So much of my attention in the planning stage of this walk had been devoted to untangling the Figeac-Cahors multi-route know that I hadn’t actually considered what all of that walking in circles would feel like. On a day-by-day level, I enjoyed it; the walking was lovely more often than not and some of the new places that I got to experience for the first time will stick with me.
At the same time, though, a pilgrimage generates its own momentum, a burgeoning impulse that feeds upon the kilometers covered. Day after day, the ground gained overtakes the dwindling remainder, and time itself accelerates accordingly.
I had defied that imperative, but now, today, I was back. The GR65 was a lifeline, tethered to my sternum strap, pulling me forward unceasingly.
Today’s walk led me from Escayrac to Moissac, an appropriate stage given that the nuns of the two convents belong to the same order. It felt like the 300m hurdles transformed into a full-day hike. For a long stretch, I’d walk on essentially flat ground, undulating ever so gently. And then, quite abruptly, I’d hit a ripple in that otherwise tranquil terrain. UP the trail went, with little regard for the saturated terrain, clay slippers forming around my deteriorating shoes. There was little enough time at the top to take two deep breaths before plunging right back down the other side. The cycle repeated almost hourly.
It was a day of visiting old friends. Montcuq wasn’t revealing very much, as it’s in the midst of festivities, and thus—like Lalbenque—most things were closed, including the church. “I Ain’t Too Proud to Beg” came playing through the window of a home in the old town, and I thought that pretty well summed it up. I found the lone open bakery soon after, so it fortunately spared me the begging.
Lauzerte, it turns out, has been hoarding all of the sunflowers, and it announced its imminent arrival in full golden glory. Its center, too, offered an aesthetically-pleasing mid-day rest stop, with artistic flair lining the central square. It, too, felt abnormally empty, and perhaps it falls into the same festival orbit. Nonetheless, I was content to eat yogurt and fig bread on a bench as the sun finally finished illuminating all of the buildings.
Two small highlights are particularly noteworthy after Lauzerte: the Pigeonnier “Le Chartron” and Église Saint-Sernin-du-Bosc. The former is an absolute perfect Quercy dovecote, while the latter is an elegantly simple and blocky little church with an intriguing crucifix.
This is also a day where I recall old friends who are no longer here. It’s my first time staying in Moissac in which I am not hosted by Rom and Aideen at Gite Ultreia, as they’ve moved on. I’m really glad they were able to transition back to Ireland when the time was right for them, but I miss their company badly here, and I’m sorry for all of the pilgrims who won’t have the chance to know them. In their absence, I’m spending the night at L’Ancien Carmel, up on the hill above town. Given that, I decided this was the perfect opportunity to try out the high-level variant heading into town. And let me tell you, they’re not kidding about the “high-level” part. If you want to make sure you’re good and tired before wrapping up the walk, this’ll do the trick! While I was disappointed that the views weren’t better—they’re obscured much of the time—it was a quiet walk, with almost no auto traffic. That made it much more enjoyable than the official slog along busy roads into the center.
While I didn’t get great views from that walk, I certainly benefited from the viewpoint just uphill from L’Ancien Carmel, which offers a 180-degree vantage point of Moissac and the Tarn and Garonne Rivers.
