5. Around Gourdon - The Bouriane

My real desire was to do a country walk, as I'd felt inspired by what I saw of the countryside from the train when travelling from Cahors to Gourdon, and it had made an impression on me. It was hilly and wooded with occasional clearings where the grass looked smooth and clipped in between the more wilder areas - perhaps sheep or some other animals helped keep it that short and tidy. Rich emerald manicured lawns interspersed the magical forested areas, and I just wanted to transport myself there and lose myself amongst all that beauty. I wasn't sure what the countryside immediately around Gourdon was like, but that was all I could explore in the limited time I had without a car.


I picked up a walking map from the tourist office and also bought a booklet about that area, which I later found out was called the Bouriane (sometimes seen it spelt Bourian). From what estate agents have told me, you really need a car to explore that area as there is no public transport in that part of the Lot. As I wanted to at least visit and register with a certain estate agent, who is located in a small village in the Bouriane, I looked it up myself and saw that just ONE bus goes there a day, and only from Cahors (even though it was closer to Gourdon). Oh well....I didn't actually have time to view any properties on that trip in any case as my flight was due back to London.



The tourist office gave me one of the shorter walking routes (in French) and said that all the walks were marked out and signposted in yellow on the trees anyway so I didn't really even need a guide. The walk was supposed to take 3 hours, leading to one of the villages and starting from a certain church. Well, I did alright finding the church I was meant to start the walk from, but I think the rain must have washed off all the yellow markings ages ago because I hardly found any.

This is the church from where the walk to the village of St Clair was to start (the other two photos above were a very pleasant walk down country lanes en route to it).

Now comes the tricky bit in the leaflet. It said -

1. Behind the chapel I'm to take the pedestrian route to the left.

It was a bit confusing at first which wall was the back of the chapel but eventually found a route to the left and even a marking on one of the trees, so I think I started off ok.

2. Then it says, 250m further on, take the path which goes up on the right. Well, I'm hopeless with metres and metric measurements so I didn't have a clue how far 250 metres was, but I did find a path on the right that had a yellow marking AND it was going up, so I think I was still on the right path at this stage.

Interesting rocks were lying on the surface. You probably can't see too clearly from the above photo, but they happened to be milky quartz.

Anyway, no more markings were ever seen again after this so somewhere soon after I must have taken a wrong turn.

Bear in mind that I didn't have a French dictionary on me, so was not familiar with all of the words.

In fact here is the next set of directions, in French:

3. Croiser la piste et longer une belle propriete sur la droite. (ok something about turn right)

Remonter ensuite le fond de la vallee jusqu' a une route goudronnee. Tourner a gauche (turn left somewhere) puis a droite (then right) et, a 200 metres environ emprunter le premier chemin a droite (first right after 200 metres) qui remonte vers Grapal Negre (is that a village or what? it doesn't say, and can't find Grapal Negre on the really unclear map).


Well, I passed some nice countryside on the way.

And finally realising I was lost, I decided to follow my own route from now on.
Passed a house where a vicious seeming dog started barking and following me, so I ended up turning round and heading back, soon finding myself back at the very same church from where I started. I met a French woman on the way back who was walking in the same direction as me so which chatted for a while in French, until we got to the church where she had been heading. I walked back to Gourdon town, thinking that this was the fastest 3 hour walk, done in less than an hour, and what a pity I couldn't find any more markings on the trees that would have helped make the route more obvious.

Still, I intend to return to the Bouriane again some day to do more walking, or maybe even cycling, and find some of these villages that are nestled within this beautiful countryside, this area has a special place in my heart.

4. Gourdon

Gourdon is not far to walk to from the station but seems to be uphill all the way. I was feeling a bit nervous about finding everything closed on a Sunday, so intended that all my needs be taken care of. A few minutes later a French woman pulled up in her car - can she drive me into town ?

"Are you a taxi?" I asked. No, she said, she saw me heading into town and as it's uphill she thought I may like a lift.
"I have baggage" I said, pointing to my oversized suitcase, which she couldn't have failed to notice anyway.
"No problem", she put it in the back of the car. Fantastic.

We spoke mainly in French and she even started trying out some of her English on me too. A lovely lady, it never ceases to amaze me how wonderful the locals can be. I told her I was looking for a hotel, and we happened to pass one so I got out of the car there and thanked her for her help. The hotel was not only open and had a vacant room, but was serving meals outside - apparently the only restaurant open on a Sunday.

I went for a walk after lunch, and the weather was better here than how I left it in Cahors (rain), which had changed for the worst on my last day there. There's no way of predicting what the weather is going to be anywhere in France - heading further south MAY mean sunnier or warmer weather, but here I was going further north to get to Gourdon. I always seemed to leave a town in worst weather than when I found it.


The houses in Gourdon are mainly made of yellow orchre coloured stone.

All shops were closed today (Sunday) and most would remain closed even on Monday. So I never got to see how the town looks on a normal weekday.

