Samedi, July 14th
Figeac
7:03am
And that's it then, I'm leaving at least. On the road again.
8:15am
And the well laid plan went amiss, as the way I thought was the road out of
Figeac was actually the way in. Thought Raju had got things wrong at first,
and I'd already walked a kilometer before turning back. Then the guidebook
started making sense.
still, I'm on the right path now. Stopped at the enormous cross, the one
with the names of the deportees.
10:17am
Faycelles
Pretty town, the church bells ringing for 10.
11:29 Here, at the Gite, at least, I think it's the Gite. There's a load of bunk beds in what looks like a cow shed. |
There's no other walkers here, and it's almost in the middle of nowhere, and there's no-one else around. Tried knocking on the door of the house at the front, to pay the 6.20 to, but there's nobody home. In fact, the door doesn't look like it's actually been used for quite some time.
Still, it looks clean enough, and I'm making my second coffee. Looks like nothing to do but drink coffee and read. Should've bought a bottle or red wine at Faycelles. I will at Cajarc, tomorrow. Then find a nice place and drink myself stupid.
11:35am
Someone just drove up. A van full of older people. I hope they go away. I am
alone, and right now I feel good about that.
There's about
ten of them, trooping through, checking stuff out. One woman speaks English.
Please go, I'm thinking, please decide it's too basic. But no, they're counting
something, the number of beds I think.
Now they're bringing in stuff, and claiming beds.
I just want to be alone, to drink endless coffees and keep my cooking disasters
private, although the noodle and tabouille combination at Livinhac wasn't too
bad, actually.
2:12pm
Just sat outside, reading mostly. Slept a little, disconnected dreams. Bits
and pieces; finding people, losing them, aware of strange clicking noise
that turned out to be the gas tanks outside the Gite.
And, for an aperitif,
I'm given 'alcool de fruits', a white liquid that's very strong, a Gaulois
to smoke, and then a glass of red wine.
Maybe it's somehow all connected. On the phone earlier, C asked me to drink
some red wine and think of her. At the time, I hadn't any wine nor any chance
of getting any, but now, in front of me, is a glass of red wine.
This is actually turning out quite well.
4:45pm
And after a lengthy discussion about the Camino, they've all trundled of to
Rocamadour. You have to begin walking early in Spain, apparently the French
typically leave around five in the morning, and apparently the refugios
close at 8 in the morning, everybody out, and stay closed until 3, so when
you arrive, you just wait for it to open. One of them, Noelle, has already
walked it, and shows me her Pilgrims Passport, festooned with stamps. Nice
people, for Holy Rollers, but whatever, they even prepared an evening
meal for me, cold cuts with salad. Left in the fridge.
Another coffee, more reading.
7:16pm
Went down the road to the pub, where there playing boules out the front, and
eye me suspiciously. As it turned out, I had to go, as that's where you
pay for the Gite. Odd, if I hadn't have gone, would they have come to me,
like a lynch mob. And after I'd been served, the old guy left the bar at
quite a clip, and headed towards the Gite, and I developed this absurd
fear that he'd be going through our stuff. Drank most of the beer in a
gulp, and got back to here. But no, he's not been here, but three cyclists
have arrived.
Nearly finished reading Ravelstein. It's been good, I'll be a little saddened to have to leave it behind somewhere. Oh well.
9:00pm
And so ends another day.