France 74 - Figeac a quick stop off and a lovely cup of coffee

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Our first stop of the day was at the small town of Figeac. A slight detour not to see anything in particular just to go to somewhere we had never been to before as we started to wind our way northward and home. We were just wasting time and idling from place to place. Neither of us want to go home.

We are still 800 miles from home and this will take us the best part of a week meandering from town to town. Stopping as we see fit. Again the beauty of motorhoming. You are not stuck to one place but can stop if you want or move on if the mood takes you.

Our parking spot had again been sourced via the internet. It wasnt a full blown aire de camping car just a car park with some bigger spaces just right for Suzy. And it was within walking distance of the town. Google Earth had again come up trumps as we had been able to look at the parking and work out exactly where it was and what it looked like. Not huge but big enough hopefully for us to park up, visit the town and get a well earned cup of coffee.

Getting in was easy. The roads were fairly empty as we were travelling the N roads. And how pretty they are with the verges white with ox eye daisies dancing in the slight breeze and orchids. Such beautiful flowers but sadly missing in Britain due to changes in farming methods. The only problem the weather was poor compared to what we had experienced up to now. That thick mist clung to the roadside obscuring any decent view. It felt much colder and greyer and for the first time we had to dig out coats as we felt very chilly. Still the flowers cheered us up.

Parking up was easy. The entrance was on a road without a direct turning into the car park which meant we had to drive to the next roundabout, turn round and come back down the road. One motorhome was already parked up. it was hard to say if he had stayed the night or not. Several van were parked with workmen busy doing jobs. We picked a spot out of the way which hopefully would mean we wouldnt get blocked in nor would we block anyone from getting out.

The walk to the town was short and took us down steps and through narrow streets crowded in by tall houses 4 stories or more higher. The narrow streets opened out into a typical french square . Typical in that it had tourist shops and cafes spilling into the street. Not so typical was that there were no trees for shade.

What can I say about Figeac. Well it lies on the River Cele and is a beautiful unspoilt place. There were few tourists and it seemed workaday with men working on shops, women with shopping bags doing their day to day activities. The souvenir shop owner had all his worldly goods on display in the street but even he shut up shop for half an hour as there were no tourists apart from us about. And that is how we like it. It gave us the opportunity to wander round the tiny alleyways, around the empty streets and savour every moment. Houses were of varying styles some medieval, some of classical design and the odd house that had a venetian feel about it. Half timber abounded and it was utterly charming.

We found ourselves back in the main square quite quickly as there isnt much to keep you there once you have explored the side streets. So it was coffee time. This activity normally takes place before we start investigating the town but this time as Figeac was so small we found ourselves doing the siteseeing bit and leaving the coffee and cake for the end.



We found the only cafe/bar/restaurant in town in the corner of the main square. It was slightly too cold to sit out so we went inside. I think it was called Bar 5 or something similar and was set up in that chic way that only the French manage to pull off. The tables were spread around the empty room. Again we were the only ones in. The chairs and seats were fuschia pink, the tablecloths the same colour and the napkins a combination of fuschia or grey. A single black pot sat on the table and was filled with a single fuschia pink gerbera. Stylish and simple. Even the mirrors were hung crookedly but looked so right. The waitress was lovely, as charming as the place itself and we ordered coffees and crepes avec citron. Crepes as only the french can cook them. Thin and not stodgy with a single piece of lemon on the top. Delicious . We savoured every mouthful and wished we could have found room for another one.

But it was time to move on. We were heading further in the Dordogne and had a date with a garden. A garden unlike any that we had seen before . A garden we had promised ourselves we would visit but never quite made it.

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