Issue No.26

Feeling purified and blessed by holy spirits, I
descend the Grand Escalier into the town
centre of Rocamadour. To left and right it
appears as one long corridor lined with
hotels, shops, restaurants and residences. In
the Middle Ages, this narrow strip of road
would have been crowded with pilgrims, as
well as a support system including mills,
hospitals and defence gates of this holy site.
Much of the village along Rue de la
Couronnerie, the main artery through town,
remains unchanged in layout. There has
though been restoration work to the
facades that has eroded over time, and only
Salmon Gate remain its original features.
I rest my feet and take dinner on the
outdoor terrace of Restaurant Le Terminus
Des Pélerins overlooking the Alzou valley.
The food is so tempting I can't resist the
walnut cake that is the speciality of the
region, and platter of local cheese. Small
rounds of young goats cheese that bear the
same name as the town. While it isn’t
strictly from Rocamadour itself, I can now
confidently say, I’ve had Rocamadour in
Rocamadour.
Many day visitors return to the cliff top to
join their coaches, however I plan to stay
the night, watching the shadows play
around the valley by the glow of the dipping
sun.
Craning my neck and looking up towards
the churches and the castle above, I am
suddenly filled with a sense of awe. I
imagine the pilgrims, coming through the
gates on either side of the village
encountering the majestic power of
architecture and height, you can see how
they were persuaded by stories of miracles.
I ponder the steep stairs upwards and
consider whether I’d be dedicated enough
to climb it on my knees.
No. I decide that's not for me, I have further
to travel and need my legs for my onward
walk...