Walking ACROSS FRANCE: Coast to coast

By Kerry Shoemaker

This is a tale not only about a long walk but also about the day-by-day evolution of our mental and physical transformation during one memorable month in France. This story is about our walk across southwestern France from the Atlantic Ocean to the Mediterranean in September and October of 1995. This adventure was so special to both of us that w

• Language: English
• Publisher: Westwood Books Publishing
• Release date: Feb 12, 2022
• ISBN: 9781685363468

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Copyright © 2022 by Kerry Shoemaker.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

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Contents

Preface

Chapter 1: Getting Ready

Chapter 2: The Scouting Trip in France

Chapter 3: The Walk of a Lifetime

Chapter 4: Scratching the Bug’s Itch

Appendix

PREFACE

Kerry and Jo Shoemaker; autumn 1995; ages, both fifty-five years. This is a tale not only about a long walk but also about the day-by-day evolution of our mental and physical transformation during one memorable month in France. Also, you will discover, it’s about drinking gallons of local wines and eating a lot of remarkable food.

This story is about our walk across Southwestern France from the Atlantic Ocean to the Mediterranean in September and October of 1995. We hiked for thirty-one days for more than three hundred miles, just the two of us—Jo and Kerry Shoemaker, all alone. We carried backpacks holding our clothes and other necessities and slept in hotels, farmhouses, and country inns. Occasionally, people we met along the way would ask how we were traveling. When we told them that we were simply walking, they would invariably comment, "C’est impossible! Pas a’ l’auto-stop? Tout a’ pied? That’s not possible! Not hitch hiking? All on foot? And we would smugly reply, Oui, c’est vrai, tout a’ pied."

This adventure was so special to both of us that when we excitedly related incidents to friends and family, they encouraged us to write down our memories before they faded into the inevitable, unreliable, and irretrievable gray matter, details lost forever. Most of the text comes from the journals that we maintained daily. Sometimes, however, depending on how tired we were or how much local wine we consumed, the journals weren’t as complete as they could have been, and we probably have lost some details. In spite of that, we think that we have accurately captured most of the adventure.

This narration, therefore, was retrieved from two journals that began as separate recollections of each day’s experiences. The feelings at the beginning were mixed and sometimes even conflicting. After a while, our daily writings and our actual feelings became more alike. These feelings resulted from a somewhat mystical transformation that overcame us along the way.

About one week into our journey, we observed that we were becoming almost of one mind as related to our current surroundings, including not only sights, sounds, and smells but also feelings and impressions about our new environment. A scary thought, indeed! For our twenty married years, we had been very independent people, and we respected our mutual differences. However, here we were, two different physical identities who had blended our spirits into one. We experienced everything together, observing, perceiving, analyzing, and reacting almost identically and concurrently. This convergence only lasted throughout the adventure, and we returned to normal immediately afterward. But, it’s another reason we feel it is important to record our story.

You’ll notice that the narrative occasionally slips from past tense to present, and back again. That is how the journals were kept and sometimes present tense verbs were unintentionally transferred to the book and not caught in editing. Kerry’s French language skills were quite adequate to accomplish our mission, however, sometimes details erroneously translated got us into some interesting and usually humorous situations.

Sometimes we have included details that may seem irrelevant, such as the cost of food and lodging. We have done this to maintain a perspective when we look at this story several years from now. As such, we would rather err on the side of too much detail than not enough.

In 1995, the exchange rate was just under five Francs per dollar. In later years, when the French Franc disappeared in favor of the Euro, the French would get one Euro for every 6.55 Francs.

HOW THE TRIP EVOLVED

In the summer of 1994, Jo read a book written by an Englishman, Miles Morland, entitled Miles Away: A Walk Across France. Miles and his wife Guislaine, both in their forties, had walked from Narbonne on the Mediterranean to Bayonne on the Atlantic. This is the same relative path of our trek but in the opposite direction. They were carrying their clothes and personal items in backpacks and also spending nights at various inns, hotels, farmhouses, and bed and breakfasts. The story obviously tickled an adventuresome nerve in Jo.

She encouraged me to read it, and I found the concept fascinating, although I never dared to imagine that we would do such a thing.

One Sunday morning, Jo suggested, Let’s do it ourselves. Let’s walk across France. I know I can make it! I was at once dumbfounded and overjoyed.

Was it really possible? My mind began to race. I thought, This may be the answer to my prayers. I had dreamed for years of taking a long walking trip and sleeping along the way, but hiking isn’t much fun if you go it alone, and I hadn’t been able to find a partner . . . until now. The prospect of attempting such a trip with my very best buddy, who would also share the French country meals, French wines, and French beds, was almost too much to believe. I resolved to do everything in my power to see that this crazy proposal became reality.

THE BUG TO EXPLORE

Whenever people ask us about our trip, we tend to bore the hell out of them. Probably to such a degree that they are soon sorry that they asked the question. People wonder why we would undertake such an obviously unconventional and uncomfortable way to see a relatively small part of France. Why walk when you can ride? If you want to walk, why not with a tour group? The answer: we thrive on being unconventional!

