On September 22nd 1878 Robert Louis Stevenson — aged 28— set out on a twelve day walking tour through the Southern French Highlands. He chose as his companion a donkey, which he named Modestine. He described her:  "A diminutive she-ass, not much bigger than a dog, the colour of a mouse, with a kindly eye and a determined underjaw — inclined to browse". There are various opinions as to why he was drawn to this area — He had been reading George Sand's book "Le Marquis de Villemer" which was set in this area. He was interested in seeing the places where the War of the Camisards took place (war between Protestants and Catholics — his interest in the covenanters struggle (Pentland Rising)). Or was it for the prime purpose of writing this book? He said "I travel for travel' s sake — and to write about it afterwards if only the public will be so condescending as to read". "A voyage is a piece of autobiography at best" On September 22nd 1998 — one hundred and twenty years later — nineteen members of the Robert Louis Stevenson club set off to follow in his footsteps. There were eleven members from Edinburgh, one from Japan, four from California, one from Switzerland, one from Canada and one from Oxford. We were invited by L'Association sur le chemin de R L Stevenson — a group of local businessmen, hoteliers and restaurateurs - to celebrate and help to promote the walk. We got ourselves to Monastier and then became their guests; they provided our board and lodgings, transport etc. for the next twelve days, a privilege indeed! We were housed where possible in inns/hotels where RLS had dined or slept and in each of these places were given a street reception and dinner in local hall or hotel joined by locals. Banners were strung across the main street in each place (however small) connected with Stevenson. The walk was the culmination of a summer of exhibitions, school projects, plays etc. organised by each of these towns and villages. The area is very dependant on tourism and the RLS trail is a vital part of this business. It is an official G R route (Grande Randonnee), which attracts walkers from all over the world. I would recommend this area to you it is perfectly possible for anyone unwilling or unable to walk the route to follow it by car, as many of the tracks and paths used by Stevenson have now been incorporated into the modem road system, by doing this you follow the RLS trail more exactly. The route crosses some of the finest and most remote country in rural France and visits towns and villages of historical importance. We were joined on the walk by walkers or hikers (they were paying to be there) some from New York, Belgium and France — some of them 'bag' walks as climbers 'bag' Monroes — few of them were there because of Stevenson, few of them had read the book!! I read recently "Is the traveller the true subject of the travel book and is he of more interest to us than the terrain? To an extent the traveller is to me in this case: Many hundreds of walkers have followed the trail - a few have walked it and written about it afterwards — here are a few examples: J.A. Hammerton (1903) In the track of RLS Robert Skinner 1924 — Head of Donaldson's School for the Deaf Andrew Evans 1964 - Published by Libraries and Music Dept. Edinburgh Carolyn Bennet Paterson 1978 — Centenary Year for National Geographic Magazine Richard Holmes - 'Footsteps — Adventures of a Romantic' RLS . Robin Neilland's beautifully illustrated copy On now to the journey. Le Monastier, the starting place, 3049ft above sea level, a little town in a pleasant highland valley — Stevenson found it a town notable for the making of Torchon lace, for drunkenness and for freedom of language — we did not see any drunks or hear bad language and the only lace we saw was in the local museum. We were shown round a superb Stevenson exhibition in the museum by a Frenchman who was proud to share his knowledge and enthusiasm for RLS. There is a small granite monument to Stevenson in the town square donated by an American, Mrs Gladstone, who did the walk several tunes. Also in the town square we met the donkeys and their driver Marcel. The Mayor of Monastier spoke some kind words of welcome after which we enjoyed the splendid playing of a brass ensemble then were invited to partake of a generous buffet lunch washed down by local wine. 