Decazeville to Livinhac, France, Saturday November 1st

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The double glazing on the hotel windows created the false impression of a lovely calm day. The reality was unrelenting, driving rain. Keith checked with a hotel employee about when we would have to leave, and she said that there was no-one else there and no-one was coming in to clean that day, so to stay on as long as we liked.

It may seem strange to have brought our computer on our unworldly pilgrimage, and especially since it weighed two kilograms. If you consider a day in the rain in a hotel room, when all the shops and restaurants are closed for All Hallows holiday, for people still writing up their time in Tanzania a month ago, it begins to make sense. I blogged on while Keith read our walking guides and then had a snooze.

After lunch there was a bit of a break in the weather. We prepared to leave, being keen to walk, even if only the five kilometres to the gite in the next town of Livinhac. By the time we had dressed in our wet weather gear, it was raining again. We splashed off to the church, only a matter of fifty metres, and there we met a man who was most concerned for our welfare. He asked if we knew the way, if we had had anything to eat, whether we would be all right. We assured him that all would be well and went in to look at the church. It was a large church, dimly lit and with windows with brightly coloured medallions on some and scenes on others, grabbing our attention. A sign told of how in 1847 the director of the factory had travelled in Italy and seen a church with a tower that he could envisage back home. He was able to enthuse others to have it built, and the tower does indeed look grand.

It had stopped raining when we came out, and so we set off, walking towards the hills, and then very steeply up the road leading over them. The view down into the city was very pretty, and there were many spots along the road where it would have been great to live. I was very hot inside my poncho, and perspiring freely, so I developed an ‘off the shoulder’ style that could be flicked back on if serious rain started. Behind us thunder was rumbling and ahead it seemed to be ever upwards. Large dogs ran at their fences, barking at us as we passed.

In Decazeville, and in the little village of St Roch that we walked through today, there are memorials to those who have given their lives for France. We are drawn to them, spending a moment to read the names of the young men who died, to think of the impact of the wars on each community and on the families.

What a surprise it was to come out of the forest and look down into the Lot Valley.Little villages were dotted across the higher ground, with all the fertile soil on the flats beside the river being neatly sectioned off into crops and ploughed fields. The Lot River was bursting its banks, with lines of very tall poplars appearing to grow out of the water. We quickened our pace on the downward slope, although we had to be careful that we didn’t slip. The track brought us out near the river, so we crossed it and went in search of our gite.

Livinhac is a very old village, with the houses generally having stables attached, which are nowadays still used for agricultural purposes or have been renovated to become residences. The streets wind up through hedges of stone buildings, with tiny cul de sacs forming little squares and places for parking and pot plants. A woman called down to us, asking if we sought a gite, and directing us when we said that we did. It was only a matter of another twenty metres, but it was impossible to see that far ahead. Jean-Luc came out to greet us and called to Claire that we had arrived. They are a very friendly couple who have renovated the stable of their home to be a very comfortable gite. We were very happy to be able to have warm drinks and hot food, and settled in for the night.