On the Camino Francés, many pilgrims begin in Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port. As the towns roll by, though—Roncesvalles, Burgos, León, Sarria—even larger numbers of reinforcements arrive, turning that initial stream into a full-fledged torrent in Galicia. By contrast, on the Chemin there’s a reverse effect, a continual dwindling down of walkers. Many—maybe even a majority—conclude their journey in Conques. Of the rest, most of the pilgrims I’ve spoken with indicate that they’ll wrap up (for now, at least) in Figeac or Cahors. Only a trickle remains after that. Some returnees, of course, but life gets in the way and those plans made in the moment often prove elusive.
I saw zero pilgrims on my walk today. It was a light night of pilgrims at Conques, I rolled out at 7:15am (which is pretty early for Conques), and I followed the GR6 soon after the exciting little uphill past the chapel (where I vigorously rang the bell to rouse those sluggards!), so it makes sense that I met with empty trails and little else, but it was still a striking change from the past few days, when nearly every quality rest spot was filled with pilgrims in repose.
This was my first time on the GR6. I haven’t been able to compare the GPS tracks yet, but my initial impression was that it had more shifts in elevation, with a few different points at which it plunged through woods to cross a creek before climbing once more. It had one remarkable virtue, though, in comparison to the GR-65: an honest-to-God donkey farm! Never have I seen more donkeys in one place, and they all looked peaceful and content. Never mind donkey farm; this was donkey heaven. I still don’t know how I pulled myself away.
Aside from walking this portion of the GR-6 for the first time, I came into today quite excited about two other visits. First, I was eager to see Decazeville again. I am the Chemin’s foremost Decazeville apologist; while many will encourage pilgrims to bypass the town entirely, I love it. It’s unlike any other place on the Chemin; it’s gritty and lived-in, and it has a fascinating history, featuring mining and labor disputes. Having already arrived with that outlook, I was over the moon to discover that the town has now signposted an alternative route, leading pilgrims into the town from the far side and then navigating back to the church. It’s longer and I’m not sure that it’s advisable for those who aren’t staying in Decazeville, but it leads pilgrims past a perfectly preserved (and huge) piece of mining technology and also a former open-pit mine that is now a pleasant lake. (It also goes past a giant Casino supermarket and a large sporting goods store.) Thanks to this scenic detour, I arrived at the church just after 12:30pm—right in time for the pilgrim welcome there. Pierrette, the host, performed her responsibilities with alacrity and determination, pushing seven different kinds of ice-cold beverages upon me, along with at least 20 different kinds of snacks. That’s not an exaggeration; the enviable spread was like an all-you-can-eat snack buffet. Along with the refreshments, she also gave me a Decazeville button, which I am proud to sport on my pack.
The second source of excitement was my destination: Le Fournil du Terly. When Bronwen posted news about its opening a while back, it grabbed my attention. A gite AND a bakery? What could be better? The afternoon was hot, but this anticipation propelled me forward, up the hill to Saint-Roch, down through the woods and across the Lot to Livinhac, through more trees and back uphill to Montredon (where another local group provided refreshments, which were once again appreciated), and then down to the Guirande chapel (where another new gite has opened).
And finally, I was at the Fournil, which was even more hospitable and charming than I had anticipated. The accommodation—which is actually our host’s house—has a homey living room with a heck of a view (I’m currently sprawled on a couch, watching the sun set over the lake). Mian prepared a salad, pizza, and dessert for us, and told us about her vision. She wants the bakery and gite to support pilgrims, but she also wants it to be a fixture in the community. She had 40 locals students on her grounds today, to teach them about her traditional baking methods, and she also works hosts the fishermen down on the lake for beers. She wants to be a community gathering spot, connecting people of all different backgrounds. With multiple initiatives to manage, she is overflowing with vision, but she still carved out an hour to sit with us and chat in French and English. If you’re looking for a way to break the Conques-Figeac walk into three stages, this is a great second night.
We ended dinner by, of course, talking about the weather. Even more rain on the way, apparently. Thunderstorm warnings, everyone bemoaned. “I don’t believe it for a second,” I declared. “Every time I check the weather reports here, they’re warning about thunder and lightning. Nothing has even come close.”
Just before midnight, dear reader, the storm rolled in, lighting up the night and toppling the canopy over the bakery.
