shetland's amorous grunting, and the emus, who are dangerously inquisitive are at risk of being laid out by one flick of her hind leg. Finally, the owner of the beasts comes out and suggests another field where they can touch noses, but nothing else, and so all is well. We can shower, eat and sleep, knowing that no one will come to harm and Nellie will be able to eat her fill of the lush grass.
Accommodation – rating: Good/PR. Good horse facilities, in separate field. 27 euros per person, breakfast included. Warm welcome. La Grange, Le Petit Collet, Route de Marseille, 05130 - TALLARD 06 86 66 77 12
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