Sometimes, I’ve learned, a 7am start time for breakfast—especially in larger accommodations—can actually translate into a 6:30am availability. So on this morning, in Gramat’s Grand Couvent, which holds many more folks in hotel rooms than its small pilgrims dorm, I sat outside the restaurant, trying to strike an expression that balanced meekness and cordiality. Harmless, friendly, and pitiable—that’ll get you in the door.
Well, the nuns and their staff were having none of it. Breakfast starts at 7am and not a minute sooner. You win some, you lose some; at least I got the pitiable part down.
After three straight days of below-average distances in my itinerary, I was refreshed, rehydrated, and ready to stretch my legs back out. All that was missing was “caffeinated,” but once 7am hit I attended to that with vigor and then big the nuns farewell.
This opening bit, through the village of Issendolus, was new to me, as it’s also possible to follow the historic GR-6 for the last part of the walk to Gramat and shave off a few kms, and I did that last time around. The village is nice enough, but there’s a solid amount of pavement required and I might be persuaded to take the short-cut again in the future. Indeed, the bulk of the walk in the opening third of this hike, between Gramat and Thémines, was probably the least memorable and enjoyable portion of the Rocamadour variant overall. Something’s got to earn that label, though, and it’s suffering in comparison to a high bar.
Thémines is a popular overnight spot for pilgrims on the way, with a central gite, right across from the medieval market hall and church. There’s a bakery down the road that also has a small assortment of groceries available; they’ll make you a coffee, as well.
The mostly flat walking continued through Rudelle and its adorable little fort-church to Lacapelle-Marival, where I took my most substantial break of the day. While Lacapelle-Marival is kind of a sprawling town, a large fortress stands at the center, with the church, mairie, and a handful of businesses arrayed north of it. Mass was taking place as I arrived, so I bought some snacks and found a shady bench against the castle’s wall. Singing gently drifted out of the church, somehow overpowering the sounds of cars as they motored between us. Roses were in bloom to either side of me; grass tickled my toes. I wondered if it’s possible to overdose on butter.
The day’s lone ascent of substance followed, climbing into the woods surrounding Saint-Bressou. And then, suddenly, I crashed against wave after wave of pilgrims. Some ten pilgrims were gathered around a snack table left out by a friend of the chemin. Six others were coming up the hill just after them. A girl scout troop was just 15 more minutes down trail, complete with a standard to follow. Yet another eight pilgrims were lounging contently in the grass around Sagnes Lake, seduced out of walking for the better part of the afternoon.
I wasn’t pulled in by the lake, in part because I was excited about what was just around the corner—Cardaillac. The town’s perfect little medieval core is well-preserved and includes two substantial towers, one of which you can climb to the top of. Towers are, for me, the walking equivalent of the “dessert stomach.” It doesn’t matter how long the day, if you give me a tower of any kind that I can ascend, I’m six steps up before you know it. I stood alone, surveying my domain, and straining my neck to see Figeac, though to no avail.
I was in the home stretch now. Aside from a few small climbs, the bulk of this last leg gently descends towards the town, mostly on quiet paved roads, with just enough shade from the towering pines to hold back the 30-degree heat. And suddenly, with little warning, the entrance to Figeac manifested before me. The walk was done; I had closed the loop, following the GR-65 from Figeac to Cahors and now following the GR-46 and GR-6 back to Figeac. For dessert, I get the Célé Valley. After spending a bit more time in Figeac, I skipped ahead to Béduer, since I already walked that chunk previously. I’m at Camping Pech Ibert tonight, where I have a whole “mobilhome” to myself. Another thunderstorm warning is in effect.
On the whole, I thoroughly enjoyed the Rocamadour variant. The walking is much gentler and forgiving than the other two options, both in terms of elevation and footing. There’s a ton of shade, so even in hot conditions it’s quite manageable. And while Rocamadour is obviously the major highlight, Cardaillac’s towers, Lacapelle-Marival and Gramat’s stained glass windows, Montfaucon’s pristine core, and Vers’s wonderful riverside park all merit praise.
