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Our final night

Scenes from day twenty one

Day twenty one - Wednesday 20 September.

We made a quick get away this morning so we could make the best of our time in Albi and be back in time for our customary deux vins blancs at the Cafe du Commerce. Not a cloud over Albi, or anywhere else today, just a uniformly bright blue sky. In his unerring quest for a good park David found an underground parking lot that was just where we needed it to be and we set off for la cathedrale Sainte Cecile d'Albi. We caught tantalizing glimpses of it as we wound our way past cafes in sun dappled squares and then all of a sudden it loomed above us - an immense and brutal looking homage to Catholicism that took about 100 years to build (starting in 1282) and another 100 years to consecrate. It is said to be the largest brick building in the world. It was built in the aftermath of a 20 year crusade by Pope Innocent (a contradiction in terms surely) against the Cathars in Albi, a reformist movement that among other things took a dim view of the dissolute lifestyles of the Catholic clergy. There is no doubt that it was built to celebrate the triumph of the Catholic Church over the heretics. The interior is extraordinary; not an inch of wall or ceiling unpainted and everything is writ large. It would be impossible to attend mass there without being reminded of heaven and hell, those happy souls walking around naked singing from their song books compared to those flailing around in a fiery furnace. We nicked across the road after that for lunch and a bit of light relief. In the space of time it took us to eat our grilled Camembert (me ), roast chicken (David) and delicious baked apples we traversed a lot of territory. We started with Andrew Marvel's To His Coy Mistress, moved on to Marvel's ode to Oliver Cromwell, flipped back 100 years to Thomas Crowell and finished with the big question - who was Edward V1's mother! By then we were ready to see the collection of paintings by Henri Toulouse- Latrec in the bishop's castle next door. It was a great collection and we could have spent many more hours there. I really liked his paintings though a couple of minutes spent looking at each didn't do them justice. We drove home via Corde Sur Ceil because David had read about it in a magazine and because its name translates into rope to the sky. That seemed like a good enough reason to us! It is a hilltop town alright- perched so high above everything that most people live at the foot of it and content themselves with looking up. If there is a next time we might make our way up to see how beautiful it is for ourselves. Clothilde, our super vigilant and ever patient navigator, took it upon herself to leave us with a sober reminder that there is still much of the Tarn et Garrone region that we have not seen. She directed us back along country roads and through little villages that we had no idea existed. We got back in time for our wine in the square and in time for me to finish this blog while David does all the cleaning and packing up. It has been wonderful to live here and I have thoroughly enjoyed 'documenting' our days. The notice board outside the Office de Tourism is crammed with posters advertising upcoming events in and around Lauzerte and I can hardly believe that I won't be here for them. Thank you so much for reading my blog.

Another scene from day twenty

Scenes from day twenty

Day twenty - Tuesday 19 September

19 degrees and no rain was the weather forecast for Moissac today, though the dirty big cloud that drew up overhead as we parked in the commune of Durfort- Lacapellette told a different story. Tant Pis (too bad) we said; we were committed. We had baguettes with us and a slice of a startlingly tasty walnut tart. There was no turning back. We were going to be joining our fellow pilgrims on the Moissac trail come hell or high water and we were fervently hoping in the way of all good pilgrims that it wouldn’t be the latter. Our determination to faithfully start where we had finished off last week meant that we ended up inadvertently walking in a very impressive loop back to our car and notching up 5,000 steps before we had even started towards Moissac. Undaunted we struck out for the Grand Route and followed a boggy tractor path up a hill through pastures in various states of preparedness for new crops. I conceived a plan to grow a vegetable garden at home that paid homage to the sunflowers, green beans, soya beans, grapes and tomatoes that colour the landscape here. Thankfully the muddy and slippery path gave way to sealed roads. We stopped for lunch at St Martin beside a church that would have been pretty austere without its bell tower and little cemetery. As usual there was no shortage of loving sentiments within; I counted more than 20 expressions of love and loss on the grave of a young man who had died aged 24.

We encountered an older German woman at St Martin who we had met before in Lauzerte. Considering that it was late afternoon and she had at least 12 kms to go to reach Moissac she seemed to be taking it very slowly. She had all the walking gear - otherwise we would have worried for her as unlike other pilgrims she stopped frequently to have a look around. David thought she might have been trying to find an empty house to shelter in or a verandah to sleep under. Many of the houses we walked past had grills on their windows so maybe that happens. I hope she is OK.

It was during our search for a WC in Durfort- Lacapellette that I made a wonderful discovery. The French word for sunflower is ‘tournesol’, which translates as turn to the sun. How beautiful is that? This discovery was made possible by a poster in a park outside the Mairie that David was able to translate. We learnt that the commune is a designated stopping place for pilgrims and has five parishes. Each parish has its own church and each church is in proud possession of a bell tower. Hidden from view somewhere is also a chateau but we are unlikely to go searching for it. Our pilgrimage is at an end. We have walked as far as we are going to walk and it has been joyful. With our one last remaining day in south west France we are going to drive to Albi, home of Toulouse Latrec and a very impressive cathedral so we are told.