This story, or our general affinity for the unconventional, begins neither in France nor America. In fact, it doesn’t begin in the West at all. Instead, it begins in the spring of 1974 on a hilltop in Morocco—a hilltop hosting the ancient ruins of Volubilis, which overlook a fertile valley dripping with centuries of history. It was here that we were bitten by the bug of adventure, the nearly insatiable appetite for exploring, finding strange new places, and, once there, taking the time to really get to know the people and the culture.

The bug hit us hardest when we began to explore the remains of an extinct civilization.

On a hilltop overlooking an extensive, lush plain just outside Meknes, Morocco, lie the ruins of an ancient Roman outpost called Volubilis. We were overlooking the same panorama as General George Patton did during the allied invasion of North Africa. Patton, a megalomaniac, is reputed to have exclaimed, I was here a millennium ago, as the leader of the Roman armies. These ruins were partially buried by centuries of debris. Essentially unexplored since abandonment by the Romans some two thousand years ago, it exuded sensations of long-dead invaders, people unafraid of new land or the several-month journey from their comfortable Roman luxuries in Italy. Although not officially unearthed or restored by archeologists, we could easily determine how the city was laid out with aqueducts providing fresh water and a sewerage system removing waste from indoor plumbing in several of the buildings. We could also guess at the rituals these ancient cultures practiced (particularly when it came to a four-foot stone penis sitting prominently in the middle of a small courtyard).

We picnicked on a large marble slab, which we thought was part of an ancient temple. It was at this moment that we became hooked for life and vowed, if possible, to continue to explore new cultures. Looking back, it was probably during this trip, sharing these new sensations that we also became pretty certain that we were meant for each other. This newfound longing for romance and adventure would help fuel our love and positively affect our relationship. We had been bitten and seriously infected by the travel bug.

CHAPTER ONE

GETTING READY

CHOOSING OUR ROUTE

The general path starts from the Atlantic Ocean just north of the Spanish border and ends at the Mediterranean Sea.

When Jo said, Let’s do it! Let’s walk across France, I was startled, excited and, at the same time, skeptical. I consider myself a better-than-average hiker. It’s one of my favorite pastimes, and I have often walked more than twenty miles in a day, carrying a backpack. Jo, however, had walked at the most four miles at a time, and that was without a pack and on fairly level terrain.

But since we had the better part of a year to prepare and she appeared so sincere, it seemed that I had reason to be cautiously optimistic. If we got further into our preparations and it looked like a bad idea, we would have at least tried. Little did we expect the summer heat wave of 1995, but more about that later.

We purchased topographical maps of such detail that our 350-mile trip covered fifteen feet of maps. Our intended route was from west to east, far enough norths of the Pyrenees Mountains to avoid serious hill climbing but far enough south to travel directly from the Atlantic to the Mediterranean, traversing the shortest practical distance. We planned to walk as much as possible on the least-traveled rural roads.

The maps were in colored relief with darker shading indicating higher elevations. One could visualize the finger-like projections of ridges that fanned out northerly from the Pyrenees Mountains. Close inspection showed some of these ridges rising as over nine hundred feet through parts of our intended itinerary.

Next, from west to east in an eighteen-mile-wide swath, we marked all of the hotels from the Logis de France guidebook and the bed-and-breakfast accommodations from the Gîtes de France guidebook, each in their respective pink and yellow colors. It seemed that, for the most part, villages were no more than five miles apart and our lodging dots about ten miles. Perfect. We saw that we could safely plan a walking trip and always expect to find lodging and usually a village along the way for nourishment.

SELECTING HIKING BOOTS

We chose Mephisto ankle-high hiking boots. This French-made boot is immediately comfortable with great support and needs very little break-in time.

BACKPACKS

Next, we needed to locate backpacks. I expected to carry twenty-five pounds and Jo twelve, and that’s how it eventually worked out. She would carry one bowling ball, and I two. After much searching, we finally found great packs. Gregory was the manufacturer, and they were of internal-frame construction.

The packs proved very comfortable and, with zippers across the top and two-thirds down each side, easy to load, unload, and search for items located in the bottom of the pack. There were two full-length zippered pockets along the side, and I added a mesh pouch to the back of each for carrying food and supplies. These were high-tech packs for their relatively small size and had lots of straps to adjust the loads.

When loaded with our gear and fully cinched, the backpacks, sac-a-dos in French, felt like an extension of our body.

HIGH-TECH CLOTHING

For clothes, we again found new materials that were much better than the old standby cotton and wool. T-shirts, socks, and underwear of polypropylene called Cool Max and convertible shorts with zippered legs made of Supplex nylon were our main clothing.

Not only did these materials wick away perspiration and remain relatively dry. They also air-dried overnight, hanging in our hotel room. No twenty-first-century dryers on this trip.

For evening dress, Jo carried a pleated wrap-around skirt with a light olive print and a long-sleeve beige cotton pullover. My formal outfit was a short-sleeved cotton seersucker shirt and long navy-blue nylon pants that remained relatively wrinkle-free. We both carried lightweight casual shoes for evening wear.

We would be the only people who knew that we