dw: "I want some coffee."
me: "The next place is only a mile or so away."
dw: "It's more than two."
me: "It was less than two at the last sign."
dw: "It was 2.4K -- that's 14 miles in real terms."
me: "Well, both numbers do have a four in them."
dw: "I'm tired and my math skills are slipping."
Later we took to carrying single serving packets of instant coffee -- not ideal but far better than no coffee at all. Unlike Spain, in France we would often go an entire day without finding a place for a coffee break. Doubtless it was a great deprivation.
After Pasturat, we took another abandoned RR shortcut. And it proved to be a shortcut, even though it started badly and then got worse. The shortcut started through a curved tunnel, that was long enough that we couldn't see the end, and not seeing a light at the end of the tunnel might have been a hint. After the tunnel, the track continued between ever deepening stone faced walls and ever more dense brush until it became impassable. Fortunately, an iron ladder was fixed to the wall near where we were stopped so we didn't have to backtrack. We topped out on a road that passed a farmhouse with large interesting sculptures (camel, spider) made of steel rod. The fat surly artist standing in the yard grudgingly admitted they were his work, told us the trail was just down the road, and definitely indicated he was out of friendly for the day.
After several miles on a road, we again tried the RR track, and for two miles it went well. Then the brush again thickened and increasingly, trees had fallen across the track (the result of a widespread, violent storm two weeks previous) We had to remove our packs and pass them to each other to get through in places, and a couple of times we needed to help each other to get through -- it was a real mess but we didn't want to turn back, because ---- two miles. Eventually we made the goal, which was another RR bridge over the river Lot and which represented another shortcut of three miles. Time-wise, and effort-wise we might not have gained anything, but it was an interesting day.
In Cahors dw hadn't been able to find us a place to stay, so we went to the tourist office. The poor young woman in the office took nearly an hour trying to find us a gite. In the end we settled for one a half mile out of town and up a steep hill -- not what we wanted -- but it proved to be a fine choice: The owners (an older couple -- probably my age, alas) were just renting out an extra bedroom. When we got there, they asked us to be sure and not let their dog out of the yard, nor into the house. I asked what kind of dog is it, and the man answered: "A good dog." which, after all, is the best kind of dog. We had breakfast in the morning, the owners joined us and we had a very nice conversation, along with coffee and entirely homemade toast and jam. It was all so pleasant we left later than usual.
A couple of days later, in Latastide-Marnhac, we passed an elementary school: It was recess time and for a few moments some of the kids were singing: "Alouette, Alouette, gentile Alouette. Alouette je te plumerai ---" So I wondered: does every elementary in the western world sing that? I certainly did and so did dw.
Our gite that evening, at Trigodina, featured a truffle pig. A master of disguise, the pig looked like a normal gray pot-bellied pig, but in fact it was an actual truffle pig. The owner had a picture of a softball sized truffle the pig had found. I guess the pig won't be eaten any time soon, or at least not all at once. The gite also had a golden retriever who didn't seem to be interested in truffles but who was very good at mooching treats and ear scratches.
The trail continued to be very difficult in places. One steep section, leading to Lazerte, even had a heavy (one inch) rope tied to trees and extending for a hundred yards to be used as a hand rail -- wet and muddy the section would have been nearly impassable. The descent two hundred yards farther on, was equally steep.
Lazerte is another "Most Beautiful" hill-top village. We had a pint of amber ale (English pub, English owner, and English ale -- except served cold) I paid for the beer when I ordered it and then carried it outside where we were sitting. Later, dw went to the loo and after, offered to pay. The bartender said I'd already paid, but (with a smile) "I'd collect again, but you two talked with each other. Most couples don't." -- chuckles all around. And Lazert
e has a wonderful art feature: the corner of the central square is curled up like the corner of a rug.
Across from the pub we saw an open bookstore with some English language books. We each bought a book for 1E apiece. The owner of the store was an old, wrinkled woman -- still attractive in a fin de siecle way and we talked with her for a bit. She had several large paintings on the wall, and she explained they were about East and West Berlin, and the separation between the two. It sounded like she was the lover of the artist (this was before the wall came down) and came away from the affair with the paintings. The woman and the story were very exotic and very French (Perhaps a pleasant Flaubert story). And she had the appropriate husky voice (too many Gauloise over the years?)
