Walking the Valley of Man
Posted Tuesday 10th June 2025
Contents
- Lost From the Start
- Back On Track
- Lascaux Caves
- The Best Laid Plans…
- Lambs and Geese
- Into the Frying Pan…
Where to start our 2013 walking season? With a bit of help from walkinginfrance (the go to for French walking) we decided to walk the Vezere River from Terrasson to Tremolat in the aptly named Valley of Man. As we half expected our plans and the actual events had a modest relationship to each other.
Lost From the Start
We woke in our little Ibis shoebox in Perigueux, in the Dordogne region of France, at a time that allowed us to fuel up at the Ibis’s usefully early breakfast before catching the first morning diesel rail car to Terrasson. This journey, of around 60 km, deposited us at our destination (or starting point since the topic is walking) at around 08·20 on a fairly dreary Monday morning. After a bit of rearranging of our packs (the usual 9 kg for Max and 7·5 kg for Sue – our total worldly possessions while in Europe) we set off for the street march south to the Vezere River and a highly anticipated second morning coffee. In this we were not disappointed although it must be noted that the bar had unreasonably low door frames designed to decapitate most normal people.
That done we crossed the river and started looking for the red and white GR (Grande Randonnee) markings which we needed to guide us onward toward our goal for the day – St Armand de Coly.
The Vezere at Terrason. The bridge in view was where the GR started and where we should have started.
The far side of the river was quite steep, but we laboured upward on a road that actually did a half circle and were heading in rather the wrong direction, all without the benefit of the red and white.
Looking back as we laboured uphill away from the river, before we returned somewhat lost.
In time we retreated and checked with a Tourisme Office, which knew very little since it was attached to the Jardins de l’Imaginaire which had no interest in GR’s. However, they did suggest that we head west along the river to Rue M Michel (that was indeed its name) where there was a marked walking track. So, we dutifully set off, eventually locating what we think was the appointed place only to find yellow track markers everywhere but definitely no red and white.
In some frustration we consulted our 1:100,000 map which rather suggested that if we simply went cross country (or more correctly up country) to a hidden road somewhere up the hill we might be in the right area. So, we scaled the electric fence and made a meandering route up the hillside, through low scrub and slush, to near the road which we discovered was blocked by a Hawthorn hedgerow.
Sue negotiating the paddock between the electric fence and Hawthorn hedgerow.
As anyone who had had an encounter with a Hawthorn hedge will know they are decidedly unfriendly. In time we found a breach in the defences but still had to scale a stone wall over the top of a barbed wire fence to reach our road. By now it had started raining which didn’t help matters. There were no visible GR signs although some faint markings were periodically seen (or so we thought) which led us onward.
The map indicated a turn to the left so at an appropriate looking place we went left only to finish up in a wooded deer farm some 20 minutes later. We had no alternative but to return, having discovered that the compass had somehow avoided being packed, but being saved by Sue’s smart phone which can do passable direction finding. We tried another left turn further on and this time it kept on going more or less in the right direction. By now we were well away from habitation so to some extent we started to relax in the knowledge that if we kept going in something like this direction, we eventually had to meet up with a recognisable crossroad.
Encased in the all weather poncho negotiating the rough track toward salvation.
At one point we passed a newly graded side track which we were inclined to ignore until Max thought he saw a faint cross marked on a tree. Whether it was a real sign, quirk of nature or a sign from above matters not because we were guided by it. After another couple of kilometres, when we had descended into a dark wooded gully, we met another track and there, right in front of us, was an almost new GR marker. We had covered a nominal seven km (in a straight line, but a lot further the way we did it) using only a large-scale map and occasional compass readings and actually succeeded. We like to think of this as the pedestrian equivalent of Columbus finding the Americas.
Sue negotiating the woodland track not long after we found our first GR marker.
Even though the GR rose quite sharply for a bit we were full of newfound energy and enthusiasm.
In time we descended into the village of Coly accompanied by the midday pealing of church bells, as if to announce our triumphant arrival, and found that despite it being Monday both the restaurant (La Table de Jean) and Alimentary were both open. Given a bit of uncertainty about what lay ahead we decided on a restaurant lunch, comprising asparagus salad with prosciutto and balsamic, artichoke risotto, caramel mousse and strawberry tiramisu between the two of us, along with copious quantities of beer, water and coffee.