Another scene from day nineteen

Scene from day nineteen

Day nineteen - Monday 18 September

We had decided to continue on the pilgrim trail today but after a night of solid rain reluctantly changed our minds. The track would have been muddy at best and we would have been praying for a miracle - a sheltered picnic table under which we could enjoy our baguettes. After rummaging through travel brochures very kindly left behind by previous tenants we seized upon a different plan. We would drive to Puy-L'Eveque, a fortified village on the Lot river about 40 minutes away via the Bonaguil Chateau in Fumel.

When Phillip the Bold (King Phillip 111) waltzed in and took over the region in 1271 the Chateau was pretty rudimentary - just a simple stone tower. It wasn’t until Berenger de Roquefeuil came along in the 15th century that it got new towers, drawbridges, and many other defensive structures, that would have given Tolkien’s Gondor in Middle Earth a run for its money. I am interested to know whether Phillip was actually bold (not just by his own standards) but I’m guessing that Berenger was definitely not. Judging by his Chateau renovation I’d say he was hyper vigilant and super cautious. Marguerite de Fumel made some further home improvements in the second half of the 18th century (a bit less drawbridge and a bit more soft furnishings) but the French Revolution sealed its fate. The dwellings were levelled and the towers dismantled. Thankfully it was acquired by the town of Fumel in 1860 and listed as a historic monument two years later so that we could visit it. The chateau afforded a great view of the surrounding countryside and you were left in no doubt that that countryside needed some serious protecting back then. We had a surprisingly good lunch at a restaurant on site and though my prawns were delicious I had cause to envy David’s choice of Boeuf Bourguignon.

Puy-L'Eveque is a lovely town with an expansive river, a hard working lock, a respectable Marie and one hell of a lot of steps. We found our way to a Cave de Vignerons, a cellar door that offered wine tastings from the region. For a minute there we thought we would be challenged to speak French but as we took our place at the bar it became clear that we were surrounded by English speaking people. One couple from New Zealand staying in the town for 7 weeks have visited a number of times. Like us they hired a car and found a brave bloke willing to drive it. We reminisced about the guilty pleasure of flying premium economy and the great wines of our respective countries. Their friend, also from NZ was pretty outspoken about what she liked and didn’t like as she worked her way through the wine tastings. She even did the unthinkable for us - tipped her wine out!!

We had thought about having a simple meal tonight at the Auberge in Lauzerte but have opted for something on toast at home instead. The two bottles of wine we walked away with cost us an arm and a leg and one big meal a day is probably enough.

Another scene from day eighteen. Moi at lunch

Scenes from day eighteen

Day eighteen - Sunday 17 September

With only four days left in Lauzerte we are faced with an enviable choice. Do we take long drives to explore cities further afield like Bordeaux to see more of this beautiful country or do we spend our remaining time close to home, painting, playing online chess, reading, writing, cooking, living? The jury is out as we sit at the kitchen table together in companiable silence each doing our own thing on this still and drizzly Sunday afternoon. What I want most is to imprint this village and the curved hills and ploughed fields that lay below it on my memory. We ventured to neighboring Montcuq this morning on a frivolous mission to find a mustard colored cardigan that I had liked last time we visited the marche. We justified it by buying some bread for tomorrow's breakfast and some potatoes and onions to accompany tonight's quiche. The market was still in full swing when we went into the Cafe de France for lunch. It didn't look like much from the outside but it opened up into a large welcoming room with imposing mirrors at either end that reflected light onto warm brown stone walls. By the time we emerged the streets were empty. We surmised that everyone not still in the cafe had gone home to stoke their fires, stir their cassoulet and make love. It would be a travesty to disturb the peace by dragging out a vacuum cleaner. My main had been scallops and prawns in a yellow curry sauce. The scallops were called Coquille Saint Jacques, which led us to ponder why scallops are associated with Saint James and how the scallop shell is emblematic of pilgrimage in general. One legend has it that St James arrived in Spain from Jerusalem bearing some scallop shells about his person that he had used to sip water along the way. It must have been a good look because it took off in a big way and no self respecting pilgrim would be seen without one after that. That splendid bit of Google research however did not explain why my scallops were not cooked in the traditional mushroom sauce that separates a Saint Jacques scallop from the rest. Further research required on this important topic. Before I settled into blog writing I went to a Vide Maison a couple of streets away that I'd seen advertised. Vide Maison translates as an empty house in French so I was curious. After some awkward moments I came to understand that the owner was trying to sell her house and belongings and that she hadn't been sure what to call it. She knew that the English called it a garage sale but she didn't have a garage. Or at least I think that is what she said. It had been a success she thought. Luckily I spied a very striking short sleeved top that she was selling so I didn't have to leave empty handed.

