Monday, 1 July 2002
We had delicious fresh bread and butter with coffee for breakfast, but when we went down to the main street, as soon as we got to the first bar, we felt that a second coffee would do no harm.
We were supposed to be exploring the village, but it was a deeply-ingrained habit, to seize every chance for rest and refreshment. Without packs or boots we felt odd, in a delightful way.
Later we drove into Cahors, the car ride itself an unfamiliar experience for us. We had a drink at a pleasant bar, which was opposite an Institute de Beauté.
These places, like coiffeurs and pharmacies, are ever-present in French villages and we amused ourselves trying to decide whether the women coming out were significantly more beautiful than those going in.
Then we went for a country drive to admire the fields of vines, sunflowers, wheat and garlic, the stone fruit orchards, the crumbling chateaux and quiet villages.
That evening the four of us sat under the trees at the Café de France and ate our way through red pepper salad, guinea fowl and crème Catalan, with the obligatory Cahors wine.