Originally, this walk was supposed to take me to the Couvent de Vaylats; alas, they were booked solid. OK, no problem, on to the Gite de Poudally then! Closed, for the time being. Eventually, my attention was drawn further down trail, to Gite Le Pech. A longer day than originally intended, but I confess it was some negative Google reviews that drew me in. I’m quite content to spend the night in a beloved pilgrim lodging, and I find that positive reviews generally align with my own experiences, but critical ones rarely have predictive power for me. It just doesn’t take a lot to make me happy. So how bad could it be?
Leaving the gite in Cajarc, I was met with drizzle the moment I stepped outside, as though it had been waiting for me since I arrived yesterday. “Oh, come on!,” I mutter-yelled, and that wave of indignation did the trick. It tapered off soon after and I was subsequently blessed with an ideal day of walking weather—consistently cool, right until I stopped at 5pm, with enough blue sky and puffy clouds to make every view a delight.
Facilities were once again quite limited. I passed through Saint-Jean-de-Laur too early to take advantage of the Petit Pause, though I certainly enjoyed the colorful shells arrayed around the ample seating. Limogne-en-Quercy was the most sizable town along the way, with a central grocery, a larger supermarket on the outskirts, and all of the other facilities one might reasonably hope for. Varaire has a small épicerie, but it closes for siesta, and thus was of no use to me. My favorite halt proved to be a small snack bar In the woods, Buvette Snack La Foret, where I think I got my best coffee of the trip. And I don’t know what the two pilgrims there were eating for lunch, but it looked incredible.
With only a dozen kilometers standing between Cahors and me, I spent much of the afternoon trying to wrap my mind around the argument for the GR-65 over the GR-651. I don’t have much conviction behind this, but here’s what I’ve arrived at: the GR-65 offers neither the highlights nor most of the challenges of the GR-651. Nice as they are, I wouldn’t place Cajarc and Limogne on par with Marcilhac and Cabrerets. There’s nothing on the 65 to compare with the troglodyte houses in the cliffs of Sauliac, and certainly nothing anywhere close to Pech-Merle. Does the 651 get credit for Saint-Cirq-Lapopie, too? I mean, it’s hard for anything to measure up against that slate of highlights.
(Frankly, the most striking thing I saw today had little to do with the route itself. In front of the church in Bach, I saw a pilgrim family of 11, including six kids so young that they all require close attention. They had one massive handcart filled with Tupperware bins and sleeping pads, along with a smaller cart filled with pillows for conveying the young-uns when they couldn’t walk any further. It was not, so far as I could tell, available for rent.)
All of that said, the walking on the GR-651 is strenuous, often with multiple rocky ascents to and descents from the clifftops every day. By contrast, the walking on the GR-65 is tamer and shorter; some ups and downs, for sure, and still plenty of rocky footing, but it’s not nearly as demanding. It’s a monotonous walk, but in the best sense of that description, with the scrubby trees and ubiquitous stone walls lending it an air of primitive ruggedness that is only reinforced by the occasional appearance of an ancient dolmen. It’s the kind of terrain in which it’s easy to shut your brain down completely, just coasting gently along the footpaths and dirt roads. That’s what I did, at least, as I strolled merrily on to Le Pech.
And the gite? It’s incredible. I basically have a whole house at my disposal, with a spacious kitchen-dining-living space, complete with two comfy armchairs in front of a stove. My laundry is enjoying an outstanding view of the valley below. My host was friendly as could be, walking me through everything I should know about Cahors and equipping me with an annotated map. With my feet kicked up on a cushion and a warm mug of coffee in my hand, I congratulated myself for defying the Google review, as I was rewarded with my own private house in the causse.
And then, right around 7pm, that family of 11 showed up, right as a thunderstorm blew into town. While their aim is to sleep in a tent outside—currently being prepared by dad and the two oldest sons—the rest are taking shelter in that spacious living area with me, playing foosball and piano. The youngest is directing a developmentally-advanced array of dirty looks my way. Hard to believe the gite got even better in the end.
