We went to the market yesterday, returning with a basket of veggies from Isabelle and her rather gorgeous son (whom Kate saw first...), fruit from some Occitan or Catalan speakers, various little brown paper bags from the glorious smelling spice stall, but not much cheese! Madame Donnay, supplier of ewes' milk cheese to the discerning, had none on view save a bit of fromage blanc. The colourful Jean-Baptiste was stationed at his usual pitch by the contraceptive vending machine, and has supplied us with eggs and goats' milk cheese. En route we replenished supplies of essential fluids: red, white, rosé, diesel and propane.
Today we've been a bit more energetic, and legged it up to the Roc de la Cagalière, from which the brave can get 360° panoramas. At one point on the walk Martyn spotted a deer in the woods, and we met a lot of butterflies: at one point we had a sort of escort of a dozen or so small ones, some pale blue, some reddish brown. The Cagalière is probably the best of our local walks. The first bit is quite strenuous, rising through a steep lotissement known hereabouts as Beverly Hills, and doesn't really let up much until you reach the viewpoint. After that it's a very civilised little walk, including a 'parcours botanique' set up by our local nature guru, Patrick, from the Office National des Forêts. (His much-deserved promotion means we shall be losing him, and I hope the good citizens of Foix, to which he's transferring, appreciate their good fortune.) The steep descent into the village makes one feel quite virtuous, knowing that one scrambled up it earlier. And the panaché in the Café de la Promenade didn't touch the sides.
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