When I was first learning about the Via Podiensis, I quickly learned that the biggest decision I had to make centered on how I would approach the section between Figeac and Cahors. Most pilgrims, I was informed, just automatically continued on the GR-65, without really thinking much about the options. A few iconoclasts opted to divert to the famed Rocamadour. The hipster pilgrims, though—the ones really in the know—headed straight to the Célé Valley on the GR-651. I decided to be cool, too, and never has striving to be part of the in-crowd paid off quite so well. Aside from walking to Rocamadour on the GR-6 (and backtracking immediately after to Figeac), I’ve only walked the GR-651 to this point, and if I could only do one I’d probably head right back again.
Fortunately, this time around, the answer to “which option” is d) all of the above. I’m taking the “official” approach first, following the GR-65. The first part of today, from Terly to a bit after Faycelles, was all familiar. It was odd passing through Figeac instead of staying there, but I’ll have another quick bite at the apple later and the promise of novelty pulled me forward. Faycelles, by contrast, recaptured my imagination. Despite overcast skies, it gleamed, awash in flowers and stately buildings. While the views were blunted, it’s well positioned nonetheless.
Again, though, the promise of something new was coursing through my veins. When I first learned of the GR-651, one of the most common warnings involved its limited facilities. Very little is available on the route, people wrote on message boards, so you’ve really got to plan ahead. I’ve always assumed that a corollary was implied by that statement: the GR-65, by contrast, is as well-provisioned as ever. However, that’s simply not the case. Once Faycelles was behind me (and barring a modest detour into Béduer, there was just a single water point standing between Cajarc and me, in Gréalou, where there’s also a small épicerie. Otherwise, the walk generally follows rocky footpaths with occasional stretches of dirt and paved roads. The ascents and descents are tamer than what was commonplace in the days prior to this, though the final approach to Cajarc—as the cliffs so well associated with the Célé Valley emerged here as well—will give you a thorough knee inspection, while navigating some dicey footing.
Both Gréalou and Cajarc, to me at least, smacked of languorous, steady decline. Many of the buildings in Gréalou seemed faded and worn; while the épicerie certainly made an effort at feeling homey and welcoming to pilgrims, the shelves had enough vacant space to recognize that little business is done here outside of that catering to foot traffic. Meanwhile, Cajarc’s old town, compact and quaint as it is, seemed largely abandoned, oddly hushed and listless in contrast to the businesses and cars circling its limits. The church is awkward and appears to be assembled from misshapen parts—likely a consequence of a series of renovations and expansions that, if helpful from a utilitarian perspective, came at an aesthetic expense.
The trail was hushed as well. Indeed, most pilgrims I spoke with over the past couple of days indicated that they planned to walk the Célé Valley, suggesting—anecdotally at least—that it may be surpassing the GR-65 in popularity. I’m just glad I knew it before it was cool. Ultimately, I only encountered seven pilgrims total after Faycelles, and there are just two others in the Gite Communal with me tonight.
Impressions are funny things. Despite feeling great for most of the walk, my energy plummeted in the last handful of kms and I arrived in Cajarc feeling wiped out. A persistent drizzle accompanied my final descent and the dense clouds haven’t relinquished their control of the skies all afternoon. And, inevitably, I can’t help but compare this stage to the Célé Valley, which I adore. How different would it be if I arrived here fresh, in brilliant sunshine, and stumbled across some familiar faces in the center? I’m looking forward to giving the town a fresh start come morning.