Coly is a typical French village with a delightful ambience created by the stone architecture and profuse flowers.
Suitably refreshed we bought some supplies from the Alimentary then headed out of town on our second stage for the day – still very up and down and all over the place, but in the final straight in a manner of speaking. That was until nature intruded with a strategically located piece of lichen at a track junction (converting a normal GR sign into a turn sign) which diverted us into an overgrown tree plantation from which the only escape was retreat.
Once again, we retraced our steps and took the proper track in the now certain knowledge that the alternative was not. In a further couple of kilometres, we descended steeply on an ancient walled walking track to come out next to the 12th century fortified Abbey with the unbelievably large porch that is the main feature of St Armand de Coly. Success after all, even if the nominal 14 km was nearer 20 km the way we did it. St Armand de Coly is a small place with modest number of buildings and even fewer people in evidence, despite it elsewhere being listed on a sign board as being rated a ‘plus beaux’ (most beautiful) village.
Arriving into St Armand de Coly past the imposing fortified abbey.
Although we had arrived, we still had a few anxious moments. We knew that accommodation was available in cabins at a camping area, but it was certainly not in the village nor did any of the French speaking locals seem to know of anything more helpful than some distance away. However, we did find an apparently empty building flagging itself as Hotel de l’Abbaye which didn’t look all that welcoming. Further exploration uncovered another building some distance away with the same name while nearby but on the opposite side of the laneway was a third such building – this latter being a restaurant where, in typical French multi-skilled way, the chef was able to provide us with a room in the second building.
The enormous front porch of the abbey is rather out of scale with the building.
Given our, by then, seriously knackered state it was little wonder that we found solace in a wash and siesta for an hour or two before dinner in the restaurant.
It seems to be a feature of walking that some of the smallest of villages redeem the day with dining of the most enjoyable sort – at similar places in Australia you would be lucky to even find a truck stop. St Armand de Coly was one such, made even better by being after a fairly strenuous day. We shared goats cheese wrapped in smoked salmon with walnuts and bonbon salad followed by steak with perigueux sauce for Sue and duck maigret risotto for Max, washed down with a suitable Bergerac white, following which we had no capacity for any dessert.
The church rather dominates the village around it.
Since daylight continued until after 22·00 we spent a bit of time exploring the village with its well-kept buildings and plentiful descriptive French signage – even though we could only glean a modicum of information from them.
Walking distance: 20km; elapsed time: 6h 00m
Back On Track
Breakfast was a simple but ample affair after which we made our departure around 09·00, a bit later than desirable but given our comparatively modest target for the day not a big issue.
The track took off uphill into woodland from a somewhat concealed corner of an off road parking bay. We were in fact guided to it by a number of track maintainers busy with brush cutters and whipper snippers. Much to their amusement they had driven round to the top by the time we toiled out of the woods quite some time later.
Toiling up through woodland toward the somewhat amused track gang.
The track varied between farmland, meadows and woodland as it wandered over hill and vale, with a couple of small flocks of cattle as our only company. There was little in the way of habitation and even fewer people on this day. The track itself was a mix of walking tracks and barely navigable forest roads, many rather eroded from what would appear to be recent heavy rain. The red and white GR signs remained our reliable guide, although more than a few red and white X signs also contributed.
The Navigator in Chief does a running check on progress.
In a few places we had to walk short distances on real roads but apart from occasional cars zipping past there was little in the way of human life. Around half way, in a pleasant valley, we came across the Chateau de la Grande Filolie perched on the opposite hillside – a typically expansive castellated structure that apparently remained as a home for someone, presumably of considerable wealth.
Waiting out the rain in a natural shelter.
The Chateau de la Grande Filolie exudes grandeur across a shallow valley.
It started to rain lightly at this point, which was a bit unfortunate since the track also started up a long ascent. In fact, having exerted ourselves to get to the top we were a bit dismayed to find we then descended again on a very rough road only to repeat the climb some time later.
Having ascended and then dropped back down —
— only to ascend again, this time to the area of the Lascaux Caves.
The top of the second climb brought us onto a modestly busy road which took us directly to the Lascaux Caves, where we took possession of a shelter and had lunch made from yesterday’s acquisitions, washed down with iced tea from the nearby souvenir shop. It is not possible to book a tour of the caves at the caves – it can only be done in Montignac a few km away on the Vezere River. We were aware of this and had allowed an extra day in the area to enable us to ‘do’ the cave tour.
