The "Mirrors of Compostela" Trilogy

3 months of walking for François Koch between the Croix-Rousse in Lyon and the end of Europe: the Finisterre lighthouse in the north-west of Spain, km 0. The author has sketched a whole gallery of characters, alternately eccentric, taciturn, bigot, zany, erotomaniac or enlightened, without forgetting his small and large quirks. It took eight years for him to return from the Camino de Santiago made in one piece, to extract through this three-part story all the subtlety, spirituality and fantasy that have made it his growing fame. Extract : An apparition. We just had a funny appearance! We were resting on a rock slightly overhanging the path, watching the stream of pilgrims of all ages, from all countries and dressed in all colors, who go alone, in pairs or in small groups when, in the same movement of astonishment, we widened our eyes. Prohibited. We stared at each other for a short moment, a smirk at the corner of our lips, then rested our eyes on the apparition while suppressing a burgeoning laughter. It's a not very young woman with blueberry hair who just appeared around a bend and said "Ha-ayyy!" In a childish voice, biting his lower lip. This woman is wearing a backpack, walking shoes, socks, shorts and… that's it. Yes that's all ! No T-shirt. She rocked her breasts in the parade of pilgrims. Worn breasts, but perky when you look at them, which nod at each step. On the beach or in the sauna, we wouldn't mind a topless woman - we've seen others! - but this is Santiago. We don't expect it. It’s offbeat. I feel Mario ready to explode with laughter with me. The pilgrim passes. We continue to watch him, pursing our lips. She has a Canada crest on the flap of her backpack. A piece of nipple can still be guessed, which springs to the left then to the right. To the left. To the right. Left. Law. Left. Law. The Canadian walks away. Laughter. Southern slope of the Pyrenees. The fog accompanies our descent. In a few minutes, we will be depositing our exhaustions in Roncesvalles, as we would deposit our swords there. One last crow's feet makes us hesitate. Something is stirring on the right path, a little further on, at the edge of the woods. It is not an animal (there is too much passage here), nor branches (there is little wind). Who is going there, then? ... Yes, it is she: the Canadian! Standing with her legs in a lunge, one foot on the path and another already ready to enter the woods, she was waiting for us. She's been waiting for us! The bougresse. She nods, giving us an unequivocal wink that invites us to plunge into the thick forests with her. "We're going to follow her to see how far she gets!" Mario whispers to me. - It's not okay, right? Stop looking at her! - Chouste for a little laugh. - But finally ! Do you want to sleep with her, or what? - She's the one who provokes us! - Come on! There's the yellow arrow, it's over there, look! To the left. The path is on the left! " I took the left lane. Mario followed suit. " Oh dear ! You're not funny! He tells me. - But you really thought you were following her? " In response, he shrugs his shoulders. What a provocateur! I always get screwed. [] That same evening, in the large dormitory of the Roncesvalles gîte: Stretched out on our beds, exhausted with fatigue, we suddenly hear stifled laughter, whispers and then sneers. It comes from the corridor, it seems. We stretch our languid bodies so that our heads are bowed. What is happening then? A burly young man, who wouldn't even be naughty without his ponytail of greasy hair, is talking to two gentlemen in a tone of confidence while waving his arms frantically when, all at once, the two gentlemen rush to the showers (men's, because here in Spain, the showers are not mixed). But why such a rush? Funny things are happening ... We wait, silent, letting our heads hang out so as not to miss anything next. Bursts of gritty laughter and repetitive creaking of doors call out to us. At the end of long minutes, we see with astonishment coming out of the showers of the men… the Canadian! Again her. The naughty! Her breasts are covered with a towel this time. She shows off a perky face. Satisfied? Not yet. Here she is entering the box next door, followed extremely closely by the burly young man with the fat ponytail, by the two gentlemen and even by a fourth man who was passing by some sort of coincidence. How many guests were there at this Canadian feast? We'll never know. Mario smiles at me from the top bunk. We retract our heads, before plunging each one into a sleep filled with delight. Made in France