Day 22 Lectoure to La Romieu
It's a walking day today and with the winter months approaching means the mornings are getting darker. It's almost time to get out our head torches in order to find our little markers. We leave Lectoure and the Ger River behind in the morning darkness and head out into the land of rich agriculture.

There are no pretty canals to walk alongside today but instead large swathes of farmland all being primed for the next lot of crops. Lectoure is known for growing a third of France's garlic which gives you an idea of the agricultural terrain we cover.
I keep looking at the different plants that have been planted but we can't identify what they are. They stand in rows like little soldiers all obediently growing for the farmer. On the other side of the track are large areas of luscious brown earth that has been freshly ploughed in readiness for the next plantings. Sunflowers are grown here but the season is over and apart from a couple of paddocks which haven't been harvested there is no sight of the bright yellow heads. The old plants that have not been harvested stand forlornly all brown & withered and I wonder why they were missed. Maybe they ran out of time, maybe the quality was poor or maybe they felt that they already had enough.
There are more hunters out today than we have seen on other Sundays - two hunters we spot are wearing Fluoro orange helmets. This has got me thinking as how do they recognise that the two of us when running along the track in merry abandon with packs on our backs that we are not in fact two fat hares that they have been searching for. I also wonder what the rules are for hunters and where they can shoot- how easy would it be for a stray bullet to come sailing over the fields towards us. I feel that maybe on Sunday it would be best to wear our Fluoro rain jacket that we own. Today we stay in one piece and keep an eye out for the signs 'Reserve de Chasse ' reserved for hunters.

Our morning coffee was in a little village with only one business that seemed to do everything, the post office, the patisserie, the cafe. We take the wrong road out of town which is not a problem as it runs parallel to the GR65 but it means we bump into a young girl we would not have met otherwise. It is also our turn to be able to help someone so we are grateful for the opportunity. I give my jaunty bonjour to this young lady sitting outside her house as we pass by and after a few steps she calls out inEnglish if we could help her. ( My first thought is how did my bonjour give me away so easily) anyway - of corse we can help. It turned out she is studying English and was wanting some help as she is delivering her assignment and an oral presentation about the bridge we saw in Cahors. We spent some 10-15 minutes supplying different words to her and then mentioned that we expected her to get a distinction for the assignment and if not she needed to tell the teacher that it was the Australians fault She said her teacher had no sense of humour and would not see the funny side of the story.

To report back to you about dinner last night. Unfortunately we had built our hopes up about the amazing dinner we were going to eat. Trip Advisor had given it a ranking of #3 for the town and the decor and atmosphere certainly led us to raise our expectations. I had creme de pumpkin soup, G a selection of cold meats, we both had the lapin (rabbit) and then I had a yoghurt with strawberry fruit purée and George a passion fruit and chocolate ice cream. 3 course meal was 18 euros and then with wine ontop. We thought that the meal lacked flavour and it was already pre-prepared as the choice was quite limited.

The joy of the chemin is that there are always surprises and it is often this way when you are getting to the end of your journey. You are not quite sure when the village will appear- over the bend, around the corner or hidden behind trees. It was like that today with La Romieu as we were walking among some beautiful orchards when suddenly before us the village appeared. La Romieu apparently was founded in 11th century when the Benedictine monk Albert returned from the pilgrimage to Santiago. Romieu means pilgrim in Gascon ( the old language of the region)! Our accomodation tonight is a chambre d' hote- like an upmarket B&B -'our room is the barn that was once attached to the church's presbytery. The Maison is now owned by a very aristocratic older lady who has decorated her house as if it fell out of Vogue France. You get the feeling she would be happy to have as little to do as possible with the riffraff who come walking in boots and stay in her delightful chambre. We have our own courtyard and then we open a door in the old stone building to climb the narrow stone stairs to get to the loft above - there is a little square window that looks out over the garden with a view of the church in front.

The church is a collegiate church which was patronised by the Avignon papacy in the 1300's when seven successive popes resided in Avignon instead of Rome.
Our pelerin credencial is useful once again as we are given a special entry fee for the effort of our walking. I go up one of the towers which has a steep spiralling staircase that deposits you at different levels for different reasons - the library, the bell and I can't help but feel that they should have a traffic light at the bottom as there is no way for someone to pass you and it would mean one or the other has to descend or ascend again. Luckily for me that doesn't happen. You climb and climb a couple of hundred steps up to the belvedere on tiny narrow steps designed for tiny medieval feet ( not feet with mud soaked boots) to be rewarded with an incredible scenic view that looks back across the miles to Lectoure from where we have travelled. The lands below are like patchwork with toy cars being pushed automatically around their perimeters.

After struggling up and up and up, I finally emerged onto a unique sight: I was standing on top of the ceiling of the church, on top of all those arches you see when you look up. There are massive sets of beams and trusses which support the church's roof. When you are inside the church looking up you see a ceiling that is ornamental, decorated, often painted smooth, but on the top floor above that it is just rough plaster and stonework and coarse timbers.

Throughout the village square around the walls are hidden sculptures of stone cats on ledges, above doors, in crevices sculpted by the artist Maurice Serreau who pays homage to the story of Angeline. The story goes that in the 14th century a young girl called Angeline saved two cats when there was a famine in the town and people were eating all the animals. Once the famine was over the town was then threatened by rats which were going to destroy the harvest. Angeline's cats and subsequent kittens were brought out in time to control the vermin and hence save the town. It becomes a bit of a hide and seek for me but more in the 'seek' side to find the any cats. Maurice has obviously quite a sense of humour as I find them in many different locations and in many different phases- about to pounce, sleeping, staring, stalking or just sitting aloofly.

There is no dinner at our rooms so we head off to check in the two places available. In one of the books I read previously they gave the thumbs down to Le Cardinal which left only L'Etape d'Angeline and it turns out to be a good choice. For 21 euros we dine on Escargots, entrecôte de veau, fromage Blanc plums with Armagnac.
Did I mention that this is the Armagnac capital of France. The orchards as we approach the town are beatiful, well established, irrigated, nice long rows, and well maintained. I can imagine in spring with the blossoms it would be incredible.
Tomorrow we are heading to Condom- the imagination whirls.