Quercy is the old name for a region that takes in this part of Lot, and that’s the term you hear most often. Here the hills are more compact and wooded than in the Aveyron. Indicating a different geology, buildings are roofed more often with tiles rather than lauze.
Now, in mid April, it’s safe to talk of spring:
My first traffic warning against rogue poultry:
Faycelles is mostly by-passed by pilgrims, and it’s surprising. A town without street signs or any urgency to attract tourism, it is, in fact, of very great tourist value. Perhaps being a victim of Richelieu’s centralising policies, which cost Faycelles its castle and moved it uphill, has taught the residents to keep their heads down. (Richelieu did have a point: the old town had long before been captured and used by those accursed anglais.)
As in all agglomerations which rise above the status of hamlet, there is a proud, plucky mairie, which has no doubt had many a political tussle with the facing (and huge) church. Only in France.
Rustic without roughness would be a good description for the general tone of the villages of Quercy.
Faycelles’ one restaurant doesn’t do haute, nouvelle, touristique or molecular. It just feeds you as if you were a hungry human. A good reason to stay the night in Faycelles, which I did.