Lost and Found in France at 50

Wrong turns, kind strangers, and the best walk of my life

Hi, hello, welcome, bonjour.

I have some new people here, so I’ll re-introduce myself. I’m Meghan. I’m born and raised in Ohio, where I still live. I’ve moved to a very rural area in the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains where I live on 5 acres on a single-lane gravel road with 2 rescue dogs named Lascaux and Tartine, an always-changing foster dog, and sometimes a cat named Twinkie. I’m following my dreams and sharing my love of walking in the rural corners of France at wewanderfrance.com.

My favorite hike in France is one of the ones I found on my 50th birthday spent solo hiking. You can read about that here. I go back and forth between saying ‘walks” and “hikes.” I’ve always said hiking in my regular life for trail walking. I say walking when I’m walking on a road. Now for my dogs walking means on leash, and hiking means off leash and therefore freedom. We all prefer hiking with leashes off and a trail to explore.

When I started up We Wander France, my small-group walking tour, and website, all the terminology was “hiking” to describe the walks we would be taking on the tour because that’s how I talk about it. I had several people reach out right away who needed clarity in the type of hiking it would be. It became clear that a lot of people were hearing hiking and imagining hiking up a mountain with trekking poles and climbing gear.

One responded simply: “I don’t hike.”

That’s when I decided to change everything on the website to “walking.” And it works for me because that’s exactly what we’re doing. I don’t pack hiking boots or trekking poles to take to France. I walk in my low-top hikers, the same ones I wear in the airport.

I’m on the fence about the poles, however. I’ve never used them before, but apparently they’re good for the body, and take pressure off your knees, so I’m open to it now that I’m solidly in mid-life.

Now onto my favorite ‘walk’ in France! I had printed off paper directions I got from the tourist office as I set out for a day of hiking, I mean walking! The directions were in French. Now, I can speak some French, but specifics to describe the types of trails and paths stumped me but I set out undeterred. The trail distance was not far, and it said it would be about 4.5 miles. So a nice and easy walk. It wouldn’t take all day. I don’t want to walk all day long. The hilltop village…

My first order of business for the day was to eat lunch first.

Food is always my priority.I’m hypoglycemic, I don’t want to be hangry and hiking. That’s never a good combination.

I was staying at Beaulieu-sur-Dordogne for my birthday week, but I got on the road in my rental car looking for food to eat on the way to the start of the hike. I stopped at the first town I came to, parked and walked into a busy restaurant. It was 12:10 p.m. Depending on the small villages, I’ve found some have 12 noon lunchtimes where restaurants fill up. Others, I’ve shown up at noon and I’m the only one there but at 12:30 folks start filing in.

This day was not meant to be. The host said they couldn’t fit me, it was packed, at 12:10 and I was turned away. This is something that happens in France. That wasn’t my only time. An American would think turned away? The capitalists that we are would pull out a makeshift card table from a back room to make it fit for another customer.

I was mildly perturbed, because the exact same thing had happened to me just the day before, also at 12:10 in the tiny village of Curemont.

So I got back into my car and pulled out not sure what to do when I passed a Middle Eastern kebab shop. “Perfect!” I thought to myself. I like the flexibility of the kebab shops that you find all over France. They have a more flexible eating schedule, and they’ve saved me many times when I’m out and about in France. It’s cheap, casual, and sometimes quite good.

I was feeling giddy as France tends to make me feel, but this day particularly so. I was following my dreams. I was celebrating 50 years alive, and passing over that magical threshold into mid-life. I was adventuring, the weather was perfect and soon I would be walking a new path. I was elated!

I walked into the kebab shop with a big American smile on my face. One person described Americans in France like Golden Retrievers. I had to laugh because I think it’s kinda true.

So in I walk like a Golden, happy as can be, making eye contact and saying my happy ‘Bonjour!” The man working behind the counter right away, without missing a beat, says in perfect English, “Have a seat it’ll be just a minute.” I was surprised he knew I spoke English. I was wondering how he knew? Hmmmm?