'Not a step was taken but was heralded with glasses round and celebrated by a dinner or a breakfast" RLS. The sun was shining as we set off down the valley some forty or so walkers led by two donkeys. "As far as the eye can reach, one swelling line of hill-top rises and falls behind another, and if you can climb an eminence it is only to see new and farther ranges behind these." RLS We crossed the river Gazeille and walked and climbed for some time stopping briefly for a picnic on a moorland pasture. Stevenson had trouble keeping Modestine moving: "The pace was killing. It was something as much slower than a walk, than a walk is slower than a run" RLS He was referring to Modestine' s pace — I refer to mine ! Near the end of the punishing first day's walk I saw minibuses waiting to drive anyone who needed a lift to the hotel, unfortunately there was no room left so I had to walk the very steep ascent which almost did for me, I stopped for breath and looked around and thought about the view I was sharing with Stevenson : "The fields were all vacant in the bright sunshine, down the steep hill to Goudet which lay in a valley, the Loire as clear as crystal." RLS Our hotel lay at the foot of the hill (the same Hotel de Loire where Stevenson had lunch) where on arrival we drank desperately of their beer. We were whisked off to meet with the piper and dancers who were to lead us into the village of Le Bouchet St. Nicholas (where Stevenson spent the night). We marched behind the piper playing 'Scotland the Brave', lumps in throats I suspect. On the village square the green carpet was unrolled, the dancers performed then the local children danced the bourrée (a local folkdance). We were welcomed by the Mayor, tables were set up and the wine and nibbles appeared and we shared this with the villagers. This was the pattern every night! Le Bouchet is 4100ft and was chilly to say the least. "It was perishing cold, a grey windy, wintry evening, the sky was covered with clouds and the wind piped over the naked platform" RLS We returned to the Hotel de Loire for dinner and bed, at last! Rose at 7:00 am feeling stiff! We were 'bussed' back to Le Bouchet where we set off on a walk, which to my profound relief was flat — the only time? The next stop was the Medieval Town of Pradelles with some very old buildings under restoration. While we were hanging about, the elderly lady who owned the antique shop locked her door and took us on an impromptu walking tour telling us about the wooden statue of Our Lady who performed miracles. On his way to Langogne, Stevenson saw farmers with oxen and plough busy preparing for next spring. We saw no such happenings only some wild crocus and a flock of sheep, a few naked cottages and bleak fields, moor, heathery marsh and a lime wood of birch which had taken on the yellow of autumn. Stevenson lost his way here and was forced to camp in pitch darkness, he ate Bologna sausage and chocolate, washed down with neat cognac. My experiment that night was scary too — another shared experience — seven of us stayed at the Bel Air Hotel in Langogne, a hotel where Stevenson had taken refreshment. It was presided over by 'Mrs Danvers' and was old, dingy, unwelcoming and not too clean. After killing mosquitoes (or something), I was just about to go to sleep when my bedroom door burst open and in came 'Mrs Danvers' (she had obviously mistaken the room). She backed out wishing me 'Bon Nuit.' Later I heard a swishing sound and felt a movement of air, when I plucked up courage to put on the light it was to discover that the nylon curtain had fluttered from the window — like RLS "I felt my heart beating rather faster than usual". RLS I was glad to leave Langogne! En route to La Bastide we passed  Cheylard l'Evêque where Stevenson drank hot chocolate and dried his boots, then on to Luc — the ruins of a castle carrying on a pinnacle a tall white statue of Our Lady of Lourdes. It had just been erected when Stevenson was there and he said of Luc: "It had no beauty nor was there any notable feature but the old castle with its fifty donkey loads of brand new Madonna". RLS Next day the walk was cancelled because of the weather so we were entertained by John Shedden and enjoyed a day of 'R & R' "In gooseflesh and chuttering teeth… It was like the worst of the Scottish Highlands only worse"! From our hotel in La Bastide we were driven to the Monastery 'Our Lady of the Snows' where the reception was to be held — another shared experience —  "Out of the sun, out of the blast,  "Out of the world, alone I passed,  "Across the moor and through the wood,  "To where the monastery stood" "I pursued my way, driving my secular donkey before me and creaking in my secular boots and gaiters towards the 'Asylum of Silence' - I have rarely approached anything with more hearty terror than the monastery of 'Our Lady of the Snows' This is what it is to have had a Protestant education." "I felt chilly in and out" RLS "Grey cold raw, bleak and cheerless, the rain stopped so we had a walk round then into the theatre to see a video of life in the monastery, into the gift shop; it was too wet and cold to have the reception outside, so we were ushered into a cold draughty wine