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15.07.08 Tuesday.
Montesquiou to Marciac.
Another good day start after breakfast at the Chateau le Haget, then a great walk over field and forest to the little hamlet of St Christaud with its 11th century church - unfortunately closed but with a disused funeral carriage, under a lean-to shed. Just before this we were joined by the dog of the day (Buster3). This one was long haired and more friendly than the previous two, it rapidly became obvious that it knew exactly where we/it were going only leaving the way to take what eventually proved to be a short cut. We had started fantasising about where he had come from and had he been sent out from the campsite at Marciac to lead us in, or was he a manifestation of a previous pilgrim doomed forever to guide others to their destination. We had sat down about 11:30 not far short of Marciac when a deer broke cover and shot across the route about 10 feet from where we were sitting with our friend in hot pursuit. He disappeared for a while and we were chatted to by a couple of travellers on the way by horseback. When we reached the bottom of the hill he reappeared having been stirring up trouble with a couple of farm dogs, one of whom needed dissuading from attack with a walking pole.
We entered Marciac under the strict control of our guide who led us to the second bar we passed, where we sat for beer and lunch. The lady of the bar came out, gave him water and called him by what we think was his name and there he remained when we went on just out of town to the campsite. Was he on commission? We don’t know.
Marciac it appears is home to one of France's largest jazz festivals starting in August (unfortunately) it also has a bronze statue of Wynton Marsalis who performs there every summer.
We are staying at the Camping du Lac which is run by a delightful English couple who spent a ½ hour or so with us trying to work out where best we could stop tomorrow night. As Donald Rumsfeld said ‘there are known unknowns and there are unknown unknowns’ etc , and this is certainly true when trying to find out the existence of campsites or not. Tomorrow’s prospective campsite doesn’t exist. Probably. The philosophers had an easy job in comparison, I think.
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