Day 15 Limogne-en-Quercy to Vaylats

Geraldine drove us to the shops for our dinner options – pizza bar, kebab shop, or restaurant in this old village being restored to good health, so still not ready for tourists but just right for us. We ate our huge kebab while wondering what the square will look like when it is finished with its superbly shaped church, a 100 year old plantain tree, a Gite and a kebab shop. After dinner we decided not to have Geraldine collect us and walked back checking out the track signs for tomorrow.

We cooked our breakfast, digesting it on the path we found our soon after, walking on one of those muddy paths for many kms – the sort of mud where you seem to get taller at every step. More oak forests and skinny woods with some small grassy oases here and there. A day on our own just taking in the surroundings, passing no one and enjoying a different feel altogether. We gingerly departed from the track to seek out our room for tonight entering a quiet village, only the owner of our bar restaurant hotel who was cleaning our attic for tonight. She included a lounge room, dining area, kitchen and large balcony overlooking the main plaza, all just a spiral staircase below.

We were still conserving battery power not knowing if we would be able to retrieve our old one or buy another until Sylvie said : “I have a package for you”. Another lost and found moment. There, in an A4 envelope was our A24 size adaptor which meant we could continue taking photos and writing blogs to our hearts content. It was collected by our bagman – taken to our cabin in Limogne en Quercy addressed to Geraldine, where we had just left – they kept it and took it to our lodgings in Vaylat where Sylvia told them her name was not Geraldine – where the bagman then told her that it did not matter what her name was just give it to the guy who looks ‘computer lost’.

Doing our usual ‘pre chemin recce’ we came across a Californian couple who’ve been walking in every direction for the last 15 years, he, with a mechanical contraption on his leg to keep his cartilage in place. They were wandering along looking for their ‘guest house’ nearby. They had that look that we had on when we thought that our home was close by. So we convinced them to come back to our pad and check with Sylvie. They looked quite agitated and I could see Sylvie nervously pointing in the other direction saying it’s a long way. He lost control – denial – anger – helplessness followed in quick succession. Sylvie rang for a ‘cab’ and they ordered a beer. He’s doing fine.

Later the young French girls we met yesterday were met again and as residents of the village now, we were able to direct them to a large, old convent where retired nuns live. They used to be self sufficient in years gone by and had built a swimming pool size dam to collect water for their gardens – she told me they have no underground water in France. They are in the middle of renovations where there will be life again as they open the doors to elderly women from 4 departments. We’re off to visit this very spread out convent and gardens before we cook our first meal on the track in our little stone house on the village square.