through the natural park Quercy to Conques in the forest mountains of Auvergne

It was not even ten days ago that I last wrote - back then it was so cold that I (dressed in everything I had) hiked extra fast to get warm. I was freezing, and the rainy weather and the ice saints seemed to want to drag on forever... Meanwhile, I'm sweating in a good 30° C during the day, and from one day to the next it seems summer has already arrived...

Initially, I reached (after wandering through more pretty, flag-decorated towns with arcaded streets, old houses, and churches, or - as in Auvillar - an old market hall, a round open building, temple-like with columns and a tower, a tall city gate, narrow alleys; or Saint-Antoine, where I saw remnants of paintings and decorative vines on the vaulted arches in the church, with a humorous violinist as the finish figure. The memorial for the fallen heroes here is a white marble soldier, laid as if asleep under the nameplate, someone has placed fresh flowers on his hands folded over his chest...

Across the wide 'La Garonne', I arrive at the 'Canal Lateral a la Garonne': familiar from last year when I cycled more than 3200 km along rivers, coasts, and canals through France, I also passed by here (on the way from Bordeaux to Toulouse). It feels a bit like 'coming home': the signage 'Veloroute des Deux Mers', the linden and plane trees reflecting green in the canal water, and houseboats anchored to the side - and although the weather forecast did not predict it, the next thunderstorm is gathering in the sky, making the water look rather gray than green soon. Around seven, it starts to rain; on the other side of the canal is one of the former lock keepers' houses, with large umbrellas over tables and chairs. As I ponder while looking over, a man steps out and waves at me. So, I cross the narrow passage and ask if I can wait out the rain or even sleep under the umbrellas. He cannot speak English, calls his girlfriend, and she replies that it is not possible, and I should come into the house; they invite me to sleep in a bed and have dinner with them. Three other guests are there, but they can all mostly speak only French, so I cannot participate in the lively conversation. The food is good and plentiful, it is raining outside, and I sleep deeply and dry. Only after I leave the still quiet house the next morning at 7 AM, after leaving some money and a note on the kitchen table, do I then see the advertisement for this little inn (advertising only for those coming from the 'right side' - which is always a bit silly for me, as I often learn about interesting things only once they are behind me...) Now I find it even nicer that they simply invited me to be a guest without asking for payment!

Well 13 km along the canal on a fresh morning, or between the actual Garonne river and the canal - so lovely with all the water on both sides, the water birds, the yellow irises, the bridges, and the locks - but compared to the cycling experience, walking feels quite uniform... And then Moissac: colorful market bustle, sporadic light rain, a grocery store open despite it being Sunday, hot tea in a small café, and of course the famous Romanesque cloister (there is a mass in the church, so I only glance inside briefly). All the capitals are decorated, but mostly quite damaged. Along with biblical story motifs, it's always the floral and mythical creature world that fascinates me: unrolling ferns, eagle and bird people, strange grimaces, contorted bodies, intertwined and entwined; heads that do not resemble any known animal and almost look human, a head protruding between large wings of birds, whose heads and beaks are absent... In a display case, the figure of a small kneeling woman, enveloped in a distant robe, eyes closed, appearing both lost in thought and very cheerful: 15th century, yet she seems as if she could rise at any moment and sing while going about her work...

First linden blossoms; someone has set cherries and a can for money by the roadside (there are such surprises now and again), the poppies bloom bright red, the gorse is yellow, the footpaths are softened and hard to walk, the weather remains changeable, and at night, I sleep in a small, externally fortified-dark chapel ('Saint Sernin') deep in the forest. In my wet rain poncho, I arrive at this enchanted place, a small old cemetery is nearby with half-sunken, ornate crosses and weathered stones, overgrown with tall grass. Inside the chapel, it smells musty and damp, there is no seating and hardly any decoration, just a table (altar?) and a somewhat out-of-place modern crucifix somewhere high on the left wall, a simple wooden cross beneath the only narrow, scarcely colorful window and the thick rope for two bells that hangs down to the floor. Otherwise, bright bare walls, Romanesque round arches, and a dome - a noticeably 'sacred space' and special place. I wedge a stone in the door to keep it open and set up my bed near the entrance, where the stone slabs of the floor are relatively even, not as broken and distorted as in the rest of the church - thus I remain dry, but it is not particularly warm... It is a special night in a special place!

The next day, first on beautiful (but unfortunately very muddy) forest paths to the next 'fairytale town': Lauzerte, later Montcuq, Cahors with the famous 'Pont Valentre' with three tall towers - I feel 'sated' and can no longer appreciate every church, every beautiful old place, every square with arcaded streets... I sing in so many churches and chapels that they blend into one great impression. The path now takes me through the wonderfully beautiful landscape of Quercy for several days: limestone plateaus above the valley of the Lot River. From the often-read wonderful book 'Marie des Brebis', I know the description of this landscape. Bright limestone: on the path, in the walls along the ways, in the houses, in the fields where the crops are much shorter here. Low, crooked oaks, pines, and hawthorns, much blooming on the barren meadows, daisies, and meadow sage, many orchids as well, fragrant thyme carpets, wild roses; the croaking of frogs at every body of water. Bright cliffs and caves, like in every karst region, and again and again a wide view over the land. Here are land snails with pointy, spiraled shells, plenty of lizards; for the first time since Southern Spain, rabbits as well. Someone has spray-painted on an information board for the pilgrimage route 'suffer to return harder!' I ponder this for a long time and think that 'returning harder' is not desirable, rather 'softer' in the sense of being more experienced, forgiving, thankful, less judgmental, right? If it should mean 'strengthened', I agree, with 'stronger' too. And 'suffer' - I don't know: yes, of course, it is tiring, it is not only romantically beautiful, not at all, but I would not label my hike as 'suffering'... a blue butterfly, flying closely past my face, brings me back from thoughts, dreams, memories, and questions to the present... There are so many little blue butterflies - where there is some moisture, they fly up in swarms... In the village squares, they play boules in the evenings; when it starts to rain, everything smells intensely of fresh hay, wet dust, and asphalt...