The final stretch for the day was the main road down to Montignac which fortunately had relatively little traffic and most of what was there was going our way but on the other side of the road. However, we did meet a couple of other pedestrians. At the first opportunity the GR turned off onto an alternate access to the town and it was there, while keeping an eye on an oncoming car rather than the road that I managed a spectacular fall, knocking a bit off both knees and my left hand. Sue was all for roadside first aid, but I was still quite mobile and wanted to get to the town and accommodation before doing any repairs. So, we kept going, a bit slower than before, following a well-marked route through narrow laneways to the old town centre.
Along the laneways of Montignac, looking for somewhere to stop and undertake repairs.
By now it was past midday so Tourisme was shut for lunch but fortuitously we espied the Relais du Soleil d’Or nearby so checked in for two nights, albeit at a price that we normally wouldn’t have.
After patching up the damaged bits we sorted ourselves out in our room, following which I went out and booked an ‘English’ tour of the caves late morning on the morrow as well as acquiring a local map and doing a bit of a scout around the town – noting a number of restaurants strung out along the opposite bank of the river.
The Vezere River and part of the town of Montignac.
Much later we went out for dinner, ignoring the open creperie at the bridge but then finding all the riverside restaurants were having a night (or in one case a month) off. From the numbers of tourists wandering around earlier it was apparent that there must be something open and sure enough we found Chez Fanny’s in an elevated square behind the church.
This part of France specialises in canard (duck) and foie gras – at this stage we were curious but by the end of our time in the region a week later we were desperate for some variety. Never-the-less Fanny produced gesiers (gizzard) salad, salmon roti, chevre and crème Broulee for Max and foie gras on toasts, confit de canard and tarte de citron for Sue washed down with a pichet (in this case a 750 ml bottle) of a local white. While the meal was entirely filling it could not be classed as exciting. During our time in the square being fed we had the church bells ringing the passage of time and a couple of noisy low level fly pasts by the French Air Force to accompany us.
Walking distance: 16 km; elapsed time: 4h 00m (Cumulative: 36 km and 10h 00m)
Lascaux Caves
Apart from the visit back to Lascaux we had a free day, so as a result we were slow getting going. Breakfast at the hotel was more than adequate and included a system where you put your egg into a coloured holder in a communal egg boiler then took a timer and continued with other parts of your breakfast until the egg was ready. The man in charge was rather spectral and devoid of personality (rather Addams Family in fact), a bit of a contrast to the average French person, although he was quite helpful when prodded.
We set out fairly early for Lascaux, retracing our steps of the previous afternoon. There was little traffic on the road, and we only took 30 minutes to get there. Perhaps a bit of background might be in order at this stage. Lascaux was only discovered (by a wayward dog) around 1940, despite its contents being from somewhere in the region of 15,000BC – prior to the last Ice Age. The two main chambers in the cave had an amazing gallery of prehistoric ‘paintings’ adorning walls and roof, although since there was no written language at the time there is no record of who the artists were or why they created these works.
The original Lascaux cave was opened to the public for some years until it became obvious that the paintings were deteriorating as a consequence. At that stage the French closed the cave but started an ambitious project to build an exact replica of the two main chambers which contained 90% of the original art work.
Lascaux ll has been complete for some time and is quite breathtaking – even though only a reproduction the impact of the caves is extraordinary, and it is not possible to find adequate words to describe it. The paintings, virtually all of animals, are not simple stick figures but complex coloured and entirely recognisable likenesses of the animal world as Lascaux man knew it. The Lascaux caves and many others in and around the Vezere Valley from pre-history are the reason the river valley is described as the Valley of Man.
Returning to the surface after 50 minutes in that amazing place was itself quite surreal. We had a drink and a bit of ‘reflection time’ before heading back to Montignac in what was by now a pleasant sunny day. Back in town we acquired a Boulangerie lunch which we ate on a remote seat overlooking the river, which is where Sue got the idea of kayaking the next day’s walk to St Leon.
The inspiration for a different way of getting to St Leon.
Sorting out the kayak man was fairly straightforward but when we later asked Tourisme to find a room at St Leon for us (in the sole hotel) the answer was that it was fully booked by a religious group. We then tried and got the last room in Thonat, which would add three km to the following days walk with a “dangerous” road bash for the first bit.