Some days later, at Moissac, we took a rest day. Our gite was another -- end the day with a steep uphill walk -- but we had been warned: when dw made the reservation, the owner said there was a bar just before the climb started and perhaps stopping for a break and a beer would be a good idea. (we didn't, but it was a fair suggestion) Rather than staying in the dorm section, we opted for the "honeymoon suite" which was a large tepee like tent a bit away from the building. It was fine, except we would have liked electricity and a light. (we were entertained by a lizard wandering around on the outside top of the tent). Since we planned to stay two nights, the tent was ide
al. We could leave our stuff while we explored the town, or could spend the day laying around. In the dorm, we would have had to vacate for much of the day (a common gite rule)
We visited the Moissac cloister -- the oldest Christian cloister in the world (1100). The capitals on the pillars are the selling point. There are a couple hundred columns and each capital is different: some saints, some bible stories, some mythology, and some "rampant foliage" (dw and I agreed that we need more rampant foliage in our lives). About a hundred years ago, the French national railroad ran a RR track through a corner of the cloister and cut an adjacent chapel in half. They still refuse to fix the problem, proving that Philistines are everywhere. While we were in the cloister, we heard a bunch of yelling, horn honking and firecrackers. A bit later we heard it again; we thought: Protest? Riot? But when we exited we saw it was a wedding. Saturday was a big wedding day, and during the day and evening we saw or heard eight weddings -- first they would have the official marriage at city hall, then later a church ceremony if desired. It seems to be a very civilized system. (After the cloister we also visited the city museum. It was mostly about some local dude who did some stuff and collected assorted relics and other debris. It was 45 minutes out of our lives we will never get back)
The owner of our gite recommended a restaurant, La Formage, where we ate lunch (much less expensive than dinner). It had a set menu with two choices for each of three courses with a final cheese plate. We separated our choices so each got a taste of every dish: the meal was superb.
Most of our "rest" day we spent sight-seeing. First we walked to the canal bridge. -- Not a bridge over a canal, but a bridge over a river, and that bridge carries a canal. The bridge is a canal with sidewalks. Well worth the three mile round trip. --- (The river is easily big enough for boat and barge traffic)
Otherwise, we visited the church (and discretely watched a bit of a wedding -- including a sobbing guest -- spurned lover of the groom?), did some shopping without buying anything except for some food for tomorrow's lunch, looked at buildings and houses, and sat and people watched. A nice day. (with light rain)
We left Sunday, and most of Sunday's walk was along the canal --- very pretty, straight, lined with large plane trees, level, and after three hours --- sort of boring. (we can be hard to please)
BOOK OF THE DAY: Latin For All Occasions (Henry Beard) "Stercus pro cerebro habes." -- You have shit for brains. "Podex perfectus es." -- You are a total asshole. "Futue te ipsum et caballum in que vectus est." -- Screw you and the horse you rode in on.
JOKE OF THE DAY: If a bee is bothering you, don't swat it or run away. Just stand still and stare at it, because seeing is believing.
Why didn't the Frenchman have two eggs for breakfast? -- Because one egg is un oeuf.
FACTOID OF THE DAY: Marcel Marceau once released a LP that was 19 minutes of silence, followed by 1 minute of applause --- on both sides.
And so it goes. DJA
me: "The next place is only a mile or so away."
dw: "It's more than two."
me: "It was less than two at the last sign."
dw: "It was 2.4K -- that's 14 miles in real terms."
me: "Well, both numbers do have a four in them."
dw: "I'm tired and my math skills are slipping."
Later we took to carrying single serving packets of instant coffee -- not ideal but far better than no coffee at all. Unlike Spain, in France we would often go an entire day without finding a place for a coffee break. Doubtless it was a great deprivation.
After several miles on a road, we again tried the RR track, and for two miles it went well. Then the brush again thickened and increasingly, trees had fallen across the track (the result of a widespread, violent storm two weeks previous) We had to remove our packs and pass them to each other to get through in places, and a couple of times we needed to help each other to get through -- it was a real mess but we didn't want to turn back, because ---- two miles. Eventually we made the goal, which was another RR bridge over the river Lot and which represented another shortcut of three miles. Time-wise, and effort-wise we might not have gained anything, but it was an interesting day.
In Cahors dw hadn't been able to find us a place to stay, so we went to the tourist office. The poor young woman in the office took nearly an hour trying to find us a gite. In the end we settled for one a half mile out of town and up a steep hill -- not what we wanted -- but it proved to be a fine choice: The owners (an older couple -- probably my age, alas) were just renting out an extra bedroom. When we got there, they asked us to be sure and not let their dog out of the yard, nor into the house. I asked what kind of dog is it, and the man answered: "A good dog." which, after all, is the best kind of dog. We had breakfast in the morning, the owners joined us and we had a very nice conversation, along with coffee and entirely homemade toast and jam. It was all so pleasant we left later than usual.
