September 18 - 24

Learning to Walk, Days 23, 24 and 25 | September 19-21

The days are really running together, and again I am way behind. Those who are FB friends already know about my amazing “it’s a small world” experience. For those who aren’t: Bisette, who along with her husband Jacques own the gite I stayed at in Cahors, sat across from me at dinner, strategically, I believe, since she speaks English. She started by telling me she had been to university for a year in the US. I asked, “where?” She said, “Missouri”. I asked, “oh, where in Missouri?” She said, “a very small town called Nevada, Missouri.” As soon as she started to say, “Nevada” my jaw dropped and I exclaimed, “I went to Cottey!!” And her jaw dropped and she said something like, “What??? I can’t believe it!!” She was there four years after I was as a French exchange student. Most people have never heard of Cottey. It is a gem of a tiny women’s college—just a junior college when we were there—only 350 or so students. Meeting someone in a small town in France who has been to Cottey is like winning the lottery. And you gain an instant sister. It was the most wonderful bit of synchronicity. Neither of us could stop smiling and shaking our heads over dinner and so many memories came rushing back. We didn’t have the same classmates, but we had the same professors and it was such a wonderful gift.

I’m going to start with today and work back if I have enough energy. I knew I could not walk 30 km from Lauzerte to Moissac. In fact, I have realized I do not have it in me to walk 30 km on ANY day. My feet just can’t do it. But I had already booked and prepaid for tonight’s gite in Moissac. The gite owner from last night, in Lauzerte helped me. Gite owners are the most generous helpful people on the planet, I think. She advised me to walk 13 km to the town of Durfort Lacapelette and then take a taxi the rest of the way to Moissac. She said the walk into Moissac is not much fun anyway. And she was right. Walking into bigger towns on sidewalks past all the residential areas and businesses that lead into town is the worst part of the walk. She helped me arrange the taxi (it’s not like NYC where you can just flag one down!), and it worked like a charm. I got to Durfort early enough to have lunch in the cafe, then waited on the terrace as I was instructed and my taxi arrived just when it was supposed to. The driver was also one of the most helpful people on the planet and took me right to the gite here in Moissac. It’s on a busy, narrow road which you can’t stop and park on, so he parked a block away, got out and walked me to the gite so I didn’t have to find it on my own.

I am SO glad I did that. It gave me time to see Moissac. And Moissac is not to be missed. It is yet another beautiful medieval town—well, the historic center of it is—it is actually a fairly large town so the medieval center is surrounded by a modern town—like so many towns and cities in Europe. The heart of Moissac is Abbey St. Pierre. The Benedictine Abbey was founded in the 7th century, but really took off in the 10-11th century when it was linked to the Cluny order, and the Abbot here became second in command of that order. The current church and cloisters date to the 11th century. Yes, 11th. They are magnificent. The Romanesque south portal of the church and the cloisters are among the most impressive of their day. Every single capital in the cloisters is carved, and the vast majority of them depict Biblical stories, many with captions. The south portal door of the church is so awe-inspiring I actually burst into tears. Something about this artwork that was done more than 1000 years ago, and is still here, surviving the elements and wars and Protestant destruction of everything Catholic in so many places just hit me. When you walk inside the church, it looks like it is wall-papered, but it’s painted. I’ll share as many photos as I can.

The cloisters and everything else I need to catch up on are going to have to wait. It’s late, and even though there is wifi, it isn’t very fast. Once again there are only three people staying at this gite tonight—another couple, from California, and me. So again, I have my own room! I need to take advantage of it and sleep. I’m going to have to take a day off just to catch up and write! If only I could be sure there would be good wifi, that would be a nice break.

Learning to Walk, Days 26-27 | September 22-23

The wifi seems pretty good here, and I’ve got more than an hour before dinner so I’m going to try and catch up a bit. Today was a nice day of walking, about 18 km. The last two or three days had been very flat, which can get tedious. Today we got back into rolling hill farmland rather than Kansas prairie flat type farmland. No offense to Kansas, but I prefer some hills! The only drawback is that there is a LOT of pavement walking these days. It’s just so hard on the feet. And the paths that run alongside the fields aren’t much better. The ground is so parched from the drought that the dirt is hard-packed, with crevices, and not much easier on the feet than pavement.

