Hiking the Cevennes
ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED IN GREAT WALKS
When Robert Louis Stevenson explored southern France in 1878 he couldn’t have imagined the route he took would become France’s most iconic walking path. The GR70 or ‘GR Stevenson’ as it’s affectionately known, is a 112 km, six-day hike in the Languedoc-Roussillon region of Southern France. The trail spans the sparsely-populated mountains, causses (high limestone plateaux) and river gorges of the spectacular Grandé Randonée footpaths are the French network of long-distance hiking trails designated by the letters GR followed by a number, and marked by red and white stripes painted on posts, trees and even rocks. Our trip is further south than the GR Stevenson, and is one of the “Footloose” series offered by the travel company ATG Oxford, for people who don’t want to join a tour group and are happy to walk without a guide – a bit like Stevenson, who in 1879 published Travels with a Donkey in the Cévennes.
On his travels, Stevenson needed a donkey to carry his swag-like sleeping bag, but we have a cheery Route Manager, Edward, to transport our bags each day to the next hotel. He greets us at the start of the walk and provides the ATG instruction booklet. With 38 pages of directions such as ‘after 286 metres, turn right (slightly back on your self) up faint grassy track. Pointed white rock with green blob on RHS before turning’, cross-references to 33 maps, and at least a dozen GPS grid references for each day, we don’t fear getting lost. But will we be too focused on locating the white rock with the green blob, and other such landmarks, to be ‘fancy-free’? ‘Don’t worry,’ says Edward, ‘you won’t need to count your paces, and you don’t really need your GPS.’
The Cévennes terrain varies from chestnut woodlands and farmland to deep gorges and the causses. It is always quiet. The causses’ nickname, ‘islands of silence’, is apt, and we see only one or two people, at most, on the hiking trails each day. Although the hike is in no sense a stroll in the park, we manage the average 20 km per day comfortably, and soon relax into a groove. Edward was right about the directions: they are excellent. The poor soul who pushed a surveyor’s wheel along the route did a good job, and we only use our GPS a couple of times, and then mainly to justify its weight in our daypack.
Despite our daily exertions, the trip is nowhere near calorie neutral. We buy our lunches from town markets, sampling goats cheese, sweet onion tarts and honey cakes, but passing on the donkey salami. The local specialities offered each night at village restaurants are memorable too. Aligot (mashed potato blended with cheese and garlic) and the wild mushrooms, collected by Madame in the forest, the morning of our stay at the Hôtel du Parc, and served sliced, baked with herbs and a fine breadcrumb garnish, were the stand outs. In Veyreau, we stay at Auberge de Cadenas, where the farmer’s wife, an accomplished cook, feeds us a five course meal that includes deer steak her husband has shot, home-made three-day old goat’s cheese, and a Roquefort made elsewhere from the milk of the farm’s sheep. We also enjoy the local Vin Doux Naturelle (white muscat), served chilled, a far cry from the local wine Robert Louis Stevenson sampled and described as ‘of the smallest’, i.e. weak and watered down, and without much alcohol.
By day six we feel content and proud of our imminent achievement. I had looked out for vultures as instructed, and saw one wing by the cliff edge, giving me the eagle eye as it arced and then soared down into the gorge. We’ve taken the detour Edward recommended to the Dargilan Caves, the pink caves of the black causse, one of the vast honeycomb of grottoes beneath the walking paths. The Cévennes is not known for grand buildings, but we’ve seen and admired many remnants of Caussenarde architecture, houses built entirely of stone with a typical arc brise (broken arch) to strengthen the structure.
We head through the forest from Le Rozier, intending to take Edward’s advice and complete our trip with the cliff walk option. My husband, a few strides ahead, calls out to me, “Shooter ahead.” Shooter? The instruction booklet doesn’t mention shooters. But there he is, a sturdy chap in an orange cap standing in the middle of the track.
We exchange ‘bonjours’ and the hunt starts in the surrounding forest. Dogs bark, guns are fired and our shooter’s compatriots call out to one another; le chasse is in full swing. Should we stick with our cliff walk plan, or take the quicker route? My husband reasons that the hunters won’t be chasing the boar to the cliff edge, and that they won’t mistakenly shoot at us because my hiking shirt is a similar orange to the shooter’s cap. He’s an optimist, but I’m too anxious to argue, so we pick up our pace and strike out for the cliff path.
It’s an hour long scramble down from the causse and through the foothills’ cherry orchards. We see Edward resting on a bench under a tree outside the Carbassas chapel, reading a novel. We’re five minutes late.
Edward is surprised and concerned about our encounter with the hunters, who he suspects were outside the reserve designated for le chasse. He offers to detour en route to our hotel to show us the Millau Viaduct. Described by its architect, Norman Foster as a “sculpture in the landscape”, it is deservedly much admired for its style and engineering. About 2.4 km long, with pillars taller than the Eiffel Tower, it opened in 2004, and has been a practical success, easing congestion for motorists heading to the Mediterranean and gradually opening up the Cévennes to more tourism. We hope it’s not too much more successful. We’re over our fright now, pleased that we’ve ventured off the beaten track and seen some of this stunning area, satisfied with our hiking accomplishment and keen for a celebratory pastis.