The town of Gourdon is set high up on a hill, which means you get some great views when you climb to the top.



Not much traffic within the town itself. In fact cars would have a hard job squeezing through some of those very narrow and often steep roads. So it felt like it was all very pedestrianised. And parking is free, like it is in a lot of French towns and villages. A main road encircles the town, called the Tour de la Ville, where it often IS very busy and can be quite noisy at times, but it's quiet within the town itself. I walked around the whole town following the Tour de la Ville, where most of the shops are, and enjoyed the nice views from on high even at this lower elevation.

But walked mainly in the centre, even though it felt more like climbing than walking at times.

There were enough basic shops and facilities here, in fact my hotel was opposite a large post office and a cinema. Also here is an English bookshop, probably because there are a lot of Brits living in Gourdon. I heard English being spoken a lot more here than in the more touristy Dordogne region. In fact I soon discovered nearly every staff member in my hotel was English, so it was nice to switch off the French speaking for a while, especially as it felt too bizarre having two English people trying to speak in French to each other.

On Sunday there was not much going on, so as usual most of my time was spent wandering around , and after the church bells rang in the square I could hear the music and sounds of a service going on - so I took a peek behind the large the door. Not a soul inside, but just a tape recording playing to an empty church. I could well understand that religion, as it once was, no longer seems relevant to the masses but it seemed a pity that these beautiful buildings should go to waste and that it would be lovely if something else, more beautiful and meaningful, could take its place that would gather the community together one day a week. Perhaps Sundays everyone just gathers around their televisions. The new religion no doubt. I then went to another church which did in fact have something else going on inside - an art exhibition. I wasn't allowed to take photos of the individual exhibits but could take general photos of the interior. At least the space was being used, although I was the only one there for much of the time.

3. Cahors in Lot valley

Had a two hour wait in Souillac before my train to Cahors was due to arrive, so had lunch outside the only cafe opposite the station. They must do a roaring trade as the actual town itself seemed a very long walk from the station.

On arriving in Cahors I finally found the youth hostel, which is centrally placed in the town itself but which I still found hard to find even with a map.
The woman in the office said I'd be sharing a dormitory with 27 other people (or something like that). No, I said, the Tourist Office who made the booking said I'd be sharing at most with one other person. She squinted at the timetable or whatever it was on her wall, and silently gave me what I'd originally asked for and had booked.

The hostel itself has a more modern annexe, where all the young ones are shoved in together in large dormitories, and an older building next to it that used to be a convent. The front door was so old and rusted that I doubt anyone had managed to close it for decades. In fact in was always left open at night.
Going in to the right was an old wooden staircase that led up to a lockable door, behind which was the first bedroom.
It was very large and light, with flowery wallpaper and large window and one single bed. But as you have to walk through this room to get to the other two bedrooms it's not ideal if others are staying there. So I chose one of the smaller back bedrooms instead.

My room was very spartan, with old fashioned French floral wallpaper and one bunk bed. I was beginning to feel like a nun after staying there for two nights for it felt rather grim there even for me, but at only 10 euros a night it was helping the cashflow a bit after using hotels.



I liked Cahors straight away and it is a much bigger town than any of the others so far on this trip, with the Lot river running through it and surrounding it on three sides, plus the famous bridge which is said to be one of the oldest of its kind.

I had wanted to take a boat ride down the river but was told that all boat trips were fully booked until the end of the month.

There were also some villages that I'd planned to see both east and west of Cahors along the Lot river, which you can only reach by bus if you don't drive, but the bus timetable was bizarre at the weekend. There was no way of getting there and back. The first bus out was either too late to be useful to look around before the last bus back had to be caught, which was too early to make the journey worth attempting. Or there was a bus at dawn and none coming back. The weekdays had a better timetable but I wasn't sure how much longer I wanted to be in my youth hostel room, and really wanted to see Gourdon before going home.


I discovered this fascinating water clock while walking around the older part of town.


The estate agents I wanted to visit were a few miles from Gourdon, so I bought myself a French mobile phone while still in Cahors as I knew I'd need one for property viewing, although I'd hardly any time left to actually go look at any houses now. It was a depressing thought, but I knew I had to decide on a location first so until I had more clarity around that it was pointless viewing any houses.

For some reason I thought I'd sleep in late Sunday morning before catching the train to Gourdon, completely forgetting about the hostels rules about vacating the room by 10.00am. In hotels it's usually 11.00am. There had been a party going on all Saturday night in one of the apartments opposite my room so I'd been unable to sleep.

In the morning I nearly jumped out of my skin when someone came thumping on my door. Apparently I only had about an hour to get out. I don't know why the hostel man felt such urgency to kick me out on Sunday morning because I was the only one in that building, but I managed to pack quickly and get ready, and spent my time at the station bar drinking pastis and coffee while waiting for my train.

I just hoped that everything wasn't closed in Gourdon, as is often the case in France on a Sunday, for as usual I had neither hotel reservation nor food provisions.