Scenes from day seventeen

Day seventeen - Saturday 16 September

We slept in this morning and missed the Randonee Pedestre at Bourg de Visa. Or so we thought. It was only after we substituted a hearty walk in Bourg de Visa for a hearty lunch instead that we realised the walks are actually scheduled for tomorrow. Just as well we hadn’t curtailed our beautiful and uncharacteristically long sleep to get there. We shopped at our marche for the last time and bought mushroom ravioli for tea, and a very nice scarf from a father and son outfit. The boy was maybe ten years old and was eager to show off his very good English to such a willing and admiring audience.

It’s 6pm now and there are visitors streaming past our house en route to the Pont de Vue. This time they are here for the Festival Resonances - a celebration of architecture and music being held this weekend in and around Lauzerte. I joined a tour as it swept past and managed to find out from our guide (who spoke to me in English) that the house we are staying in was likely to have belonged to an artisan, possibly a blacksmith. It wasn’t a shop, that much they know, but she doesn’t think it was a conventional house either. The tour took a surprising turn when we were shown into a cavernous underground cellar with vaulted ceilings built in the Middle Ages. I understood very little of what our guide told us. I thought I heard her say that it was the place where they stored tomatoes and potatoes and pork. But I also thought she said that it had been a prison. She confirmed for me that it had been an excellent cellar for the village. You forget how bewildering life is when you don’t speak the language. I’m piecing words together here and there and following people down flights of stairs without knowing where I’m going and what I’m seeing. The highlight was discovering that the cellar lay underneath a building that housed the ecole maternelle, the equivalent of our kindergarten.

A pop folk duo called Jell-Oo was also on the bill for the Festival Resonances. They played in a cool cafe in the square, Puit de Jours, that also operates as a bar and music venue. They were impressive musicians. I liked their sound and it felt good to be part of a community event like this. They might have had a bigger audience if they’d played outdoors in the square as planned before the rain set in but we were very happy to take a warm seat indoors.

The temperature has dropped now and we had quite a bit of rain today. That’s ok by us- we’ve have such beautiful weather and have been glad to be around for the transition from late summer to autumn.

Another scene from day sixteen - David with his bamboo staff cut with his faithful pocketknife

Scenes from day sixteen

Day sixteen - Friday 15 September

Another reflective day on the pilgrim trail - though this time from where we left the trail to Moissac the day before last. Either it was an easier path this time or we are getting our pilgrim legs. We have by now walked about 14 kms of a 20 km track that we hope to complete before we go. We are not like real pilgrims who walk doggedly in one direction with their eyes on a prize. No walking back to the comfort of a hired car for them. No 6pm wine in the square and lovely home to return to. I think I would rather do it our way. We walked past orchards of fruit and nuts this afternoon, and perfectly straight lines of grape vines bearing young and still bitter fruit that we supposed to be table grapes. We pulled outside the L'Aube Nouvelle, a hotel that looked like something time forgot. It is named after the national anthem of Benin in Africa, composed to celebrate independence in 1963. None of that explains why this hotel In this little village would bear its name.

At the first halte we met a young bloke from Germany who had just left school and walked over 1000 kms on his own from Munich. He expects to do at least that much again to get to Santiago de Compestella. He left with 300 euros, carefully budgeted at 3 euros a day, and has been sleeping rough under trees and in empty barns. When David asked if he had enough money to stay somewhere indoors he said that he now had 200 euros more than what he’d left Germany with on account of the generosity of pilgrims he’d met along the way. He might have stirred maternal instincts in them as he did us, particularly those who emailed his parents on his behalf to let them know he was ok. I asked if he got lonely and he replied that he was lonely before he left. He asked me if I believed in God and whether I thought Australia was better than France. Both perplexing questions even though I knew the answers. He does believe in God and it seemed that the pilgrimage was an expression of his faith. I couldn’t help noticing the overflowing rubbish bins at this wayside stop and not for the first time wondered why it was so hard for people to live out their values. Can you not walk lightly on the earth and take your rubbish with you?

The Place de Cornieres was quiet this evening as we donned coats and headed out for our ritual wine. David broke with tradition and ordered the local forfified wine, Anise, and then shot across the deserted square to get a dinner booking. Mission accomplished we are going out for dinner and then to a guided tour of Lauzerte by torchlight. We have a very busy weekend lined up. We’re inviting ourselves along to a Randonee Pedestre at Bourg de Visa. From the promotional flyer it looks like there are three different community walks on offer and somewhere to have a picnic lunch. Who knows? Later that afternoon a folk duo are performing in our square. The stage is ready for them- we just need to the rain to hold off. On Sunday we have the market at Montcuq, and then a circus is coming to town. For now though our main concern is how to get back on our tired legs and walk the short distance to dinner.

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