“I have read many books of “great walks”, but few which show an ability to trudge on day after day through terrible rain and furious heat. Susie’s nights were beset by flooding and insect infestations yet she carried right across France, with feet blistered into a pulp and with terrible pain – a journey like this cannot be made in comfort. Many people would have given up but eventually she reached Lake Geneva and walked into the lake, filling her battered green jungle hat with water and pouring it over her head. The end of an incredible journey which provided this reader at least with a sense of having travelled with the author through her struggles.” Tom Cunliffe, Amazon Top 50 Reviewer on Susie Kelly’s Best Foot Forward – A 500-Mile Walk Through Hidden France. Jan 13th 2012. Read the full review here.
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“THERE ARE ECHOES HERE OF ALICE, of Blyton, of William Mayne and of a number of surreal texts, from Badlidrempt to various Pullman novellas.” THE DREAM THEATRE for 8 – 12 yr olds, reviewed by Armadillo Children’s Book Magazine
“THERE ARE A MILLION AND ONE REASONS TO READ THIS BOOK. Read it if you love France, if you are interested in history, in amateur cycling, in human relationships or if you just want to lose yourself in a fantastic read.” THE VALLEY OF HEAVEN AND HELL, CYCLING IN THE SHADOW OF MARIE ANTOINETTE reviewed by Johanna Wynne Simm
“UNDENIABLY USEFUL. IT CERTAINLY WAS FOR ME!” Louise Voss reviews HOW TO PUBLISH AN EBOOK – AN AUTHOR’S GUIDE. Louise and co-author Mark Edwards are the first UK indies to reach Nos 1 and 2 in the UK Kindle Paid Top 100. They recently signed a six-figure four book deal with HarperCollins.
“AN IDEAL BOOK FOR READING AND BOOK CLUBS. Insightful and delightful, full of thoughtful dialogue and exceptional clarity.” Leslie Wright, Tic Toc/Huffington Post Books reviews TEN GOOD REASONS TO LIE ABOUT YOUR AGE.
“I HATE HOUSEWORK! I admit to being the worst house-cleaner of anybody who has ever lived. But not any more! Done & Dusted has CHANGED MY LIFE! BRILLIANT book. Should be required reading for every housewife/househusband.” NoDamnBlog reviews DONE & DUSTED – THE ORGANIC HOME ON A BUDGET.
La Bonne Etoile
“I had been warned that the Chemin des Moines (Monks’ Path), the footpath leading up to Septmoncel, was incredibly long and steep. I crossed the river by a rustic bridge sporting a sign giving the estimated walking time to Montbrilland as thirty-five minutes. Whoever had estimated these times must have had in mind mountain goats at peak fitness because they always seemed quite unrealistic. The first hundred and fifty yards of the ascent was all but perpendicular, over dry gritty soil scattered with small loose stones. I started walking up it and slithered backwards. It was too steep for my stick to be of any use. The path traversed an area of scorched grass, and there was absolutely nothing to hold on to. Every inch was a battle. I had to stop to drink every fifty paces, sitting down and munching a few dried apricots for energy. Sweat poured down my face, arms and legs, my clothing stuck to me, and the only noise was muted birdsong, the distant hiss of the waterfalls and the jungle drumbeat of my heart.
Eventually I reached the D436 and the Roche Percée, a one-hundred-yard tunnel blasted through the rock. Water dripped from the roof of the tunnel and I expected the whole thing to cave in on me.. The well-signed path was in places wide smooth gravel, and in others earthy forest floor carpeted with the previous autumn’s cornflake crisp leaves. It was very peaceful and mostly shady, and in the very steep parts exposed tree roots made useful footholds. I felt like a human waterfall, with sweat running down my body and legs in a rapid stream. Now at 3,250 feet I was finding it even harder to breathe. To my right the mountain rose steeply, and to the left dropped away hundreds of feet. Looking back down to the valley, I couldn’t believe that a few hours ago I had been down there, and that I had somehow managed to haul myself up here.
At 2.50 p.m I had reached 3,315 feet at the Plateau sur le Replan, and walked into Septmoncel, a small village set against a backdrop of mountains, just as the village clock struck the hour, twice. The sound echoed on the still air, blending with the deep, soft clanging of the cowbells from the cattle who shared the alpine pastures with the bees. Septmoncel is renowned for its acoustic qualities. I stood at the acoustic point with my eyes closed and hands cupped behind my ears, as the notice board suggested, turning my head in different directions and catching the cowbells, the bees, and the drone of a tractor engine. The sound was very pure and extraordinarily amplified by my cupped hands. If you haven’t tried this, you really should.
An old lady came slowly up the hill. She recommended that I drink some water from the fountain in the village. The water there, she said, was the purest and most delicious water I would ever find. She was right. It was very good. I also bought a bag of cherries for lunch, and continued towards Lajoux. The farmers were taking advantage of the hot, dry summer weather to cut their hay, tractors working the valley floors, and brown-armed men swinging scythes on the steep hillsides.
By now it really was hot, and I had to stop and sit down every twenty paces I looked in vain for wildlife, but saw nothing except a voracious herd of sheep munching their way across a flowery field. No doubt any creature with a modicum of sense would be sheltering from the searing heat amongst the silent pine trees. The summer weather had brought out the flies, which attracted to the unladylike rivers of perspiration dripping down me, added their bites to my woes.
On a plateau a smoky tractor was cutting the hay, and the air was so pure and clean it was like being on top of the world. Carried away by the scenery and euphoria, I marched hotly and happily down a long shady road for about a mile in quite the wrong direction, and then hauled back up the long, shady road towards Lajoux on the D436, having lost contact with the footpath. Small brilliant purple flowers sprouted from the bare rockface, and the miles to Lajoux seemed to have an elastic quality, as they stretched further and further, but it really didn’t matter in this paradise. Hugo Grotius, the Dutch politician who laid the foundations of modern international law, said of France that it is the most beautiful kingdom there is—after the Kingdom of Heaven. I couldn’t comment on the latter, but he must be right on the first count.
A heavily laden donkey on delicate hooves came into sight, led by a thin young man wearing a jungle hat, shorts and boots, and dark glasses with one crazed lens. He had perfect teeth and a beautiful, gentle smile. He told me he had been wandering with his donkey for three years, fulfilling a dream. I asked where he was heading.
“We follow la bonne etoile” (lucky star), he replied.
He carried a very small map of the whole of France measuring no more than ten inches by six, in a pouch round his neck, on which the place names could only be read with a magnifying glass, and he made no forward plans. Each day was a new adventure, following the lure of the lucky star. Each night he found someone who would allow him room for his tent and grazing for his adored donkey, who was eight years old and came from near the Pyrenees. Her sleek sides supported several robust sacks, a large canvas tent, an umbrella, a cooking pot, and a bucket.
I asked if he would write a book about his experiences.
“What for?” he responded. “What is important is to live, to follow your dreams. That is all that matters.” ”
Extract from Best Foot Forward – A 500-mile Walk Through Hidden France by Susie Kelly
Image: French Alps © Davidmartyn | Dreamstime.com
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