Safe Return Doubtful

The sleepy folk of Gramond are woken early on weekdays; whether they choose to be or not. The church bells are loud, but muted between 10 pm and 7 am. Then at 7 am they are back with a vengeance; seven strikes, repeated, followed by a cacophonic miscellany of chimes that last a minute. Get out of bed, the day has started. Something like boarding school, or prisoners in their cells. So started Monday. 

I was dozing only, but it’s light now at that time, so yielded to the reveille, fed Roja and took coffee. Today was moving day. 

In Balesta a few days ago I stayed next to the church. Its bell tower was not muted during the night, out of pride for the town locals told me. That bothered me far less than the unsynchronised and inopportune pealing of this morning. 

Gramond (whose name probably derives from ” grand mont ” – high hill) is 630 metres up, dominating the Segala plateau, and has done since the 12th century. As a baronial seat, it acquired its castle in the 13th century.

The keep still exists as the base of the church’s belfry. A third of its population of 600 is made up from the retirement facility, the Maison San Dominique, complete with its own cemetery – <blockquote>you can check-out anytime you like, but you can never leave.’</blockquote>

It was a good weekend in Gramond, based completely around the rugby as the weather was challenging and made any length outdoor activity difficult; a steady, rather than gusty, 30 miles per hour wind easterly wind blew throughout my stay. 

A hundred metres up the hill into the village from the aire was a bar and restaurant, owned and run by the community, with the name O P’tit Cre, its meaning apparently, ‘of little faith’. I had a beer there on Friday in the early evening, and watched the French game there on Saturday afternoon. As with many community pubs in England, it was busy throughout. It serves a bread depot as well, and it was a cold weekend, with rain most of the day on Sunday, so an ideal place to break a walk with the family, or the dog. 

There is good walking in the area, heading down into the Lézert Valley through the forest. We had a few hours out on Friday and Saturday mornings, but on Sunday in the rain, were content with a couple of local laps. 

This morning we drove on to the Dordogne region. The weather has cleared, for the day at least, and we are based at the cliff-top village of Rocamadour above the Alzou river.