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We were up very early, having had a day of rest and understanding our walking needs of no rushing at the end of the day. Katya planned to leave much later, to take her time and have a big breakfast and to sleep in a little. When we left, Michel and Bernadette were talking with her over cups of coffee.
Having walked the medieval city on the top of the hill the day before, I knew that we did not have to go up just for the sake of following the official trail, simply to come down and walk on. We called at the bakery and skirted around the lower village and out onto the open road. Much as I have loved taking the time to explore places with a day off, I always love the first two hours of the freedom of being off and away on the chemin again. It doesn’t matter how cold it is to me, or whether it is drizzling or misty, I have just enjoyed that feeling of prancing along in tune with my body before lots of other activities have taken the edge off my energy levels. We have both enjoyed having new ground to cover and a goal to reach every day, yet no stress because the path is so well marked.
This trail marker was decorated with a peculiar steel 'sculpture' and some accompanying words about the solar system. It is common to find posts like this adorned with crosses, at which pilgrims habitually leave stones.
We were up very early, having had a day of rest and understanding our walking needs of no rushing at the end of the day. Katya planned to leave much later, to take her time and have a big breakfast and to sleep in a little. When we left, Michel and Bernadette were talking with her over cups of coffee.Having walked the medieval city on the top of the hill the day before, I knew that we did not have to go up just for the sake of following the official trail, simply to come down and walk on. We called at the bakery and skirted around the lower village and out onto the open road. Much as I have loved taking the time to explore places with a day off, I always love the first two hours of the freedom of being off and away on the chemin again. It doesn’t matter how cold it is to me, or whether it is drizzling or misty, I have just enjoyed that feeling of prancing along in tune with my body before lots of other activities have taken the edge off my energy levels. We have both enjoyed having new ground to cover and a goal to reach every day, yet no stress because the path is so well marked.
This trail marker was decorated with a peculiar steel 'sculpture' and some accompanying words about the solar system. It is common to find posts like this adorned with crosses, at which pilgrims habitually leave stones.It wasn’t long before we were far enough away to turn and have a last view of Lauzerte, and to consider how much we would enjoy living around here. The path, which had been following the road between farmland and beside a field of Cosmos in a flower farm, took a dip into a forest. At once we lost the sense of where we were, being only aware of the the one little bit of lane that we could see, and of the trees all around us. When we emerged, we were surprised to see my dream home with a ‘For Sale’ sign on it. High grand stone gateposts supported no gates so we had a clear view of the enormous grounds, the large old stone farmhouse, big enough for all our family and friends, and not a ruin (which for some reason puts Keith off). There was also a large stable. Being set at the edge of the woods, only three kilometres away from Lauzerte, and near a restored ancient chapel as well, it had everything going for it.
Unfortunately no price was given and we did not take down the telephone number to make an inquiry. We walked on to the top of the rise, noting easy road access to Luazerte, and then noting that we hadn’t seen any red and white signs for a while. I read the guide book, where it said very clearly to turn right at the pigeonnier, which was opposite the house we had been studying. We had a little back tracking to do, and then we were on the right path again. We have seen many and varied pigeonniers, which are structures built to raise pigeons. They are sometimes on stilts, sometimes round, and often very decorative, on occasion being more carefully constructed than the nearby house of the people. 
The pigeons lay their eggs inside the pigeonnier. We presume that the pigeons are raised for the table, rather than for the love of birds or to carry messages or compete in races, but as yet no-on has confirmed our thoughts on this. When we asked a man about eating the pigeons, he was on a different wave length and said that the father bird continues to fly in and out finding food which he regurgitates for the young and the female.
It was at this point that we came to the Church of St Sernin, in a clearing in the woods. A group of citizens has worked on it, applying for grants and giving their labour to restore this beautiful little church.Scaffolding inside showed that the task is continuing.
A wall attached to the church surrounds its cemetery. There are recent graves as well as old ones, and the brightest flowers, blooming as pot plants, showed that the cemetery is very much a part of the present. I found the grave of someone who had died on my birthday, twenty years before I was born. 
I wondered about this person, who had been named simply as M. Resseguie, aged 77. Did the M stand for Monsieur? Was it for a name? All pointless ponderings that were given a chance as we walked along, except that they brought to mind the bigger thought of how many every-day practices are based on traditions and customs that a visitor doesn’t know.