Dinner was at the recommended Hotel Rosario – former residence of the Medilan family of rose growing fame – which was in a garden setting facing the river, which we had somehow missed the night before. Following our new found one plat policy we each chose fillet of beef in red wine sauce with white and green asparagus, preceded by champagne, complimented with a half Bergerac white and followed by coffee – a top notch event once again.
Walking distance: 5 km; elapsed time: 3h 30m (Cumulative: 41 km and 13h 30m)
The Best Laid Plans…
The best laid plans… During the night Max got a good bout of gastric (it always happens – Max has gastric and Sue gets a migraine at some stage) which made the idea of several hours kayaking down river rather questionable. One thing led to another, so we went back to Tourisme, only to find that Thonat had no record of a booking for us (lucky we didn’t rely on that) and the only way to get to Les Eyzies was by kayak, foot or taxi. Fortunately, the local taxi had a standing booking that went half way to Les Eyzies late morning so they took us the extra distance for a very reasonable sum. The taxi was a midsized Mercedes, and yes, the Thonat – St Leon road was busy, narrow, winding and enclosed in guard rails.
The waterwheel at Le Moulin de la Beune that gave this establishment its name.
Since we arrived in Les Eyzies prior to midday we were able to negotiate a hotel room at Le Moulin de la Beune, off the Avenue de la Prehistorie, in a place created from two former water mills (hence the name), in park like surroundings on the banks of the Beune River. The hotel had an excellent restaurant so we went posh for lunch (as always, dressed in our best dining outfits, which looked extraordinarily like our walking gear) where Sue had gnocchi and Max a somewhat tentative soup, following which we had a siesta – in part to see how well I coped with eating (again!).
In time, which we now had plenty of, we went out to explore a bit of the town – well given its small size, squeezed between the river and limestone cliffs, most of the town. During this time a short but fairly lively thunder storm passed over and it has to be said the thunder had a tonal aspect to it that we like to think was a French accent but probably had more to do with the surrounding terrain.
Local housing clustered under the limestone cliffs that dominate the village of Les Eyzies.
Les Eyzies is a fairly recent town (in context of the region) but is the centre of a large number of interesting prehistoric caves with their artifacts and art. The major feature of the town is the limestone escarpment on the northern side which like so much of this area was the reason early man found the region so accommodating – limestone means caves and caves mean shelter. Of course, limestone is also very workable so donjons were also a feature, albeit not conspicuously so in Les Eyzies.
In time we returned to the restaurant fully intending to stick with our one course policy. Sue succeeded with a simple pigeon main but I, having a bit of a sustenance deficit, had soup followed by bouef perigord. Mind you the aperitifs came with miniature foie gras brulees and the later coffee came with miniature crème brulees and delicate small pastries – it was just one of those French restaurants which are so good at turning culinary skills into an art form.
The result of our somewhat unplanned day was that we now had a spare day (waiting for our original itinerary to catch up) so we took things fairly slowly. A late breakfast was followed by a walk to the village of Tayac, all of one kilometre away and the much earlier original village in this area. Les Eyzies is strung out along a single main street with a high preponderance of shops being devoted to local produce, both culinary and manufactured.
The fortified abbey at Tayac, one of many such in the region.
Tayac is noted for its fortified abbey with slit windows and massive external structure designed to resist marauders, of which there had been plenty by all accounts. The surrounding small village is a jumble of ancient cottages clustered up the hillside behind the church with a couple actually using cliff overhangs as a place to garage their cars.
Car parking for some Tayac locals is provided by nature.
We returned via the river front past the cemetery, various productive back yard gardens and a motor home camping ground.
The dominating overhang at Les Eyzies.
We acquired a couple of filled baguettes for lunch by the river. Rather later we visited the Musee de Prehistorie, a modern building built under the lee of the overhanging cliffs which had an interesting series of salons showing timelines of cultures, tools and decorations from around France, but with particular emphasis on the extraordinary cluster of sites in the Dordogne region.
This sculpture of Neanderthal man sits atop the Musee de Prehistorie.
We decided, rather later, that we should try a bit of variety for dinner so walked back toward Tayac to a place we noted earlier advertising steak and frites – it seems that there was some semantic problem with medium rare which resulted in near raw being delivered in a huge serving. While it was filling it hardly competed with the other end of the village.
