Labastide-Marnhac
We have walked through many villages along the way, and each one has a church. We always enter, leaving our poles at the entrance, and pause for a moment of reflection: perhaps because that's what pilgrims have done for centuries, or simply because they are a change of pace from the constant steps that make up our day. We've come to appreciate these little interludes. We are usually the only ones there, and in a strange way we always feel welcome.
We arrived at Labastide-Marnhac after a long climb out of Cahors, an old medieval village surrounded by the jumble of suburban houses expanding from Cahors. Although there first, it now seems almost out of place. To us it seemed more familiar to the villages we'd grown accustomed walking through than the suburban like landscape we found ourselves in.
We arrived at the church, set down our poles to enter, but the door was locked.
A notice tacked on the bulletin board said the church has been closed to visitors because the village was worried that terrorists might vandalize the church. I was deeply saddened, and we walked on.
We arrived at Labastide-Marnhac after a long climb out of Cahors, an old medieval village surrounded by the jumble of suburban houses expanding from Cahors. Although there first, it now seems almost out of place. To us it seemed more familiar to the villages we'd grown accustomed walking through than the suburban like landscape we found ourselves in.
We arrived at the church, set down our poles to enter, but the door was locked.
A notice tacked on the bulletin board said the church has been closed to visitors because the village was worried that terrorists might vandalize the church. I was deeply saddened, and we walked on.
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