There was a row of seats by the front door for those waiting for orders. I sat next to a young boy of maybe 12 years, whose eyes were locked on me from the moment I entered. There had been a bike out front so it must have been his. He wouldn’t stop staring so I said, “Bonjour!”

We started chatting in French. He asked if I was American? I am, I replied in my simple French. Again, I didn’t have any idea how much of an American I really was. And then he started giggling. I started giggling. I told him what I was there for and where I was going for the day. He laughed some more. He couldn’t stop laughing.

Then he said I was the first American he’d ever met. Which is pretty cool. He was giggling away when he said I sounded EXACTLY like the Americans he’s seen on TV. Apparently we sound very funny when we speak French. I didn’t mind at all.

The man behind the counter was ready to take my order, and thank goodness he spoke English because I was having a little trouble understanding the offerings. This amazes me, someone like this man, an immigrant. He’s from somewhere, landed in France and speaks French but also speaks perfect unaccented American English. It’s incredible.

I added in an Orangina from a nearby cooler to my kebab in a wrap order and paid. I laughed to myself as there’s a Cannabis breed in the USA named Orangina not that anyone there knew that. I love the drink Orangina so much. If you don’t know it’s a fizzy orange drink that isn’t too sweet and it’s marketed to kids. The French see it as a kid’s drink maybe like Americans see Captain Crunch cereal as a kid’s cereal.

I sat back down to wait for my order. Of course the young man’s eyes hadn’t left me, so I took an exaggerated swig from the Orangina. I drank it like I had been in the desert for a week with added in Oohs and Aahs. That’s something about me for you to know. I love making people laugh, and here I had an audience of one.

His eyes grew wide, and he laughed and laughed. We were having fun! We chatted about school, and life, about learning English. He proudly announced his one sentence in English. He cleared his throat as I patiently waited. He declared “I am 21.” “Wow!” I responded. And we laughed at his mistake.

He said he couldn’t wait to tell his Mom he met me.

His order was up, and I felt a little pang of sadness. It’s nice to have someone to laugh with, if even for a moment. I held up my phone and said: “photo?” He nodded and looked my way, and I snapped a photo that I will treasure forever.

In all the laughter, I forgot to ask his name. I was sad to see him go. What a special little moment in time. He walked out the door, got on his bike, looked back at me with a wistful little smile and then rolled away.

My order was up, and I was on my way. Being the total American I was and am, I ate my tasty kebab wrap as I drove. I have no shame. It was really good.

Now, as this walk is on my Countryside Walks and Storybook Villages Tour at wewanderfrance.com I am not naming the villages. If you want to know, you’ll have to book a tour and come with me.

The start and ending of the walk are at a hilltop Village perched up high. This type of walk was named “Boucle” on my print out. I had to Google it. It’s a loop walk starting and ending at the same place.

I made my way up the steep meandering road into the village knowing nothing about it. I didn’t do any research, I had no idea what was ahead of me except for the French words on my printed map. There are apps for this, although I didn’t know about them at the time. Except for using GPS to get to the village I was going old-school without meaning to.

There is a parking lot for people visiting this hilltop village but I didn’t know that either.

So I pulled my rental car into the first parking spot I came to. I sat in my car reading the directions on the map of the walk trying to figure out what it meant by “the walk starts at the lookout.” I mean what? What lookout? And where the hell was it? So I’m both translating as well as trying to understand these directions when a man approached my window.

I rolled my window down and started to explain what I was doing (it was parking for guests only of his restaurant) when he spoke in English back to me. Again, I wonder how he knew???

I told him about the hike, he said he takes it all the time, it’s a great hike I mean walk. He told me to stay and park my car there. He said the start of the walk was just over there, and pointed behind me. I meet so many great people when I’m solo traveling. What a nice guy.

I was skeptical but I got out of the car and walked toward the direction he said to go with my backpack, water, and my walk directions.

He looked at me, waved and gave me encouraging looks with a smile as if to say “go now young one at 50, you can do this” as he hosed off the entrance to his restaurant.