Natural park 'Causses du Quercy' - narrow, enchanted paths; sparsely populated, dreamy landscape - and with the old buildings and on foot, one could almost forget that one is in the 21st century - until, for example, a military jet thunders across the sky or somewhere a chainsaw starts, a motorcycle revs up, unceremoniously reminding me that alongside this peaceful nature and beautiful world, there exists 'another' quite different one... On the night of the 20th, I move from the meadow to an old stable building in light rain, afterwards it no longer rains and it is now rather hot during the day...

I spend a night in the nature park off the beaten path in a forest clearing, where a locked wooden cabin stands, the evening sun, setting behind the cabin, gilds the bright limestone cliffs on the other side of the valley until the last moment, at night the starry sky is clear and vast like it hasn't been for a long time, some larger animal makes sounds I have never heard before, and I am glad when it moves away... ...and early at five, I wake to the noise of birds while the entire horizon is already glowing red and yellow. Since it is cold, I stay lying down until the sun rises higher and warms me. I then climb quickly and steeply down to the Lot valley, across the river, through Cajarc, and again steeply up, past a large cave and later at the height (380 m) encountering some still-standing and various collapsed megalithic dolmen graves. The many small round stone huts are pretty too, as well as the roofs made of stones, some decaying, but many well-preserved or well-restored, once likely serving as shelters for shepherds.

Figeac - too large, too loud, walking along the train tracks into the old town, brushing through the market, seeing the church and impressive houses, buying food, charging my phone in the tourist office - and at some point when I am leaving a city - finally - the moment arrives when it becomes quiet again; it is a transition, just as it gradually grows loud when approaching a city. The silence is refreshing! I see a long snake, which quickly slithers away from the path into the grass, along with large bright green lizards with yellow bellies. Once, I am deeply startled (as only by sudden barking of a dog), when a car unexpectedly passes very close to me on a very narrow road - since a tractor was working in the adjacent field, I had not heard the car at all, felt the draft, and knew: that was close! In a small village, surprisingly, there is not only a public toilet but also a shower, just like that: After several days of hiking in the sun, sleeping outdoors, and washing only somewhat at streams or faucets at cemeteries... a relief, I wash my clothes right away and hang them along with my still dew-damp sleeping bag in the sun while I take a snack break. These are the gifts on the way: unplanned and precious.

The moon is half full again, and the nights outside are rather short, as it gets dark late and the birds start their 'noise' early, yet I enjoy not having to worry about rain protection, just needing to ensure that I have water before settling down somewhere in a meadow, at a forest edge, at a picnic spot... Again and again, it fascinates me how quickly a 'bedroom' turns back into a meadow, a forest edge... and nothing is left to see that I spent the night there.

Yesterday, on Pentecost Sunday, I arrived in the evening around seven o'clock after a steep descent (now no longer limestone, but the pathways glistening with quartz and mica, blooming heather, chestnut and oak forests, green forested mountains and heights around 600, 700 m: no longer Quercy, but Auvergne) and 33 km in sunshine and heat to Conques: lying like a medieval fairy tale apparition on the slope amid green forested mountains with narrow, steep stone alleys and the large Romanesque abbey church with its pointed towers. In the 'Abbeye Sainte-Foy' next to the church, the Premonstratensian brothers run a large hostel - I know that on Pentecost Sunday everything should be booked, but I had read somewhere that the abbey in Conques always keeps a handful of beds free for pilgrims who arrive without reservations, and indeed I get a bed in a ten-bed room for 14,-, can shower, and then stroll through the village in the evening light. In front of the church, a monk in a white garment gives a (French) sermon for the guests, while in the church an evening Pentecost service (?) is held; at half-past nine, there is even a classical concert - very special in this 22 m! high, bright room (for a Romanesque church an incredible vault height). Most impressive is when the violinist and cellist lay down their instruments and sing, with their voices, entirely without a microphone, filling the vast church space. Afterwards, everyone stands in front of the portal, which is illuminated every evening at 10:15 PM: colored lights illuminate, scene by scene, individual figures and areas, and at the end the entire tympanum with all its figures - the Last Judgment with Christ on the throne, with the just being admitted by angels, and with the damned being taken to their hell by demons... now the cloaks shine in blue and red, the angels in white and gold, the devils and monsters in green and brown, and the faces are colored, making it clear how it might have originally looked around 1130 when everything was colorful...

In the meantime, hay has been made in most meadows and the ripening grain is brightly blooming with cornflowers. The summery weather continues. I am very glad that the streams of holiday pilgrims only come towards me with their poles (the clattering would really drive me crazy) and I can just keep saying 'bon jour' over and over and then continue wandering alone; I washed myself in a small forest stream and will now prepare my bed. A young French woman set up her tent here while I was writing, we chatted for a while as she can speak English. Other than the rustling stream and the chirping of birds, it is quiet, the evening sun still shines on the meadow across the brook, here it no longer reaches.