warehouse. The usual dancing took place; then we were taken into the dining hall where we were served by a monk and helper :  secular pizza, pop gravy, sausage and lamb stew, and fruit des bois tart with red wine from the Monastery." IGT   There is a note in the directions to visitors to the effect that they should not be offended by the curtness of those who wait upon them, since it is proper for monks to speak little, and some of the older monks are silent! Although all monks who wait on strangers are at liberty to speak, I didn't manage to have a conversation with one! We were invited to join the monks for complies (evening worship). I was moved beyond words by the strong, manly singing of these men, some of who speak only to God. The prayers, the dimming of the lights and the silence, the long silence, then the ringing of the bell which spoke directly to the heart ! Stevenson said :  "And I blessed God that I was free to wander, free to hope and free to love." One of the monks tried to convert Stevenson and when he refused, the monk said "Your father and mother? You will convert them when you go home". Can you imagine trying to convert Thomas Stevenson, an elder in the kirk, or his wife, a daughter of the manse? We crossed the Allier and another hill until we reached Chasserades.   Stevenson had to share a room a few yards from ours with five rail workers: "The room was full of a transparent darkness, which dimly showed me the other three beds and the five different nightcaps on the pillows". RLS We travelled on to Le Bleymard, at the start of the Cevennes National Park.  Stevenson spent that  night in the pines, where he left the coins.   The next day found us almost at the top of Mt, Lozere sipping coffee on the decking of Mt. Lozere Chalet Hotel, the chalet owned by the organiser of our trip, 4658ft above sea level — from here we could see the Alps. The sun was shining! There before us were the Cevennes of the Cevennes. Pont de Montvert was our next resting place. an old town, houses clinging to the riverbank, the gushing river Tarn, steep alley-ways and streets. Our supper this evening was served in the local hall/ecomuseum, chicken and mushroom pie and wild boar. This is where the Protestants and the Catholics started to fight  the War of the Camisards.   Today, Wednesday 3Oth September, three of us were taken by car on the almost exact route taken by Stevenson to Florac. We were now in chestnut country. Our guide explained to us about terracing and how there is no one left who can take care of them. The same problem with the chestnut trees, they have fallen on bad times. There are few hands to give them the necessary trimming for proper growth and top nut production. The chestnut was the staple diet of the people, eaten fresh in soups and stews, dried and ground into flour, tree leaves fed to livestock, inner bark for baskets and its wood for furniture. We saw what Stevenson called a pass like that of Killiecrankie — a thin fringe of ash trees ran about the hill-tops but on the lower slopes and far up every glen were the chestnut trees. Florac next, as perfect a little town as one would desire to see, a bustling little place on the river Tarn " Old castle, live fountain, quaint street corners and handsome women" RLS An alley of plane trees runs through the town, this is where the reception was held. Cassagnas —A gite in a wild valley — around here was where the Protestants hid during the Camisard War, the same caverns in the hills where the "maquis" (French Resistance) hid their weapons and themselves from the Germans in World War II. St Germain de  Calberte — A pretty little village on the side of a hill where the organiser arranged a 'Miss Modestine' contest, much to everyone's amusement. Eight donkeys took part and the one most like Modestine, of course, was the winner. In the evening John Shedden performed and a French fiddler entertained us with tunes from World War II — Lili Marlene etc. The last day,  October 3, everyone met to enjoy a picnic lunch on the St Pierre mountain top; here the sun was shining but the wind was cruel, the yawning valley and a long descent lay before us. "Modestine and I — it was our last meal together — had a snack upon the top of St. Pierre." RLS Into St. Jean du Gard led by piper, dancers, donkeys, chairman of RLS club from Edinburgh, chairman of Le Chemin de RLS and a long procession of walkers, we entered  the square where speeches were made, hands shaken and the first Literary  twinning in Europe took place. An evening of feasting and dancing rounded off the day. During these twelve days many friendships were forged, both between club members and strangers. RLS took the coach to Ales where he hoped to collect mail from his beloved Fanny Osborne. We took the coach to Lyon.