We had a fair bit of walking beside the road, but not much traffic. Eventually we passed through Durfort Lacapalette, where we chose to ignore the red and white markers, as recommended by Michel, continuing on the road and dropping two kilometres off the day. A turn to the left from the main road led over the hills and past much new building, and also a sign that said it was forbidden to pick the mushrooms. We saw another later on, nowhere near a built up area, and wondered whether the area had been sprayed or was there a mushroom owner somewhere who was sick of sharing the harvest. Once we were out of the area of houses, we left the road and scrambled down a slope into the forest to have lunch. A picnic tastes so good after a long walk and with your bottom perched on a plastic bag in a damp but beautiful forest.
It was here that perhaps Keith lost his glasses – after studying the guide book, and where some woodland creature now puzzles over the smooth round glass discs.
Today’s walk took us though farms, along the tracks between the paddocks and close to the farm buildings.
Many times we have felt as though we must be going the wrong way, as we walked through farms, and in amongst hay and machinery sheds, but it has been the official path.
The crops gave way to orchards, with the hillsides patched with different varieties of trees and their distinctive autumn foliage. At one stage the bright yellow of apricots competed with the vivid orange carpet under a peach orchard. The area around Moissac is renowned for its orchards but this industry only started in a big way around the 1930s. Until then, the hillsides were clothed in vineyards. Today we saw apples, kiwi fruit, peaches, apricots, grapes and pears. Some trees were espaliered and others were pruned to vase or other shapes.A few orchards had nets tied up, ready to lower to stop birds damaging the fruit next year. We were back in the land of the enormous clods and shining hillsides, and stepped carefully from grass patch to grass patch whenever we could to avoid clay on our shoes.
We passed a spring that had been fed into a well and animal trough beside the lane, and a tree beside it had grown in such a way as to look like a dragon guarding a miraculous source of water.
For ages we walked beside the road along an avenue of enormous plane trees which showed them in all their glory, and then we were off along another lane. 
At a fork, the markers led in one direction, and in the other a fenced paddock had a notice that told pilgrims to stay out. There must have been some bad experiences for someone to have gone to the trouble to have an enormous professional sign made. I thought back to the reasons that some pilgrims, and rifraf claiming to be pilgrims, had been unpopular in the past, and imagined modern versions.
We were putting on speed on the flat areas and zoomed towards the suburban outskirts of Moissac. On our last rural stretch, the hillsides were covered so neatly in orchards that they looked like knitted rib pattern. Soon we were walking past industrial sites, and then, as the city proper started, along a quiet back street parallel with the main road. In the distance the skyline told of the Medieval city heart that we were steadily gaining on. Suddenly the streets were narrow, the buildings interesting and the signs mentioning the cloisters, which are famous here. It is always tempting to start looking around before we find our lodgings and drop off the packs, but we were very sensible and walked on by temptations and straight to the tourist office. There we received a map, guidance to the Communal Gite in an ex-Carmelite Convent that we had booked in to, and some information about the city. A young man sat with his dog beside the Tourist Office, his back pack and sleeping swag beside him. He greeted us and asked if we were going to Saint Jacques de Compostelle. When we said that we were on our way, but would not complete the trip this year, he said that he was walking there too. He kept his head warm with a Peruvian cap, and wore gloves and a coat, but it was bitterly cold to be sitting outside. Keith was cold even though we had been walking and he wore a beanie and a jumper. I was cold but couldn’t waste my clothes by putting them on over my t-shirt which was wet on the back from walking with a back pack.
It was not far to the convent, but the last twenty metres were very steep and suddenly we were tired. If we hadn’t stopped in the tourist office we would have been fine, but once we stop at the end of the day, that seems to be it for carrying the packs. We followed the signs for pilgrims up the stairs to the cloisters area, and couldn’t find anyone to book in with. It was a busy time since the Alpine Association of France was holding a weekend meeting there and the staff members were organising things for them. We waited in the cold, and eventually two ladies came and we were allocated a room. When I went down to pay, I was waiting for a long time again, in an area open to the weather. A man, who had been looking sympathetically at me when he came downstairs and went into the warm kitchen/dining room, came out again and invited me to come in. Unfortunately I couldn’t really do that since I was waiting for both Keith and one of the staff to appear, but it was very kind of him to be concerned and then to do something about it.
