Back to basics

 

I feel I have gone down the wrong path (blog wise not physically).  Shouldn't a walking blog be about places and culture and stuff?

As I leave Bessuéjouls* (pop. 202 not counting cats and donkeys) I can see on my right the beautiful little medieval church of St Peters.  This church is a lovely example of Romanesque architecture and possesses a rare feature.  The church has an elevated chapel (that's the bit where priests 

pray or say mass for those of you not well versed in christian religion).  You go up a few flights of narrow hidden stairs and find yourself in a small room of 6 x 7 m with a stone altar and a variety of sculpted religious figures.  A most satisfying experience!  

Leaving the village you will immediately take a narrow winding path through a forest of er, um, ... trees (sorry I can't tell an Elm from a Birch)!  The path takes you up into the

hills and after a few hours (of slogging up an down) to the charming hamlet of Verrières and then the village of Estaing where you can have a coffee on a terrasse.  Ok, I'm not sure this is the right direction (again blog wise), I can feel some of my readers are not gripped by my travel descriptions.  Now is the time for an animal story!

A couple hours out of Estaing I decided to stop for lunch on a grassy knoll (a well known word for wordle players).  As I sat down to lunch 2 things happened. My wife called me (our conversation shall remain private as their may be young readers) and a dog appeared.  I was sitting at a picnic bench unpacking my saucisson when the dog

came straight up to me and deposited an old tennis ball at my feet.  From the look in his eye I got the feeling that he felt a fair trade would be a piece of saucisson in exchange for the ball.  As I did not feel the need for a chewed up tennis ball at that moment I'm afraid  we were not able to close the deal.  After a while the dog left, forgetting his tennis ball at my feet.  5 minutes later the dog came back picked up the

tennis ball and this time left for good.

Having finished my lunch, I picked up my bag and finished walking the 25 kms of the day to my next gite. Again this is off the normal track if anybody is trying to make up for Felicity's sudden disappearance.

Tonight, I'm alone in my gite as the old lady who owns it lives in a different house.  I'm not displeased to have some time alone after my hectic social life of the last few days.