And soon enough it made sense. I was standing at a precipice and indeed an unmistakeable lookout. I could see other towns off in the far distance. There was a bench to sit down on to take in the majestic view below. I could see for miles. I was feeling proud of myself and I hadn’t even started the walk.

I followed the printed directions that said to walk away from the lookout and head down the road. I passed a few beautiful houses that also looked out over the majestic view, and I wondered who lived there?

I found the start of what looked like a hiking path so I went that way. You follow the yellow markers. Sometimes they’re hard to see. Can you find it here?

I quickly came to a barricade in the woods. There was an old wooden ladder and barbed wire blocking my path. I was stumped. I mean what the hell? I came all this way and my trail is blocked? I sat down, I thought about what to do.

With the gumption of the newly 50 year old that I was, I breached the barricade thank you very much. No old ladder and wire were going to stop me. Hell to the NO. It also looked strangely rudimentary not official. I had my directions. They were official, and nothing was going to stop me from following my dreams.

And then…there was another barbed wire fence that did indeed look official, and the trail ended into a field. I could see a couple of farmer men off in the distance. “Uh oh,” I thought to myself. What if they set up the barricade and now I was trespassing?

I sat down in the grass so they couldn’t see me. I re-read my directions. Stupid directions in French said something about goudronné road whatever the heck that was. I googled. It meant paved road! There was a paved road on the other side of the barbed wire fence. Ah ha!

I peeked over and the farmers were getting on some equipment, so it was now or never. I flung myself over the barbed wire as best I could with all of my heart and soul, and went tumbling down an embankment. I landed on the paved road.

I got up quickly as if I had always been standing legally on the public road. Nothing to see here folks. The farmers passed me by on some odd piece of equipment. I smiled and they nodded.

I stood there in a bit of disbelief. One I had a gash on my leg that was bleeding and I was a bit disheveled but was otherwise okay. They drove up to a walnut tree and the machine they were on grabbed the tree and gave it a good shaking. It was a walnut grove and they were harvesting walnuts.

The problem was that I was at a crossroads literally. There were wooden signs that were pointing in all directions. They were hiking signs I knew that, thankfully. But I couldn’t understand which way to go.

My official directions officially sucked.

After some time one of the farmers approached me and said some unintelligible thing. I asked if he knew the village I was heading to and how far it was. He said it was 4 km. I showed him my map and directions which he seemed to understand perfectly well. At least someone did. He pointed and I understood the word “Chemin!” He pointed and said it again as I stood there looking confused. So that’s which way I went.

Strange how somethings work out. The farmer was laughing quite heartily as I said, “Merci,” and walked on with a quizzical look on my face. I did say I like to make people laugh…

The path climbed and I soon came to a yellow sign that seemed to declare that there was trouble ahead. I wasn’t sure what kind of trouble specifically but it mentioned the word dangerous. I hedged my bets and moved ahead. I snapped a picture of the sign because I had a feeling this was going to be a day for the record books.

At the top I stood and looked at the vast expanse before me. I could see cliffs ahead and to my right, and there was a little village down below. The cliffs heading down toward the little village were broken apart as if it was a naturally made staircase. There was also a trail off to my right. The official directions made no mention of this either just like the crossroads.

And then a female with brown curly hair appeared. She hiked up the cliffs on the natural staircase and came to a stop right in front of me as I pondered what to do. She was out of breath and sweating. 4 km like the farmer said seemed far and it was late afternoon. I could turn around and just head back to my car and call it a day.

I asked the woman how far the village was down below? She shrugged and said maybe 1km? Not far. We shared a laugh when I tried to explain about the farmers in French. Then she walked on heading the direction where I just came from. Another solo female out enjoying a walk in France.

I walked down the natural staircase marveling at this day and how it had shaped up. I lost sight of the village below as I made my way down, and was laughing at the thought of me tumbling down onto a paved road. I really get myself into some situations that’s for sure. As someone who eschewed social media, I thought this day was worthy of a Facebook post.