Eventually we were on our way back into the city to walk along Rue de la Republique to the supermarket. We needed food for dinner, but just bought items for a picnic so that we could settle into our room and rest our legs as soon as possible. On our way back, as the street lights glowed in the dark, we saw that the other pilgrim was settling down in a corner. He told us that he would sleep there tonight, and I thought that he said that he would walk on the next day. It would be difficult to find accommodation as a pilgrim with a dog, although the gite we were at had some rooms on the ground floor specially allocated to pilgrims and their canine companions. Long gone are the days when free lodging and food could be expected by pilgrims. There are some religious communities that provide free lodging, but not at every stop along the way. Staying in gites was a cheaper accommodation option, but for pilgrims walking for long periods of time, the costs would certainly mount up. The poor pilgrim needs to walk in warmer months and take a tent. It was an option that I liked the thought of, sleeping in the woods and stopping at body need point rather than gite availability point. Maybe that is what we will do next time.
It was nearly eight o’clock when we heard Katya’s voice in the passage, as the ladies were showing her a room. She had started late, walked forever and had just arrived, well after dark. She was pretty cold and miserable, and had been too late to go to a bank to change a travellers cheque. She had some food but was exhausted.
I had read the tourist information and we would have to stay another night in Moissac, since the Cloisters were only open after 2 p.m. There were a couple of walking paths to follow around the town so that would fill up the day.
Moissac was really the final destination of our current walk, so we should have been stopping. Somehow it didn’t feel as if it was the end. There was no sense of fanfare or achievement in this arrival. We will have to see how the weather lasts, and where else we could realistically walk to, and how we feel after the Cloisters.
Keith rang the gite in Lauzerte where he was sure he must have left his glasses beside the computer, but Michel could not find them anywhere.
Unfortunately no price was given and we did not take down the telephone number to make an inquiry. We walked on to the top of the rise, noting easy road access to Luazerte, and then noting that we hadn’t seen any red and white signs for a while. I read the guide book, where it said very clearly to turn right at the pigeonnier, which was opposite the house we had been studying. We had a little back tracking to do, and then we were on the right path again. We have seen many and varied pigeonniers, which are structures built to raise pigeons. They are sometimes on stilts, sometimes round, and often very decorative, on occasion being more carefully constructed than the nearby house of the people. The pigeons lay their eggs inside the pigeonnier. We presume that the pigeons are raised for the table, rather than for the love of birds or to carry messages or compete in races, but as yet no-on has confirmed our thoughts on this. When we asked a man about eating the pigeons, he was on a different wave length and said that the father bird continues to fly in and out finding food which he regurgitates for the young and the female.It was at this point that we came to the Church of St Sernin, in a clearing in the woods. A group of citizens has worked on it, applying for grants and giving their labour to restore this beautiful little church.Scaffolding inside showed that the task is continuing.
A wall attached to the church surrounds its cemetery. There are recent graves as well as old ones, and the brightest flowers, blooming as pot plants, showed that the cemetery is very much a part of the present. I found the grave of someone who had died on my birthday, twenty years before I was born. I wondered about this person, who had been named simply as M. Resseguie, aged 77. Did the M stand for Monsieur? Was it for a name? All pointless ponderings that were given a chance as we walked along, except that they brought to mind the bigger thought of how many every-day practices are based on traditions and customs that a visitor doesn’t know.We had a fair bit of walking beside the road, but not much traffic. Eventually we passed through Durfort Lacapalette, where we chose to ignore the red and white markers, as recommended by Michel, continuing on the road and dropping two kilometres off the day. A turn to the left from the main road led over the hills and past much new building, and also a sign that said it was forbidden to pick the mushrooms. We saw another later on, nowhere near a built up area, and wondered whether the area had been sprayed or was there a mushroom owner somewhere who was sick of sharing the harvest. Once we were out of the area of houses, we left the road and scrambled down a slope into the forest to have lunch. A picnic tastes so good after a long walk and with your bottom perched on a plastic bag in a damp but beautiful forest.
It was here that perhaps Keith lost his glasses – after studying the guide book, and where some woodland creature now puzzles over the smooth round glass discs.Today’s walk took us though farms, along the tracks between the paddocks and close to the farm buildings.
Many times we have felt as though we must be going the wrong way, as we walked through farms, and in amongst hay and machinery sheds, but it has been the official path.The crops gave way to orchards, with the hillsides patched with different varieties of trees and their distinctive autumn foliage. At one stage the bright yellow of apricots competed with the vivid orange carpet under a peach orchard. The area around Moissac is renowned for its orchards but this industry only started in a big way around the 1930s. Until then, the hillsides were clothed in vineyards. Today we saw apples, kiwi fruit, peaches, apricots, grapes and pears. Some trees were espaliered and others were pruned to vase or other shapes.A few orchards had nets tied up, ready to lower to stop birds damaging the fruit next year. We were back in the land of the enormous clods and shining hillsides, and stepped carefully from grass patch to grass patch whenever we could to avoid clay on our shoes.
