My days have been dominated by digging holes for new plants and planting lots of shrubs, both in the new rockery around the terrace and to fill in some gaps in the peripheral plantings. I've got scrambling roses and lavender installed in the rockery, with blue hydrangeas near the oak posts, and I've put in a glycine too (think cascading blue blossoms in spring). The plan is to use two old metal straps we found in the barn to offer support as it climbs skyward. Yesterday I planted a white buddleia, a pink hydrangea and a yellow/red broom around the periphery of the property.
G has spent time lagging the ballon (buffer tank) with fibreglass, while daughter C is on permanent tea fatigues in between applying for jobs in London and flicking through Paris Match. As usual, our outdoor activities end long after the 7pm bells and then we enjoy an obligatory cold beer and nibble before settling down to making a simple meal at 9pm or thereabouts. I don't think I've read more than a page of my book since we arrived. I've got the rest of the year to do that, after all.
On Thursday we had our now-annual get-together with a branch of the family living in France - this time chez nous. A lovely, relaxed lunch and the obligatory self-timer photo afterwards, for prosperity (as G likes to say). Even Big Matt was included in the frame (though our feet were not).
Yesterday we gave ourselves the day off and headed for Cahors, a city of special significance for me as it was there that I stopped for a rest day on Le Chemin (GR 65), what was it? - three years ago? I stumbled into town on that hot July afternoon after a monster day of walking 35 kms across the Causse du Lot in mid-30 degree heat, to receive a warm welcome and cool drink from the volunteers who man L'Octroi at the south entrance to the city. They called a few hebergements on my behalf, organised a night's accommodation for me, plied me with glass after glass of cold lemon squash and, in the cool of that tiny building, I was gently pulled back from the brink of heat exhaustion.
The next day I could not keep still, despite aching feet, so explored the centre ville incredibly slowly, courtesy of painful feet. Then I discovered Cahors plages and spent a couple of happy hours dozing and reading on a sun lounger under an Hawaiian fringed umbrella on the river bank. Bronzed, unsupervised children leapt in and out of the river, swam to the centre pontoons and cavorted in youthful summer exuberance. It was wonderful to observe.
Cahors is fascinating and photogenic and is pleasantly busy without being overrun with cars and people. The main road is lined with tall poplars and plane trees and the white-paved boulevard Gambetta is a-sparkle with fountains and rose gardens. Yesterday I took G and C on a guided tour of 'my Cahors', retracing my steps and rediscovering, with them, the medieval vieux ville and the hidden picturesque delights of this characterful city. It was wonderful to share it with them, and also slightly unsettling. I had the urge to once again lace up my boots, heave my pack onto my back, pick up my walking poles, and be off up the trail, following les balisages en rouge et blanc...
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| Miamm Miamm |
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| Pont Valentré |
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| It was hot; what can I say? |
We enjoyed lunch and Pelforths in a simple cafe before heading over to the cobbled Pont Valentré, where the GR65 heads up and away westwards. We watched as several pèlerins made their way up the steep rocky path and were quickly lost to view.
One day soon that will be me. That's a promise.
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