Langogne

Monday - 16 April

When we say close shave catching the bus, what we mean to say is that is was one moment before chasing it down the street. In small rural towns it seems common place to only have one or two busses or trains per day and this was our only ride out of Le Puy en Velay. Both hungry and freezing cold in the morning mist at 7am is not the time to be trying to speak French.

The bus collected school children from each of the towns we passed, each collection slightly louder than the previous as the morning drew on. At Langonge we attempted to memorise a map from the train station to the camp site (good one guys, have you had tea at this point you ask). An hour later and we were covering our tracks, asking random French people for directions and finally grumbled our way into the camping.

Naussac Lake is a beautifully set amongst rolling hills and pasture land. We had tea (which likely saved our marriage) and finally finshed pitching the tent. It was now almost 11am and we knew it would be tricky on a Monday to find an open food seller at lunch time (who would have thought - crazy French). Sitting under the Pont Vieux bridge along the GR70 Chemin (way of) Robert Louise Stevenson as part of his epic stroll through this country had us bustling with excitement about the days ahead.

Drinks were a bit of a pre-gruelling walk treat purchased enjoyed in a little country bar tended to by identical twins. Back at our campsite we were sitting high on the hill eating dinner while watching a thunderstorm move across the lake in completely the opposite direction of our adventure tomorrow, whew.

The Meeting - 17 April

Our walk through the Lozere, Cevenne and Gevandaun would not be complete without a strong, obedient donkey to assist with our food and equipment.

We ate briefly next to the lake in the reception of the campsite waiting for the truck to pull up. Once those doors were flung open and his big brown eyes found ours we knew this experience was going to be worthwhile.

May we introduce Loustic, a 5-6 year old brown donkey with white underbelly, patient and kind personality, seeming disproportionate ears and an eee-h-ooore that give you goose bumps. ok, so he is a bit rough around the edges but forgiven immediately when without complaint he accepted approximately 35 kgs worth of food, water, cameras, maps, tents...

It may seem easy to some, but for two cityslikers like us to take a lesson in donkey etiquette, management and obediance in French was a little tricky. In brief the requirements are to ensure a big drink each day, planty of grass overnight, don't give in to the eyes when being stubborn, a brush each morning before getting dressed with luggage rack, let him think about water crossings before diving in and always clean his feet before marching off. Easy, just translate into waving hands, French country slang and lots of nodding and you have the general gist.

Here we go, the walk has begun and without delay our affection for this strong animal was growning. As the morning mist lifted off the green pastures it was sure to be a steady pace for the next few days and one that would be both challenging and rewarding.