We passed a spring that had been fed into a well and animal trough beside the lane, and a tree beside it had grown in such a way as to look like a dragon guarding a miraculous source of water.For ages we walked beside the road along an avenue of enormous plane trees which showed them in all their glory, and then we were off along another lane. At a fork, the markers led in one direction, and in the other a fenced paddock had a notice that told pilgrims to stay out. There must have been some bad experiences for someone to have gone to the trouble to have an enormous professional sign made. I thought back to the reasons that some pilgrims, and rifraf claiming to be pilgrims, had been unpopular in the past, and imagined modern versions.We were putting on speed on the flat areas and zoomed towards the suburban outskirts of Moissac. On our last rural stretch, the hillsides were covered so neatly in orchards that they looked like knitted rib pattern. Soon we were walking past industrial sites, and then, as the city proper started, along a quiet back street parallel with the main road. In the distance the skyline told of the Medieval city heart that we were steadily gaining on. Suddenly the streets were narrow, the buildings interesting and the signs mentioning the cloisters, which are famous here. It is always tempting to start looking around before we find our lodgings and drop off the packs, but we were very sensible and walked on by temptations and straight to the tourist office. There we received a map, guidance to the Communal Gite in an ex-Carmelite Convent that we had booked in to, and some information about the city. A young man sat with his dog beside the Tourist Office, his back pack and sleeping swag beside him. He greeted us and asked if we were going to Saint Jacques de Compostelle. When we said that we were on our way, but would not complete the trip this year, he said that he was walking there too. He kept his head warm with a Peruvian cap, and wore gloves and a coat, but it was bitterly cold to be sitting outside. Keith was cold even though we had been walking and he wore a beanie and a jumper. I was cold but couldn’t waste my clothes by putting them on over my t-shirt which was wet on the back from walking with a back pack.
It was not far to the convent, but the last twenty metres were very steep and suddenly we were tired. If we hadn’t stopped in the tourist office we would have been fine, but once we stop at the end of the day, that seems to be it for carrying the packs. We followed the signs for pilgrims up the stairs to the cloisters area, and couldn’t find anyone to book in with. It was a busy time since the Alpine Association of France was holding a weekend meeting there and the staff members were organising things for them. We waited in the cold, and eventually two ladies came and we were allocated a room. When I went down to pay, I was waiting for a long time again, in an area open to the weather. A man, who had been looking sympathetically at me when he came downstairs and went into the warm kitchen/dining room, came out again and invited me to come in. Unfortunately I couldn’t really do that since I was waiting for both Keith and one of the staff to appear, but it was very kind of him to be concerned and then to do something about it.
Eventually we were on our way back into the city to walk along Rue de la Republique to the supermarket. We needed food for dinner, but just bought items for a picnic so that we could settle into our room and rest our legs as soon as possible. On our way back, as the street lights glowed in the dark, we saw that the other pilgrim was settling down in a corner. He told us that he would sleep there tonight, and I thought that he said that he would walk on the next day. It would be difficult to find accommodation as a pilgrim with a dog, although the gite we were at had some rooms on the ground floor specially allocated to pilgrims and their canine companions. Long gone are the days when free lodging and food could be expected by pilgrims. There are some religious communities that provide free lodging, but not at every stop along the way. Staying in gites was a cheaper accommodation option, but for pilgrims walking for long periods of time, the costs would certainly mount up. The poor pilgrim needs to walk in warmer months and take a tent. It was an option that I liked the thought of, sleeping in the woods and stopping at body need point rather than gite availability point. Maybe that is what we will do next time.
It was nearly eight o’clock when we heard Katya’s voice in the passage, as the ladies were showing her a room. She had started late, walked forever and had just arrived, well after dark. She was pretty cold and miserable, and had been too late to go to a bank to change a travellers cheque. She had some food but was exhausted.
I had read the tourist information and we would have to stay another night in Moissac, since the Cloisters were only open after 2 p.m. There were a couple of walking paths to follow around the town so that would fill up the day.
Moissac was really the final destination of our current walk, so we should have been stopping. Somehow it didn’t feel as if it was the end. There was no sense of fanfare or achievement in this arrival. We will have to see how the weather lasts, and where else we could realistically walk to, and how we feel after the Cloisters.
Keith rang the gite in Lauzerte where he was sure he must have left his glasses beside the computer, but Michel could not find them anywhere.
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