Mr. Toad's Wild Ride
I slept great last night and woke relaxed and refreshed. The rain was already coming down when I pulled back the curtain and looked out the window. I felt pretty smart for booking the bus in advance.
It was about 7:30 when I went downstairs for breakfast. There were fresh baguettes and fruit, along with a yogurt I've seen advertised to address digestive issues. The proprietor and I chatted about the weather and why she moved to this small village four years ago from Paris. I'm finding that my French is serviceable.
The building, like most others in town, was very old. That explained why at each of the windows, leading to the balconies, there was a conspicuous sign in French and English limiting the load to three people. My host told of how frightened she was a few weeks ago when there was a local festival and the balcony was packed way beyond the suggested limit. She visibly cringed when she mimicked the people jumping up and down as the procession passed below.
I was allowed to linger in the public area until 10 a.m. My bus was scheduled to arrive 25 minutes later, and it was only a two-minute walk to the meeting point. Nothing is ever far away in a small village.
There was a little coffee and ice cream cafe with a great vantage point of the pickup spot that would keep me out of the rain. I purchased a cafe au lait and sat at a table under a balcony. This was my second cup of coffee in less than three hours. Anyone who has seen how caffeine affects me knows that this is TOO MUCH COFFEE!!!! I could feel electricity coming off my fingertips.
Along with my coffee I got a full serving of French sarcasm. There were about six locals in the shop speaking French so rapidly I could only catch an occasional word or two. I asked the barista to stamp my credentials and he was happy to affix the "tampon." It was then that an older woman spoke loudly and in perfect English (clearly for my benefit), "I'm waiting for MY coffee!"
I couldn't let the opportunity pass without having some fun myself. I approached her and in my not-so-perfect French said, “I am so sorry grandmother. I will pay for your coffee." She accepted without a smile—It was the barista who grinned from ear to ear. I'm sure this customer is a regular.
I went to the bus pick-up spot and was happy to see others waiting. Their presence helped to alleviate any caffeine-fueled anxiety. The 10:25 bus arrived at 10:38. Once we hit the road it was clear why the schedule was "best guess."
Those of us of a certain age who visited Disney will remember Mr. Toad's Wild Ride. It didn't necessarily go fast, but the jerky motion as it cornered around jump-scares made it entertaining. That's what came to mind as I rode in the bus from Conques. The roads were narrow and twisty, and around every corner was an opportunity to see pedestrians, bicyclists, or in several cases another vehicle coming face-to-face with ours. At one point, a camper came around the corner and had to back up nearly a quarter of a mile until there was enough room for two vehicles to pass.
Generally, we were on the inside of the lane as we drove. From my vantage point. I saw cars squeezing by with mere inches to spare between us and the steep drop to their right. It was a little nerve-wracking, and I believe I was the only one in the bus who put on a seat belt. I'm not sure it would have made a difference, but it gave me something to do.
We arrived in town just a few minutes behind schedule. The city was filled with tourists. Lots of stone streets and buildings dating back to the 10th century. One interesting thing about crossing part of this country is seeing that the roofing material hasn't changed for over a thousand years. Eighty percent of the homes in France still use terracotta for their roofing.
I arrived about 11:30 in the morning, and check-in for the hotel wasn't until 3 p.m. I went into a restaurant directly across the street from my hotel and got a table on the terrace. By the time I left, there was a line 20 people long out the door. Luck over skill in the timing for me to have my lunch. There were only three restaurants open all day.
This one served traditional French food. There was a duck confit and a whole trout. I was tempted to order the trout and even pulled down a YouTube video on how to separate the meat from the bone without trashing the entire fish. Ultimately, I just had a burger. The woman next to me got the trout and it looked good. I believe she must be a surgeon. Every morsel of meat was cleanly picked off the bone on her plate. Although my choice was boring, I think I would have made a mess of things and left hungry.
I wandered around the small village to kill time and walked into the cathedral. For whatever reason they don't want any pictures taken in there. I guess people would tend to misbehave in a place where they should show respect. One of the highlights that makes this cathedral special is the stained glass.
Upon leaving the cathedral I was climbing up the hill when I heard my name called. It was Rocio. This was the endpoint for her Camino. She's leaving tomorrow to go to Cannes to see some friends for the holidays. She said she had a great experience doing the miles. Early on we discussed how everyone does the Camino in their own way and has the opportunity to discover something new within themselves. She found her way and she truly believes there are many more walks ahead of her.
We visited for a short time and then I left to check into my hotel. I walked about 20 minutes and finally plugged in the hotel to find directions. I turned around and went right back where I had met Rocio—We’d been sitting right in front of my hotel and I didn't realize it.
My room is interesting. It's up three flights of stairs, and it's great. I've even got a fan again. It's amazing how the small creature comforts make such a difference.
When I checked in, the young man behind the counter told me pretty much everything is closing down at 6:00 tonight because they're having a huge arts festival. The buildings will be lit in imaginative ways and artists of every medium from woodturning, to clay, to glass, and paintings will have stalls throughout the city. Then he grimaced a bit and said there's a high likelihood that thunderstorms will disrupt the entire event.
I kept my fingers crossed and my umbrella handy. There was a small turnout for the arts festival. It was interesting to see the craftsmen working on terracotta tiles, an artisanship that's been passed down for generations. They take great pride in the local manufacture and use of the material.
The cathedral looked even more impressive at night with the floodlights, and there were small red votive candles placed around the community to give it a warm feel. Unfortunately, the thunder started rumbling at about 9:00 and continued to build for the next hour, forcing most people from the streets.
I haven't decided whether I'm walking or taking the van tomorrow morning. I'm not emotionally invested in the outcome. If the weather looks good, I'm on the trail, but if there are going to be thunderstorms, I'm definitely in the van.
I've decided that I'll end my walk on the 21st in the city of Figeac, where there’s a train station. I'll catch a ride up to Caen on the 22nd to see the Normandy beaches, where my father stepped onto the European continent in June of 1944.
The information I'm getting is that I've by now seen most of the impressive sites for this portion of the Camino. I would continue if it weren't for the oppressive heat and the knowledge that there's even more ahead. I feel pretty fulfilled, considering that in all, l've done about 150 miles of walking on this trip.
There’s great cross ventilation in my room tonight, so I know I'll sleep well. Taking one last look at the same cathedral people saw more than 1,500 years ago, I’m thinking there's a certain weight that creates its own gravity around these heavy stone buildings. Not to be too dramatic, but how many governments have risen and fallen in the time these towers have stood? How much joy has passed, and how much sadness? I'm glad to be on the side of joy today.