I rounded a bend on the trail and then there it was.

This perfect medieval jewel of a town at the bottom of the cliffs appearing to me like a dream from one of the childhood books my Mom would read to me.

I was both that child and me at 50, all in one perfect moment.

It was so beautiful, it took my breath away. The path entered town by passing behind some homes. I could see the cliffs above hanging over the town like fortifications from a forgotten time. I snapped a picture. This was the dream, and here I was. It was magical.

I was driven, though. My goal at this point was to not make any more mistakes, not get lost and to make it through town and onto the next leg of this journey. The trail went past a fountain, under a house and past a chateau-like structure. Everywhere I looked was pretty and then more pretty.

The problem was, and I would only realize this later, is that I forgot to stop and enjoy the town. Sit down, take a break, have a look around. Nope, that I did not do. According to the official directions, I had to make my way to the “cascade” aka waterfall, and then up the cliffs on the other side of that. So I soldiered on as if I had marching orders.

I found the waterfall and thankfully it was rushing so it announced itself loudly. I didn’t actually see the waterfall because I had to take another trail to get to it. I was focused on getting up the cliffs which sounded hard and…uphill. So I didn’t have time to see and gaze at a waterfall all romantic like. I was on a mission now.

Getting up the cliffs wasn’t even remotely difficult.

It was a gradual walk.

I had worried for no reason at all.

And I could peer at a lookout point at the cascade aka waterfall mid-fall, rushing water etc…

Once I got to the top, there’s a lookout point and also some large rocks to sit on to lookout at the gorgeous valley below, and on the village from where I had just been. Spoiler alert. This was one of the best moments of my life. The trip, the day, this hike I mean walk, these wonderful souls I had the chance to meet if only for an instant. I marveled at my life, all 50 years of them, that put me right then and there.

I followed my dreams and I did good. “Good job Meghan,” I said to myself as I breathed in deeply to take it all in.

After resting (finally), reflecting on life and taking in the beauty of rural France, I still had to figure out the next path that would take me through a “Causse.” I had to Google it, as I didn’t know what it was. It’s a high altitude arid limestone plateau devoid of much but not all vegetation.

There were houses scattered about so I walked one way and then another but I couldn’t figure out which way to the causse and back to the village where I started from. There was a sign but it had been scratched out by some terrible person who probably thought it was funny to confuse some future person like me at that exact time. Ha Ha Ha.

When out of the blue, like Noah parting the seas, the surprise of all surprises…it was the same girl with the brown curly hair walking toward me.

We looked at each other and burst out laughing!

I mean what are the chances?

Of course there I was the same confused American as I was when I met her last. She seemed concerned for me. She didn’t speak English but I could understand every word. She asked if I had water, a little bit to eat? I said yes. She showed me on her phone because she was smart enough to have the app that gave you navigation on trails like this.

She put her arm into mine like a longtime friend, and she walked me to the trailhead with the scratched out sign. We were giggling the whole time. We said our goodbyes. Yet another piece of this delicious pie.

I walked through the causse and it was indeed rocky. The trail was made of crushed white rock and not because anyone had put it there. There were curly-haired sheep grazing.

I passed a many-thousand-year-old Dolmen and ruins galore. I was walking through history on the return trip to hilltop town and my car.

It was the best walking trip I had ever taken. From the prettiest hilltop village, to a picturesque village down below to meeting people and finding my way. I have since been on this trail many times without incident. It’s on the itinerary for my Countryside Walks and Storybook Villages Tour.

There’s a restaurant in the valley village that sits right at the picturesque fountain, it’s been in the same family for decades. It’s a perfect local French restaurant that epitomizes the leisurely French lunches that I adore. I’ll make reservations so our group won’t be turned away, and we’ll savor every delicious last bit of it. Come join me!

Thank you for reading these words that come directly from my heart and soul not AI. Join me in France. I’d love to share this with you. Until next time! À bientôt.

By: Meghan Honert

You can also find my tour at: SoloTravelerWorld

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