Grey-Bruce Boomers Winter2023

TRAVEL
by May Tettero
A Medieval village in
France (Conques).
Meseta Central, Spain
and the café is closed for the much-coveted French
siesta that lasts until 4 or 5 p.m. No coffee and no
chance of drying up a bit, so it only makes sense to
push on, but not before eating half a dozen chocolate
digestive cookies from my snack bag.
“Ok baby girl, you may as well continue,” I say
silently to myself and then chuckle that, at almost
60, I’m affectionately calling myself ‘baby girl.’ As
I begin the 12 km descent that will bring me to my
destination, the plus beaux village in France, I do my
safety checks. Is my rear red light on and flashing?
Check. Do I have my phone, wallet and reading
glasses? Check. Is my helmet on my head? Check.
How do my tires respond to braking on the wet
surface? Check. Slowly I let off the brakes and allow
myself to gain speed through the many switchbacks
down the mountain. Up ahead I see the church tower
of Saint-Come-d’Olt and from the corner of my eye
I see an impressive stone building with gardens and
pathways. “That’s a five-star hotel,” I tell myself, and
fly right by, planning to find a bed in a hostel in the
village. Or, finally, that coveted coffee.
The village is deserted, not a single person is out. It’s
still raining hard and I again find a chair under a café
awning to take stock of my options. As I sit there, still
in the same soaked, padded shorts, I look around.
It’s like I’m in a Grimm’s fairytale, or a gingerbread
house village. I’m absolutely awed at the ancient
slate roofs, the medieval stone houses and shuttered
windows.
Million-dollar view from the
Convent of St. Come d’Olt.
I carefully fish my cellphone out of my Goretex
pocket and Google the gites (hostel) in town. There
are two with good reviews and I’m only 80 metres
from one. I grab my bike and begin to walk in the
direction the blue arrow indicates. Where the heck is
this place? I don’t see any signs, there are no people
to ask, and yet I’m so close. After 10 minutes, I find a
narrow alleyway, then a tiny walled off terrace and a
sign. I bring my bike onto the terrace, lean it against
the wall and enter the three-storey stone building. I
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