The Chemin de St-Jacques/Camino de Santiago from Le Puy-en-Velay

My Miam Miam Dodo guidebook was my constant companion. It has rough maps that can almost always be trusted (but you usually don't need them because of the waymarking — see below). More importantly, it lists places to stay, from the most basic hostels to luxury hotels, and has a list of the services to be found in each town, including bakeries, grocery stores, post offices, hospitals, and much more.

It's only available in French, but luckily it uses easy-to-understand symbols. My French isn't great, but I had no trouble following it.

I ordered mine from the Confraternity of Saint James Bookstore in London. I hear you can also pick it up in France.

The Confraternity of Saint James has a great list. If you're carrying everything on your back, you want to limit the weight you're carrying. It is also very easy (though I'm not sure of the cost) to have your luggage transported from one town to the next, and just carry a day pack.

I thought I was only bringing things I couldn't survive without (these, of course, included a novel and a heavy-ish camera with a mini tripod), but I ended up sending some stuff back to Canada (which is expensive), and leaving other things by the wayside.

The Chemin de St-Jacques from Le Puy generally follows the GR-65, one of the many long-distance paths that criss-cross France. The sign, or waymark, for the GR is a white line with a red line underneath it. These may be painted on special posts, trees, power lines, or rocks. I even saw one on an eaves trough.

An upcoming turn is marked by a flag-like sign (the one in the photo is pointing left; if the line was on the opposite site it would be pointing right). The routes you should not take are often marked with an X, also in red and white. At intersections — and there are a lot — I sometimes found it easier to find the X than to find the regular waymark.

The route is generally well-marked, but there were a few places I had trouble figuring out where to go, and a few stretches where the waymarks are scarily far apart and I was convinced I'd lost my way. If you're traveling during a relatively busy period, it can be easiest to wait for someone else to come along. They might see something you don't see, or have a detailed map.

There are other signs along the way, sometimes indicating the distance to the next town or place to stay, or even showing the distance to Santiago.

The majority of people walking the chemin/GR-65 are French. Many walk for ten to 14 days every year for three years in order to complete the whole thing, and see themselves on a walking tour rather than on a pilgrimage.

I had a stereotype in my head of French people who refuse to speak English. Maybe the Chemin is different from the rest of the country, but my stereotype was shot to pieces. Shopkeepers and people in the streets gave me directions, despite my basic, likely mangled, French. My fellow walkers often made a real effort to communicate. Since many of them were in their 60s, their high school English was about as good as my high school French, but we managed, more or less, to understand each other.

It really, really helps to know at least some basic French before you go. Of course, the more the better. I got by on my high school French, but I know I missed out on some great conversations.

On the other hand, I met a Korean woman who spoke approximately five words of French, and she seemed to get by all right — at least, she made it to Santiago. A pair of young Austrian women with very limited French resorted to miming their ailments in drugstores and snorting like pigs to buy pork in a restaurant.

It is a great opportunity to practice what French skills you have, too. I learned the words for "steep" and "chestnuts" very quickly, and after a few weeks could carry out a conversation about where I was from, and how far I was walking with relative ease.

I have to admit, though, it was a relief to meet anyone who spoke a fair bit of English. On my trip, these included three Americans, one anglophone Canadian and a couple of young French Canadians, and a number of Germans and Swiss people — there is a route through Germany and Switzerland that joins up with the GR in Le Puy.

To find out more, you can read my practical advice about French on the Chemin.

Everywhere I went, when I asked directions in my broken French, people were helpful. Other walkers shared their treats, and some called ahead for me to reserve a place for the night, since it's harder speaking another language over the phone.

Some places, people even left things out for walkers: coffee, garden tomatoes, poems and other signs of encouragement—like the scallop shell, the symbol of the pilgrim's road to Santiago. The coffee and food was always free, although sometimes they accepted donations.

The sign in the photo says: Welcome. Keep Up Your Spirits. The one in the background gives the Medieval pilgrim's motto of "Ultreia!"

The day I started walking, I was puffing my way up a hill when an old man started talking to me. My French wasn't great, so we didn't talk long, but I managed to tell him I was planning to walk to Santiago.

"Bon courage," he said when we parted. I wasn't sure of the literal translation, but I figured it meant something like: Be of good courage.

English expressions like that sound archaic, but I heard them—and loved them—all the time in France. Bonne route and bon chemin (both literally mean "good road"). Bon appetit (good appetite), when I was sitting by the road eating a picnic lunch. And again, bon courage.

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