Casting Lots

After today’s breakfast, with to-die-for (or, conversely, life-giving) coffee, Laurie paid the bill. It was E130. That may sound a lot, but first translate into Sterling, then recall it was for two persons in a one-star hotel: the meal involved two starters – soup then pate, quail and what M&S might call Parmentier Potatoes, followed by a cheese board most **** UK restaurants couldn’t match and finished off with ice cream and berry jelly, all washed down with a bottle of local wine. Breakfast was typically French, but more than adequate.

To change the tone: we have noticed over the last 10 days or thereby that the trees are showing more and more of their autumn colours. This may be due to our increased height as I am writing this at about the same altitude as Ben Nevis, though sitting out at a brightly striped table with the occasional butterfly fluttering past.

When we were in Corsica, Laurie and I named the hordes of early-rising, footering French, whom we inevitably passed when they were having their pique-nique, “the Wildebeest”. Yesterday and today have been totally devoid of these roaming herds and once again we look like being the only guests in our “refuge”. It’s much more pleasant. So there haven’t been lots of them, but it was quite a lot of  walking – about 25k – and a good chunk of it uphill, at times steeply. We also passed the source of the river Lot, which later runs through Mende. Here it is little more than a wee stream, but eventually it grows into something a lot more substantial.


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