Walked another 24 kilometres, from Conques to Livinhac-le-Haut. Making a total of 156 kilometres.
Left Conques in great spirits, winked one last time at the curious peeking guys at the outside of Conques cathedral.
Got very fast in the mood of today, which was a quick succession of steep descents and steep climbs. Not a good day for the knees, it was. In fact, not a good day for the legs. Was quite happy to reach the camper after 7 hours of walking.
In fact it was only 6 hours of walking, because I had a nice break in Prayssac, a tiny village halfway today’s journey. Christian was sitting outside of a house with a big pot of chopped up meat boiling away. His friend Jean Luc just came outside of the door with a pig’s head he threw in the pot. Christian gestured and asked if I was a Pelerin. I nodded. Come here for a little chat, pointing at a sign above the door. I was eager for a rest and curious to, so asked what they were making. Friton, Christian answered, a kind of sausage, but different. No casing, for example. The meat and fat were happily boiling away, a process which would last a good five hours. Jean Luc was spooning of the liquid, which could be used for cooking he said. Probably lard, I figured.
Jean Luc asked me if I wanted to try some, which I did. I was getting very intrigued in this soupy meat this, especially because with the constant stirring, pieces of pig nose, feet and tongue would sometimes reach the surface. Jean Luc went to get some bread – homemade, spectacular – and also got a bottle of homemade Vin de Prayssac. I cannot say the Friton was the most spectacular thing I ever ate, but we had a good time, sharing stories about all the things one can do with one’s own pig. They knew a thing or two, or 17 or, 27, more about it than I.
They loved pilgrims it seemed. Christian said I was the first one of the year, le premier Pelerin, although they are probably not always outside making Friton. Normally the stream of pilgrims only started after Easter, he claimed. I explained that I skipped the Aubrac mountains. ‘What are you going to do at the Pyrennees, he asked. If the snow in Aubrac is up to your knees now, in the Pyrennees it will be over your head.’ Something not to look forward to and deal with as the situation occurs.
Oh, and then there was a delicious piece of pie, also made by Jean Luc. Prunes and hazlenuts. All from traditional recipes, he claimed. All delicious. Jean Luc and his wife have a little gite where you can get a room and dinner. On my next trip to Santiago, I’ll definitely stop by again. When I left Jean Luc started singing a pilgrim song with a beautiful voice: Ul treia, I think, something latin or langue d’Oc. I could hear his voice way past the moment I had turned a corner and lost sight of them. It was beautiful. When I left Prayssac there was a sign: ‘Pilgrim, pray for us’. I am not very good in praying, but these wonderful people from Prayssac will be in my thoughts when I think back of this journey. And I will wish them well.
So now we are at a campground, at the border of the Lot river. I remember being on a campground a 100 or so kilometres downstream where I would swim to the other side of the river as a way to wake up. It will be too chilly to do that tomorrow, but thinking about it is already refreshing.
Passed the 1300 kilometres to go sign.
In fact, only (!) 1296 kilometres to go.
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