May 4: At rest in Cajarc

We were gloating that our rest day was under a severe weather warming and yet, here I am, sitting on our terrace, sipping on a crisp rosé from my Nalgene (no cups unless you pay to use the kitchen!) in full sunshine. C’est le chemin!

After a leisurely breakfast, we strolled into the village and bought supplies: a nice local wine, tapenade, olives stuffed with almonds (the fancy ones!) and, for Carey, some tubular meats (chorizo). It’s barely lunchtime, and we are already snacked and sunned and anticipating an afternoon of snoozing and lounging (or lounging or snoozing). Our terrace is full of birdsong and there is a sign for “equine parking” somewhere uphill and to the right (including a sign for both horses and donkeys).

The village is on a gorgeous stretch of river Lot. The riverbank is fringed with striking pollarded plane trees within the village limits. The bridge opens up into a square of cafés with coloured sunshades and historic stone inns, with shuttered windows. It is literally fabulous (as in, something from a fable). The bridge still has its medieval footing, but with a metal span, initiated in the 19th Century after the stone bridge collapsed in a storm. Pedestrians are forced onto a small walkway outside the span, which I am too afraid to cross. It shakes when traffic passes, which makes it impassable for me, although the views it can offer are obviously breathtaking.

Our dinner last night was unexpectedly bland, so we are thinking of ditching the package this evening and heading into the village to eat. Yesterday, we found ourselves in the town bar, with a tasty local blond beer on tap and Bordeaux versus Bath (rugby) on the TV. It was a splendid communal evening (Bath lost). We came home and Carey put on his playlist. I danced around our spacious (if slightly smelly) gîte for a few hours until the beer wore off.

My additions to Carey’s playlist (made in Gareth’s kitchen on the Saturday night before we left on the Eurostar) illustrate that I was a dark teen. I suspect that comes as news to no one! It was fun to shed the years and just dance like I was the person my teenage self never believed they would live to be. I felt a deep sense of joy and gratitude that I am here now. The simple fact of my prolonged existence was not at all a certainty for many decades. The fact that I have such freedom and privilege and someone I am finally willing to truly share it with could not have been imagined even 15 years ago (pre-Carey). There are many ways of prayer. For me, yesterday, “dancing” (that is, waving arms and bouncing about like an idiot) in a hilltop bungalow in rural France was one. I cannot express the joy of just moving and remembering and feeling the distance travelled. Perhaps it sounds like a nothing, but it wasn’t. Another camino lesson.