Day 5—Fischia il vento, urla la bufera

55 kms
De Moux-en-Morvan à Marmagne

First things first, I had to go to the mairie to pay my 2€ camping fee (hurray for l’Etat providence) for the camping communal. Ran into Monsieur Le Maire himself, who asked me whether I was the new goaly on the town team. Mwaha!

Then the lovely town garage guy checked my tire pressure and gave me about 3 road maps so that I didn’t get lost again. Such lovely helpful people. I must look totally bereft, everyone wants to rescue me.

From Moux, I shimmied down the hills I had so painstakingly climbed the day before, through fields of gorgeous plump cows in their gorgeous plump pastures, singing very a propos Elvis oldies at the top of my lungs. I wish my Mama had been there. I have always marvelled at her refined appreciation of the bovine species.

Photo spécial dédicace Maman: "If you've seen my milk cow, please ride her up on home."

I then entered the mining region around Autun.

A l'entrée d'Autun: cette fois, le boa a mangé un chameau

Suddenly, I exited the pastoral idyll and found myself in a landscape I can only describe as metallurgical, from the heavy sky to the khakified green of the vegetation. The town of Autun however had pretty stunning architecture, and an old dude, who looked like he may have been part of one of the many waves of Italian blue collar workers who came to France to make out industries function at the beginning of the century, shouted out “arrivederci a Napoli!”. Yep yep indeed!

Cathédrale d'Autun

Then major rain, and major trucks. No fun no more.

So after a mere 55 kms, I decided to call it a day and stop in a trucker’s hotel on the side of the road called “Le Vieux Jambon”, named thusly, and I kid you not, for the old cured ham that they keep in a glass case in the foyer. It was promised as part of a bride’s dowry in an engagement concluded in 1898. Either someone died tragically/turned out not to be a virgin/turned out to be a member of the family. The reason was not revealed, but in any case the engagement was broken off, and the ham that was to be eaten at the wedding was left to an old uncle for storage. And the old uncle decided it would be an awesome piece of deco for his hotel foyer. Today, it looks like a piece of old tree bark, and when you open the box, it smells, well, like a century-old ham. But it sure does foster more conversation than those hideous plastic flowers so beloved of budget hotels.

The lovely owner took me in, placed the Git in her laundry so she could have a nice dry night’s repose, and put all my soaked clothes in her dryer. I could not have asked for anything more.

Daily shout-out and first daily abrazo to my darling Esteph, siempre en el nick del tiempo.