One of the things that made today’s walk so much more pleasant is that there were more villages along the way, with interesting histories and churches, and even a place to get a coffee mid-day.

Tonight I am in the tiny village of Miradoux, and I can’t tell you much about it because I walked straight to the gite, showered, and got every stitch of clothing and my towel (except what I’m wearing this evening, of course), into a washing machine!! This is only the second time I have been able to use a washing machine at a gite and it is wonderful to actually get my clothes clean! There is just no way to adequately wash socks by hand. Maybe if I had an old-fashioned scrub board. I have accepted that my socks are going to return to the U.S. with parts of France and Spain permanently embedded into them.

St. -Antoine—According to my guide book the village is linked to the Order of St. Anthony, which was founded in 1095 to care for those who suffered from a medieval form of leprosy called St. Anthony’s Fire, (ergotism). In the 17th century a doctor discovered it was caused by eating grain contaminated with the ergot fungus. That discovery brought the end to the Order, since I guess they weren’t needed any more, but there was a severe outbreak of ergotism in a French village as late as the 1950s. Where are the St. Anthony guys when you need them?

The murals in the church were beautiful and date from the 14th century. One of them is centered around the story of St. Blaise, a 4th century bishop and doctor in Armenia known for being able to help people with objects stuck in their throats. What a specialty huh? He later became known for healing souls and several miracles were attribute to him. The second mural at the bottom is St George killing the dragon.

After a nice cafe crème with two new friends from Colorado, it was back into the countryside until the next village of Flamarens. The church in this village is actually a ruin. They managed to keep what is left from collapsing—it looks like maybe they did that by putting a roof on it, and from what I could tell from the signs it looks like they have plans to restore/rebuild it. It has a long way to go. As you will see, almost one entire side is gone. Right next to it is a chateau that apparently was neglected for four decades in the 20th century and in very bad shape after a fire, but it has been restored. It may even be run as a gite now—I’m not sure.

Now to go back to yesterday and Auvillar. Auvillar is one of those special, beautiful villages. What makes it unique is the circular market, Halle aux Grains, and clock tower Tour de L’Horloge which date from the 16th century. The church is also wonderful and dates from the 12th century, but has had much work done on it over the centuries, including a gorgeous Baroque altar. I’m not a huge fan of Baroque, but I thought this was beautiful. Auvillar is one of those “most beautiful villages in France.” And I would agree. I stayed in a beautiful gite that is relatively new, in a centuries old building that the owners gutted to create their home and the gite. However, it was only a B&B, not demi-pension (serving dinner). Normally this would not be a problem, because there are several restaurants. But apparently Thursday is “rest day” in Auvillar. I don’t know how you are supposed to know that ahead of time. The only restaurant open was the pizza place and since it was the only place open, you had to have a reservation. There was only one guy working—cooking and serving, and when I stopped to see if I could make a reservation he said the earliest he could serve me was 8:30. Way too late for a pilgrim’s dinner! So thanks to some new French friends, and the kindness of strangers, I actually had a feast, that I can’t tell you about. But trust me, MUCH better than pizza! One of the sayings among pilgrims is “the Camino provides,” and yesterday evening was a prime example! The other example of that was that I once again had a room to myself last night. I was in a twin room, and even though the gite was fairly full, she did not need to put anyone in the other bed. Since I hadn’t slept well the night before (worst mattress of the trip!), it was wonderful to have my own room again, and I slept very well.

That’s it for now. It’s about dinner time, and I am tired. I have so much that I’ve skipped over. I’m going to need to find a place to stop for a couple of nights for a real rest day. Perhaps I can go back and catch up on what I’ve missed then. Thanks for traveling along with me!

Learning to Walk, Days 28-30 | September 24 - 26

I am in Condom. I know. Don’t tell your junior high class or youth group that your friend is in Condom, France. Pronounce it with a French accent and that helps. It comes from an old Gallic word meaning “confluence market” because there was a market at the confluence of two rivers. That’s their story and they’re sticking with it.

Condom is the land of D’Artagnon and the three musketeers. And Armagnac which I haven’t had yet. And there is a glorious cathedral here. So much to write about, and I am so behind. But once again it’s late and I am exhausted. Not late for NYC folk, but late for pilgrims. I am spending two nights in one place later this week, and hope to spend much of that rest day writing. So I should catch up a bit. Here are a few photos in the meantime.