The first monkey wrench was getting up at the crack of dawn to catch a bus that never came in order to cut the day's mileage down to a more doable 13. Turns out it was a school holiday, so no 7:26am bus. We had foregone breakfast in order to catch it at that early hour, so we wandered aimlessly for a half an hour with our stomachs growling, trying to scavenge food and praying that the next bus would come; although as we have learned, a French bus schedule is a crap shoot. Of course, all food places in Dourgnes were closed on Monday. Go figure.
So here we were - tired, hungry, cranky and unsure of how in the world we were going to escape Dourgnes and feed ourselves in the meantime - when we decided we were just going to have to 'figure it out' Sesame Street style. What else was there to do? Curl up under the crucifix statue in the middle of the Dourgnes square and cry out "why me?!" until the nuns in the distant Abbey St. Scholastique took pity on us and wheeled us to the next town in a wooden cart? No, not the answer. So we kept up the search with renewed resolve, and that's when I spied it - a tiny market with... yes, its doors open!
A peach yogurt and pain ou chocolat later, and moods had lifted considerably. We decided then that if the bus didn't come we would just have to continue to 'figure it out.' We would take a taxi (which sadly had no answer when we rang) or stay in a closer town and forfeit the down payment we'd made on tonight's hotel or take desperate measures and walk the entire 21 miles. But pull our hair out? Uh-uh. 'Figure it out.' And that's when the bus going the opposite direction showed up. Mom leapt from the stone steps, her empty yogurt carton and tiny alarm clock flying through the air (we long ago lost our only wristwatch) and ran to the bus like our lives depended on it. Which, possibly, they may have. The driver informed her that our desired bus was on its way and not to worry. Who us? Uh-uh. We 'figure it out.'
A short time later, and we stepped on the bus to find that our American pilgrim friends, who we thought we'd lost several villages back, were on board on their way to Revel. We took it as a further good sign that when you take the brave step to figure it out instead of melting down into a pool of pilgrim pudding, things have a way of working themselves out quite beautifully. A strong cafe later in Revel, as we watched coverage of Osama's demise, and we were on our way to the easiest day of hiking thus far. From the bottom of our pilgrim hearts, we thank you, Sesame Street, for your wisdom, your likable puppets, your good sense and your extremely catchy song lyrics.
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Pics of the walk from Dourgnes to Saint-Felix-Lauragais, which essentially was a very flat, shaded trail along the banks of the canal La Rigole.
The scenery was unchanging, but we didn't mind one bit. Cool breeze. Flat compacted dirt trail. No mosquitoes. And the peaceful sound of the water flowing softly down to the Canal du Midi.
Olive break on a long forgotten bridge. Fresh baguette. Local Chevre. Green olives. And Spanish peanuts freshly roasted at the Castres Farmers Market by a young frenchman who put his hand on my shoulder and told me just how beautiful he thought Americans were. God bless 'em!
Saint-Felix-Lauragais. The final push was a 3km tarmac uphill in the blazing sun...
...But in the hotel, a sweet reward. How I love a plush white robe.
The view out our hotel window.
Looks like a great little Epicerie, right? Yeah, it was deserted; every shelf emptied and covered in dust. And guess what? Every food place in town (of which there are only three) is closed on Mondays, which means we have to fork out our life's savings to eat at the two Michelin star restaurant in town. Not very pilgrim of us, but I plan to savor every bite. I may even lick my plate. That'll give them something to talk about in town for a few weeks.
Sorry about all the cat pictures, but I simply can't help myself. It's as if they're all knowingly posing for some quaint 'Cats Of France' calendar.
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Location:Saint-Felix-Lauragais, France
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