Your legs find their own rhythm and your breathing stays calm. There’s little to throw you off your stride: the highest point is barely above sea level and there’s hardly any climbing. A day to let your mind empty as you walk.
Around 20 kilometres, a good five hours. Much of it is simply putting one foot in front of the other, and the beauty lies in the small things: a row of vines, a quiet village street, a stretch of open field. At the end, Blaye announces itself with the walls of the citadel, Vauban’s fortifications. You walk into the town with slightly tired feet and a contented feeling. Behind the ramparts, the broad, brown Gironde glides past.