Lambs and Geese
After a couple of days off we were back to the real stuff, only now we were to follow GR6 rather than GR461 which we had previously been on. A modestly early start by 08·30 saw us cross the Vezere and follow it upstream for maybe 20 minutes before turning up a cleft through the cliffs which took us up onto higher ground away from the river. The cleft was a dark and damp place, the sort of place where anything from goblins to Neanderthals might hide out.
Here be Goblins and Neanderthals?
Rather than strange beings it was the uphill bit that was of more concern although we eventually topped out into somewhat remote scrubby country with odd cleared but unpopulated paddocks. At one point we had to turn sharp right onto an unused road which had clear wheel ruts worn (or cut) into the rocky surface. We know not what it was, but it could have been of any age back to the time of Christ – the Romans were adept at creating wheel-ways for their carts and chariots.
Wheel ruts that could have been from any era in the last 2000 years.
In time we dropped down to the little village of St Cirq and skirted around the top of it to the Grotte du Sorcier, another of the many caves with traces of prehistoric man but in this case engravings.
Ambling up to St Cirq and the Grotte du Sorcier.
The surrounding cliffs were also once inhabited by a people living in dwellings carved from the rock. We decided to have a good look around and while it was a long way from the class of Lascaux it was still interesting to see yet another aspect of very early human life.
Max has taken up residence in a donjon – a ‘home’ in the limestone cliff.
The Grotte du Sorcier is naturally close under limestone cliffs.
There was another reasonably demanding climb away from the Grotte then a long slow ascent which took us through the small village of Petit Paris – very Petit indeed with a population of one 100,000th of the real Paris if it was lucky. The road we were now on ground on upward to a high point above Le Bugue, our destination for the day, down on the river.
Our destination for the day is visible well down below – Le Bugue.
Despite the map showing the route following a road, the track actually managed to find a pleasant separate right of way on what might have been another part of our earlier ancient road for much of the descent.
Arriving into Le Bugue was through a maze a narrow roads and alleyways in what must have been the medieval part of town, coming out at a roofed market place (Halle) adjacent to the sole bridge over the Vezere hereabouts.
The Halle (Market Place) marked our arrival into middle Le Bugue.
It was not even midday so we looked for and found a hotel, but as always it was shut with no indication if or when it might resume normal business, so we had lunch instead.
The Vezere River at Le Bugue, with tomorrows ridge lurking behind.
Having frittered away the early half of the afternoon we again approached the hotel to find it still shut. More in frustration than anything Max rang the doorbell with miraculous results – we not only gained entry but were given a cavernous room with creaking floor boards – a very Victorian era place suitably modernised to have an en suite but otherwise rather retro.
Washing (us and clothes) and siesta followed during which time it rained quite energetically. Once the weather cleared, we went out and explored the old parts of the town during which time we came across a farming couple from near Newcastle, only in this case it was Newcastle in Yorkshire (we, at the time, lived near Newcastle in the antipodes). A bit like meeting a chap in Ljubljana last year who was from near Toronto, in that case the one in Canadia (likewise with the antipodean Toronto).
Wandering the charming laneways of Le Bugue.
We ate at the hotel as a matter of convenience but finished up with a quite adequate meal. Sue had salmon with walnut sauce while Max had canard with foie gras followed by red berry millefuele, suitably lubricated with white wine, water and coffee.
Walking distance: 13 km; elapsed time: 3h 30m (Cumulative: 54 km and 17h 00m)
Into the Frying Pan…
We had an inkling of trouble during breakfast when the local TV showed a sun pictogram with 32 written across its face, although at the time the temperature would have been 1/3rd of that. We got away at around 08·30 and had a pleasant walk down the Cingle until we were guided onto the longest, steepest uphill section for the whole walk. This unrelenting climb took us up beyond the inhabited fringe of town through some fairly rough country and on to the top of a quite substantial undulating plateau.
Climbing away from Le Bugue, fortunately before the heat rose to uncomfortable levels.
The track meandered quite a bit, made more interesting when the navigator in chief sort of forgot he was in the northern hemisphere and became confused by the sun moving from west to east. When in doubt follow the GR markers, which is what we did. In time we finished up on a pleasant forest track, or at least it was until Sue tripped and finished up rather muddy but fortunately otherwise unhurt. At various times we emerged onto made roads but never for long, disappearing into the forest within a couple of hundred metres.
