Day 23 La Romieu to Condom
It's lovely having the church in front of us but what can I say when the first bells start at 5.00 and then they have a little melt down and send out a few more random chimes afterwards that don't seem to marry up to any significant time- perhaps the computerised system of belling is not as efficient as the monk's system.

Madame has made it clear she won't serve breakfast until 8.00 so there are a few bells to listen to before we can head off. She allows us into the main house for breakfast and the feeling of aristocracy is even louder - with huge sculptures in the entrance , large paintings lining the long hall, a dining room with curtains that trail along the floor like a river meandering it's way out into the street. With a handshake goodbye that represented a wrestler's grip ( not what I expected from this little old lady) we leave the town and as we have often witnessed at the entrance/exit to the different village/ towns so too in this village is a monument to the fallen men of the village in the two world wars. It is the same in all our Australian towns as well but of course here the names are many many more - and often the villages have only a handful of houses so the enormity of loss seems overwhelming. It comes home that these towns were often physically in the middle of the war and that the men were fighting for their own country, families and their homes.

Five kilometres down the track and we arrive at Castelnau sur-l’Auvignon (popl. 180,) a town that was built around a 12th century fortress and perched on a rocky outcrop overlooking the Auvignon valley. Today there is a Main Street where we stand ( in fact it is the only street) and a scattering of a few buildings including a watch tower.
The only activity is the rustling of leaves, the chirps of some late awakening birds - a perfect picture of peace and yet it holds a dark hidden scar of its past.
There in the street is a large board that outlines this scar. In 1943, the village was an important centre of French and English resistance against Nazi Germany. On 21 June 1944, Nazi forces ransacked and burnt the village. Before retreating, the resistance fighters destroyed a tower of the former castle which served as an arsenal, preventing the arms from falling into enemy hands. There is a monument to the Resistance in the village centre.
We spend what seems to be ages looking at the map and reading the information about the different resistant leaders , the different countries involved who were working as Resistance Fighters including the Italians, English, French and the Spanish And showing their military movements as opposed to the Nazis.
It is so hard to believe that all those years ago this place was terrified by the screams of war and destruction.

Likewise it is hard to believe that just down the hill after coming out of a forest we see a lovely little pond with a plaque submerged under the water ( which I need a French speaker to translate for me) next to the pool of water is a broom chained to a post with the instructions to use the broom to clean away the algae and to reveal the written words. It feels surreal being a part of this peaceful installation out in the middle of the French woods with no one in sight when we have just walked away from such destructive memories for the area just a few hundred meters away.

The rain clouds that we thought would eventuate from the past few days did not appear and we are left to walk in perfect Spring weather ( not the usual Autumn walking). Condom is our next stop. Somehow the town has survived with such a name and I guess they tolerate any English speaking tourist who have some smutty remarks or jokes that they can't resist. They probably roll their eyes and mention that they have heard it all before.
The large BnB gite we are heading to has lots of fun decorations to attract the pelerins attention- firstly on a sign on the descent into the town of old boots and shoes nailed to their advertisement and then when we arrive there are old bikes protruding horizontally from the wall, shoes and other walking paraphernalia nailed alongside and even in the kitchen there is half a bike over the sink. I guess in the high season the gite owners are all going out of their way to grab the clients. At the moment this is one of the few gites open so they don't need to do too much advertising.

Condom is our rendezvous town with George's French friend Vincent ( of many years ago) who is going to walk the last 10 days with us. He says he hasn't been on long walks and is looking forward to walking, talking and seeing at first hand the rural scene. The gite does not provide dinner so we seek out an Italian restaurant that has wood fired pizza and delicious pasta to celebrate the re- union and for me to meet our new companion. We are introduced to the special drink of the area called Floc( it comes as rouge or Blanc) it is a grape juice with Armagnac and reminds me very much of a sherry - very sweet.
We walk down the long narrow street that drops us in front of the church and I am amused to see a sculpture of the three musketeers and D' Artagnar outside the building. George has been referring to this story ever since we have been visiting the many medieval towns and houses we have visited. Set in the 1600's Alexander Dumas wrote of the exploits of a young man D'Artagnar leaving home to join the Musketeers of the guard and befriends the musketeers Athos, Porthos and Aramis. We feel as if we might be a couple of old musketeers setting off on our own adventure- maybe not to fight for social justice or political truth but to have an adventure none the less.
As we organise ourselves for bed we are aware that these old buildings creak a lot and the walls and floors seem paper thin as the arrival of a large group of women who are based down stairs seem to be all in the room with us. In no time the building has gone quiet and will remain this way until the early hours of the next day

PS the photo for today is of one of the cat sculptures to be seen in La Romieu.