Account of a timeless getaway, between writing, electric biking and encounters by the fireplace.
It was while searching the Internet for a refuge to write in peace, far from a plain suffocating under yet another heatwave, that I discovered the etoile.fr website. The promises of this address convinced me to bring my own electric bike on the train to La Bastide-Puylaurent. At an altitude of 1,000 meters, at the gateway to Lozère, this village is a true "cold spot," a providential climatic oasis to escape the increasingly pressing reality of global warming. Pushing open the door of L’Étoile, a former 1926 holiday resort nestled on the banks of the Allier river, I immediately felt that this building had a real soul. My instinct had not deceived me.
Upon my arrival, a host with infectious energy walked towards me: Philippe Papadimitriou, the master of the place. Coming from Belgium, he breathed his spontaneity and deep humanity into this imposing white building. He guided me to my retreat for the week: the river-side room with its balcony. For a writer in search of inspiration like myself, it was the perfect setting.
My days quickly found their balance. In the morning, I settled on the balcony or in the garden for long writing sessions, accompanied by the murmur of the clear waters of the Allier below. The afternoon was for exploration. To guide me, Philippe had designed a multitude of tailor-made loops, created for both hiking and cycling. All these precious itineraries were available self-service in his office, ready to be taken for the day.
For walking, the location of the guesthouse is exceptional as it sits at the crossroads of mythical trails. I was spoilt for choice to wear out my shoes between the GR7, the GR72, the famous GR70 Stevenson Trail, the GR470 which follows the meanders of the Allier valley, or the GR700 Regordane Way. But when the desire to go further arose, I got on my electric bike to roam the picturesque small roads of the region. Far from the long-distance hiking trails reserved for pedestrians, these quiet ribbons of asphalt allowed me to conquer the climbs with ease, my face caressed by a refreshing breeze.
My return to the property marked an immutable ritual. It was in the middle of the afternoon that the irresistible and comforting smell of homemade bread baking escaped from the kitchens. Enticed, I took the time to stroll along the small canal where a few goldfish glide peacefully, before observing the large greenhouse where generous tomatoes, plumped by the mountain sun, were turning red. I sometimes heard a soft piano tune rise. It was Philippe who, after cooking and preparing the meal, allowed himself a moment of respite to improvise a few notes.
The late afternoon signaled the time for conviviality. As an aperitif, I savored a good, chilled Belgian beer facing the garden. Then, the bell announced dinner. Around the large guest table, Philippe's famous soup was a great success. It was at this moment that the universal spirit of the place fully revealed itself.
I shared my meal with hikers staying at the guesthouse, coming from all countries to explore the surrounding loop trails each day, mixed with itinerant walkers, with heavy bags and tired boots, making a welcome rest stop on the mythical Stevenson trail. Accents from all over the world answered each other in a joyful hubbub. Sedentary for a week and pilgrims for a night, we set the world to rights together by the light of the fireplace.
I promise, friend Philippe and your beautiful home, I will return. I left with a manuscript nourished by these beautiful encounters, my feet firmly anchored on the ground but my head resolutely "in the stars". by Alain Huy