November 24th Gourdon to Figeac, via Rocamadour

November 24^th, Gourdon to Figeac via Rocamadour.

It was only about 40 kms from Gourdon to Rocamadour a village that is a “must see” according to all the publications about this area, so after breakfast (I had my first porridge for a long while), and having tried to remove some of the condensation from the truck, and warm up a bit, we headed off. It was only seven degrees as we drove through the next town, and where we had been parked for the night, an “almost frost” of the heavy dew, far removed from the 30 degree mornings of not that long ago on the Med coast.

The drive over was another feast for the eyes, of autumn colour and pretty villages, with narrow but easily negotiated roads.

 We stopped once for photos and once a bit further on for a foie gras seller, where we bought some duck ….. which is like a pate. We had first noticed the farm because of the paddocks full of ducks, wandering happily (and I suppose unsuspectingly) amongst the walnut trees, and pecking at grain cannisters, as we drove by. Then we saw big signs advertising the farm and its products and offering free tastings. Unfortunately the main tourist season is over so there aren’t tours or tastings, but we had a friendly chat with the woman there and as I said, purchased on spec, some of their wares.

Rocamadour in the lifting mist

A pretty house in the village

The hostel in the rocks

The zig-zag path up through the woods past the 12 stations of the cross.

We sat in the sunshine in the back of the truck eating a very late lunch (2.30 or so) of bread and leek and potato soup plus lovely bits to go on our bread, like pate and cheeses, olives, gherkins, salady things …. Once replete (or more than, if truth be told) we continued our journey to Themines our next intended stop as it had power and all other facilities we needed and was half way to Figeac our next town of interest.

We pulled into Themines which was, I’m not sure if it was a one horse town, but it didn’t have much more than one building. The stopping place was a no-go after about ten seconds consideration. It was beside a wall, next to the church, nearly in the middle of the one lane road, and on a 30 angle, not conducive to sleeping or even feeling relaxed, so we hauled out of there and decided to go the extra 30kms to Figeac.

On our way, in addition to more of the beautiful country-side we were treated to some delightful donkeys in a paddock beside the road. We hung a u turn as soon as possible and stopped just down the road from them. Hilary and I walked back and fed them a sugar lump each, and a boiled sweet.  They were really cute, and soft, and some very tame, whilst others a wee bit more wary.

We reached Figeac, and found our parking place at about 4.30, it isn’t a fantastic spot, a car park beside the main road through the town (or around the town as the town centre is pedestrianized or so narrow that traffic is discouraged). Hilary and I went in to town for a quick look and to get oriented, we found a few post-cards, an information centre, complete with very helpful English speaking woman who gave us all sorts of useful information and brochures. We then ventured back to the truck, we could have kept exploring for hours, but thought we’d wait until tomorrow when Diana could join us.

The reason we came to Figeac was that when I was reading brochures the other day, about the Lot area I read about this town and a museum here. It was all about the man who translated the Rosetta Stone from hieroglyphics, whose name escapes me, Champillion (I'm pretty sure)... something French anyway. I thought this sounds familiar and then remembered Hilary was reading an archaeological book (or more correctly a book about archaeology) and had told us about the man who translated the Rosetta Stone, and that he spoke 8 languages and a few other details. I thought, this is too much of a coincidence, and when I told her about this town and its connection to what she had been reading, she expressed a desire to come here. The bonus of course is, not only does she get to do her thing, but this is a stunning little town (population 9,606 so the book says, hopefully there haven’t been an unequal number of births and deaths since then) that we can enjoy too.