Vendée

"La marche n'est pas autorisée sur cette route!", the lady called from the car window. As I walked over to her I explained I was English and couldn't speak French. It gave her some context and it gave me some time to divine the essence of what was being said. She repeated it but this time she made a walking action with one hand and wagged her finger with the other. I wasn't allowed to walk on this road. "But I am walking to Thiré" I said. She gave me the same message a third time accompanied with a shrug of the shoulders and, what felt like, a mocking laugh. Then she drove off. Outside of the hotel, that lady was the only person I spoke to until I reached Fontenay.

But Fontenay is a pretty oasis in this green desert. I have walked for fourteen miles without seeing another pedestrian. Plenty of cars, a handful of cyclists but no-one with their feet on the ground. In that time, I hadn't seen a shop and the only water I'd seen was being used to spray fields. From tomorrow I'll be following an official route so at least I'll have the worry of jaywalking lifted. Still, walking south of Nantes takes a lot more planning than when I was walking in the North. The temperature is over thirty so plenty of water is a necessity. In the North I would stumble across a tap somewhere or take from the river. That's not an option here. That said, this certainly has more of an adventure feel to it and it makes you appreciate places like Fontenay

The place I stayed at last night was in the tiny village of St Juire. It was run by a mother and daughter who were constantly bickering but in a light hearted way; plenty of hands on hips and eye rolling followed by a wink and a laugh. I had planned to eat at the bar in the village but this was closed because of problems with the plumbing. The nearest alternative was a six mile round trip and there was no taxi service. I asked if I could get something delivered. Only on a Friday was the answer. The pizza man does weddings on a Saturday, takes Sunday and Monday off and delivers to other villages the rest of the week. So it was me and my last sachet of Aynsley's cous cous for tea. Unfortunately, I had lost my spoon in my panic to get away from Jeff Goldblum's house so my only cutlery was a credit card. Yet another first!

Photos - the oasis that is Fontenay, you know it's hot when sunflowers look like this, my view for most of the day, a pilgrim's silhouette...walking poles, parasol, and freshly laundered underwear pinned to his back to dry.Read more