Author: François Koch Illustration: Jack Koch 3 months of walking for François Koch between the Croix-Rousse in Lyon and the end of Europe: the Finisterre lighthouse in the north-west of Spain, km 0. The author has sketched a whole gallery of characters there, alternately eccentric, taciturn, bigot, zany, erotomaniac or enlightened, without forgetting his small and large through to him. It took eight years for him to return from the Camino de Santiago made in one piece, to extract through this three-part story all the subtlety, spirituality and fantasy that have made it his growing fame. Extract: An apparition. We just had a funny appearance! We were resting on a rock slightly overhanging the path, watching the stream of pilgrims of all ages, from all countries and dressed in all colors, who go alone, in pairs or in small groups when, in the same movement of astonishment, we widened our eyes. Prohibited. We stared at each other for a short moment, a smirk at the corner of our lips, then rested our eyes on the apparition while suppressing a burgeoning laughter. It's a not very young woman with blueberry hair who just appeared around a bend and said "Ha-ayyy!" In a childish voice, biting his lower lip. This woman is wearing a backpack, walking shoes, socks, shorts and… that's it. Yes that's all ! No T-shirt. She rocked her breasts in the parade of pilgrims. Worn breasts, but perky when you look at them, which nod at each step. On the beach or in the sauna, we wouldn't mind a topless woman - we've seen others! - but this is Santiago. We don't expect it. It’s offbeat. I feel Mario ready to explode with laughter with me. The pilgrim passes. We continue to watch him, pursing our lips. She has a Canada crest on the flap of her backpack. A piece of nipple can still be guessed, which springs to the left then to the right. To the left. To the right. Left. Law. Left. Law. The Canadian walks away. Laughter. Southern slope of the Pyrenees. The fog accompanies our descent. In a few minutes, we will be depositing our exhaustions in Roncesvalles, as we would deposit our swords there. One last crow's feet makes us hesitate. Something is stirring on the right path, a little further on, at the edge of the woods. It is not an animal (there is too much passage here), nor branches (there is little wind). Who is going there, then? ... Yes, it is she: the Canadian! Standing with her legs in a lunge, one foot on the path and another already ready to enter the woods, she was waiting for us. She's been waiting for us! The bougresse. She nods, giving us an unequivocal wink that invites us to plunge into the thick forests with her. "We're going to follow her to see how far she gets!" Mario whispers to me. - It's not okay, right? Stop looking at her! - Chouste for a little laugh. - But finally ! Do you want to sleep with her, or what? - She's the one who provokes us! - Come on! There's the yellow arrow, it's over there, look! To the left. The path is on the left! "I took the left lane. Mario followed suit. " Oh dear ! You're not funny! He tells me. - But you really thought you were following her? In response, he shrugs his shoulders. What a provocateur! I always get screwed. [] That same evening, in the large dormitory of the Roncesvalles gîte: Stretched out on our beds, exhausted with fatigue, we suddenly hear stifled laughter, whispers and then sneers. It comes from the corridor, it seems. We stretch our languid bodies so that our heads are bowed. What is happening then? A burly young man, who wouldn't even be naughty without his ponytail of greasy hair, is talking to two gentlemen in a tone of confidence while waving his arms frantically when, all at once, the two gentlemen rush to the showers (men's, because here in Spain, the showers are not mixed). But why such a rush? Funny things are happening ... We wait, silent, letting our heads hang out so as not to miss anything next. Bursts of gritty laughter and repetitive creaking of doors call out to us. At the end of long minutes, we see with astonishment coming out of the showers of the men… the Canadian! Again her. The naughty! Her breasts are covered with a towel this time. She shows off a perky face. Satisfied? Not yet. Here she is entering the box next door, followed extremely closely by the burly young man with the fat ponytail, by the two gentlemen and even by a fourth man who was passing by some sort of coincidence. How many guests were there at this Canadian feast? We'll never know. Mario smiles at me from the top bunk. We retract our heads, before plunging each one into a sleep filled with delight.