On one of these tracks, we had to walk through the middle of a farm settlement which is where we met a rather unkempt rustic Frenchman and his two dogs. In fact, he was quite entertaining in a way, rattling on to us in French and we responding in English with very little comprehension either way – at least until he realised that we were Australien. That unleashed an excited story which we could only vaguely comprehend but, we gather, involved an Australien with cancer and limited life expectancy who paid 5 million Euros for that place over there – or maybe something that was entirely different. In time, still very little the wiser, we parted company circumnavigating his flocks of lambs and geese which had more or less joined the conversation.
The track followed a steeply descending fence line for a way before yet again ascending a long but less steep grade back to higher country, from where the map indicated a bit of a road slog for some distance into Limeuil. In fact, the GR managed to find very secondary tracks for much of the distance in quite pleasant forest and semi cleared farming country, where for a change we met several other people out walking or running.
By now the promised heat of the day was in full swing so the last kilometre or so to the upper ‘porta’ of the defences of Limeuil was a fairly uncomfortable experience.
The upper ‘porta’ of Limeuil and the heat of the day arrived more or less at the same time.
There were several narrow lanes to negotiate which at least had some respite from the sun.
The GR, far from descending into the village, skirted around the upper fringes, behind the church and then headed into several shadeless undulations along hot sealed roads until we unexpectedly came to a hotel perched on a cliff top above the Dordogne River (the Vezere having joined with it a kilometre or two upstream).
Overlooking the Dordogne from the unexpected cliff top and its hotel.
We gratefully collapsed in the shade of their balcony and consumed a couple of simple salads as well as a copious quantities of whatever liquids they had on offer – Badoit and Soda Water but not beer out of respect for the need to navigate for a couple more hours through to Tremolat.
Never did a hotel with shade and plentiful liquids look more attractive than this one.
We must have spent an hour or so there, but even though fairly refreshed when we set sail once more it was not long before the heat of the day and reflected heat from the road took their toll. In time we reached a forest track which had some shade but was uphill and quite airless – not a great deal of help.
In time even this track came back out into the open, but we were perhaps fortunate to meet a trio of young backpackers who were able to offer more solace to us than we could to them – Tremolat was mainly downhill from where we met them while they were heading through to Le Bugue (5 hours away as we did it) and it was already 14·30.
Finally, a bit after 15·00 we trudged into Tremolat thinking longingly of showers and siesta in some comfort, but we were in for a rude awakening.
Arriving into Tremolat before we discovered that there was no practical accommodation for plodders like us.
Despite assurances to the contrary there was only one hotel in the village, and it was a four-star appendage to a resort which wanted to charge more than the sum of all the hotels we had occupied to date – but conversely, we probably would never have met the standard that they would have expected of their guests. They graciously tried to ring around some of the local Gites but none of them would respond, probably because none of them were yet open for the season.
A bit of Tremolat – before we had worked out a Plan B.
In a somewhat battered state, we retired to the local bar to drown our sorrows while trying to concoct a workable Plan B. The drowning process eventually produced results such that we finally set off again for the Tremolat railway station (which was on the far side of the village of Lescodelpont), walking in a sea of radiant heat while the celestial furnace blasted down from above. It took us 30 minutes of misery to get to the station where we had around an hour to rest in the shade of the front garden of the unattended Gite that once was the railway station.
A train to salvation – but not this one! Ours, when it arrived, was a lot older and heading the other way.
The railway is a branch line from near Bordeaux to Sarlat which the walk map enthusiastically describes as Chemin de Fer Touristique Esperance. The train, which could only be described as tren anciene duly fronted and collected us for the 40 minute run to Sarlat, but in our debilitated state I don’t think we appreciated much of the Touristique Esperance on this occasion.
The tren anciene that got us to Sarlat as the day (and temperature) was waning.
Arrival at the terminus created a new set of problems – how and where to find a hotel that might be open (it was Sunday evening after all). We encountered the only lack of helpfulness from locals, while trying to sort this out, that we met in all our French travels. Eventually we ascertained that an Ibis (accommodation chain) was not far away and in time we found the place, got a room and were able to get a tray meal – penne, risotto and rose – which saved the day. We collapsed that night after the longest and most exhausting day we have so far encountered in our European travels. And so ended this particular walk, but with the much more demanding Lech Walk now our next objective.
Walking distance: 19 km; elapsed time: 7h 15m (Cumulative: 73 km and 24h 15m)