A couple of days later, in Latastide-Marnhac, we passed an elementary school: It was recess time and for a few moments some of the kids were singing: "Alouette, Alouette, gentile Alouette. Alouette je te plumerai ---" So I wondered: does every elementary in the western world sing that? I certainly did and so did dw.
Our gite that evening, at Trigodina, featured a truffle pig. A master of disguise, the pig looked like a normal gray pot-bellied pig, but in fact it was an actual truffle pig. The owner had a picture of a softball sized truffle the pig had found. I guess the pig won't be eaten any time soon, or at least not all at once. The gite also had a golden retriever who didn't seem to be interested in truffles but who was very good at mooching treats and ear scratches.
The trail continued to be very difficult in places. One steep section, leading to Lazerte, even had a heavy (one inch) rope tied to trees and extending for a hundred yards to be used as a hand rail -- wet and muddy the section would have been nearly impassable. The descent two hundred yards farther on, was equally steep.
Lazerte is another "Most Beautiful" hill-top village. We had a pint of amber ale (English pub, English owner, and English ale -- except served cold) I paid for the beer when I ordered it and then carried it outside where we were sitting. Later, dw went to the loo and after, offered to pay. The bartender said I'd already paid, but (with a smile) "I'd collect again, but you two talked with each other. Most couples don't." -- chuckles all around. And Lazert
e has a wonderful art feature: the corner of the central square is curled up like the corner of a rug. Across from the pub we saw an open bookstore with some English language books. We each bought a book for 1E apiece. The owner of the store was an old, wrinkled woman -- still attractive in a fin de siecle way and we talked with her for a bit. She had several large paintings on the wall, and she explained they were about East and West Berlin, and the separation between the two. It sounded like she was the lover of the artist (this was before the wall came down) and came away from the affair with the paintings. The woman and the story were very exotic and very French (Perhaps a pleasant Flaubert story). And she had the appropriate husky voice (too many Gauloise over the years?)
Some days later, at Moissac, we took a rest day. Our gite was another -- end the day with a steep uphill walk -- but we had been warned: when dw made the reservation, the owner said there was a bar just before the climb started and perhaps stopping for a break and a beer would be a good idea. (we didn't, but it was a fair suggestion) Rather than staying in the dorm section, we opted for the "honeymoon suite" which was a large tepee like tent a bit away from the building. It was fine, except we would have liked electricity and a light. (we were entertained by a lizard wandering around on the outside top of the tent). Since we planned to stay two nights, the tent was ide
al. We could leave our stuff while we explored the town, or could spend the day laying around. In the dorm, we would have had to vacate for much of the day (a common gite rule) We visited the Moissac cloister -- the oldest Christian cloister in the world (1100). The capitals on the pillars are the selling point. There are a couple hundred columns and each capital is different: some saints, some bible stories, some mythology, and some "rampant foliage" (dw and I agreed that we need more rampant foliage in our lives). About a hundred years ago, the French national railroad ran a RR track through a corner of the cloister and cut an adjacent chapel in half. They still refuse to fix the problem, proving that Philistines are everywhere. While we were in the cloister, we heard a bunch of yelling, horn honking and firecrackers. A bit later we heard it again; we thought: Protest? Riot? But when we exited we saw it was a wedding. Saturday was a big wedding day, and during the day and evening we saw or heard eight weddings -- first they would have the official marriage at city hall, then later a church ceremony if desired. It seems to be a very civilized system. (After the cloister we also visited the city museum. It was mostly about some local dude who did some stuff and collected assorted relics and other debris. It was 45 minutes out of our lives we will never get back)
The owner of our gite recommended a restaurant, La Formage, where we ate lunch (much less expensive than dinner). It had a set menu with two choices for each of three courses with a final cheese plate. We separated our choices so each got a taste of every dish: the meal was superb.
Otherwise, we visited the church (and discretely watched a bit of a wedding -- including a sobbing guest -- spurned lover of the groom?), did some shopping without buying anything except for some food for tomorrow's lunch, looked at buildings and houses, and sat and people watched. A nice day. (with light rain)
BOOK OF THE DAY: Latin For All Occasions (Henry Beard) "Stercus pro cerebro habes." -- You have shit for brains. "Podex perfectus es." -- You are a total asshole. "Futue te ipsum et caballum in que vectus est." -- Screw you and the horse you rode in on.
JOKE OF THE DAY: If a bee is bothering you, don't swat it or run away. Just stand still and stare at it, because seeing is believing.
Why didn't the Frenchman have two eggs for breakfast? -- Because one egg is un oeuf.
FACTOID OF THE DAY: Marcel Marceau once released a LP that was 19 minutes of silence, followed by 1 minute of applause --- on both sides.
And so it goes. DJA
No comments:
Post a Comment