Carcassonne was a bust. Sorry, Chris. It is a collection of tricky-tacky tourist shops and Renaissance Festival acts. The walls are impressive, but . . . .
I got about 100 feet from the Chateau Comtal before the tendons felt like they were tearing loose from my right hip and I couldn’t go on. Sat on a bench and dropped a tear before making a list of good things in my journal. Sent Steve on after agreeing to meet at the tavern. With the lure of wine, I managed to hobble there.
With wine and journal, I mused. Notice I haven’t mentioned food. Next to me were a couple from the States and a Brit currently living in Japan. The Brit told lovely stories and I shamelessly listened in while sketching the walls and the crowd.
Steve come back and wisely reported that I wouldn’t have liked the chateau. He had bought me a book about Carcassonne. He never buys that kind of thing so it was really sweet. He ordered me a second wine and went off to find us a place to eat. I toasted my neighbor Anne, as I had promised to do, and relaxed.
Dinner was neat. I required Steve to order a cassoulet–white beans and lots of sausage and duck. I had some of the beans and they were tasty. I had cheese omelet and a big salad plus I felt compelled to drink a glass of Leffe in honor of Vicki and Joe. That it is an incredibly tasty Belgian beer had nothing to do with it.
By this point pain had no hold on me. Usually a bit too much makes me sleepy. This time I felt invincible which answered the question of how I was going to get to the hotel.
While I slept, Steve went out and located a medical supply store. This morning we went and bought me a cane de marche. Maybe I can get a few more steps each day from it. If not, I’ll knit and sketch and be happy.
We are headed to Sarlat and caves with pre-historic paintings. It is also market day there and I am thinking of cheese and strawberries.
Sorry I have no wonderful story to tell today, but as Scarlet said, “Tomorrow is another day.”
Later same day in Sarlat.
Joy. The hotel for tonight is lovely and old fashioned. Owned by Chris who is British, it has a flavor of what I’ve read in Brit novels of the 1930s. He is an elegant gentleman in every sense of both words.
The land around Sarlat reminds me of our lower mountains. We passed beautiful villages and many nice homes. I have no real pictures of that—Steve doesn’t stop the car for pictures, especially art pictures for which he sees no need.
Think large forests of trees, like sycamores or something, planted in rows. Fields of sunflowers mostly harvested, but with a few flowers left. Stately farm homes and then summer homes with lovely gardens. Narrow twisty roads going up, up, up.
The cane is helping me a lot, so I may walk down to the garden I can see from my window and knit a while.
This is the first time I have ever photographed the bathroom in a hotel. I love this tub.
In fact the bath is larger that our entire room last night, but the rate is less.