OK, serious European walkers might tell me that reaching a height of 700m is nothing, but try telling my calf muscles that. Set out on the one serious bit of exercise I plan for the trip – route 1 from the mairie in Anost, with the high point being the little hamlet of Les Miens. The guide reckons the walk is 12km, but I can’t believe it isn’t further – perhaps that’s on the map, but by the time you do the downs, and the ups, and the downs and the ups….. The estimate was four hours, and it took me 3.5.
It was a walk greatly boosted by an unexpected companion; this lovely collie had said “hello” in the village and when I started to head out he came with me. Around about this remarkably remote bus stop I thought he’d turn back before long, but he clearly knew what I was doing and had decided it was time for him to take a good walk, so that was what he did.
I was worried about sheep, and he took an interest in the one flock of those we saw, but it was no more than a serious look, and I hadn’t even thought about chickens, but he studiously ignored several free range flocks of those.
He ran ahead the whole way, continually looking back to make sure I was coming, and always responding to a whistle when he took the wrong fork in the path. And when we got to the hamlet of Mont Cemit, which seemed to specialise in seriously savage dogs, including several chained right on the main street, he took the very sensible option of scurrying through with ears and tail down, saying very clearly “just passing through, not looking for trouble”.
There was nothing particularly spectacular in the way of sites – a smattering of history, from hay cart to a tree with history.
And there were lots of wooden crosses, usually with dates on them – not sure if they are memorials, or just village expressions of piety. (Some have quite recent dates.)
What this region does seem to specialise in are lovely clear little mountain streams, like this one. Haven’t tried the water, but it certainly looks clean enough.
When we got back to Anost the collie took me to his home (the town farm), where I met his owner, who didn’t seem surprised about his activities….
Then I got back home to another friendly local – I’ve been formally adopted by this one, who’s basically moved in whenever I’m here … possibly encouraged by a loud and expressive love of milk.
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