Pilgrim's Progress – Long Distance Walks in Europe and the UK

Good food is the foundation of genuine happiness.

Auguste Escoffier

Ok I’m going to start with an admission. This blog has less to do with walking and more to so with fine dining in a tiny village called Roquefeuil which was my destination for the day. As I left Puivert, it was overcast and drizzling. Little did I know the culinary delights that lay ahead of me.

After the previous day’s curtailed walk I realised that changes were needed in my planned itinerary. Realistically there was no way that I was going to be able to ‘make up a day’ and reach Foix on Tuesday evening. It seemed prudent to have another shorr (20km) which would take me to Roquefeuil. From there I hoped to walk 36km to Montségur and then catch a bus to Foix where I had booked accommodation at the town’s youth hostel, before taking a train and a bus back home on Wednesday. Besides, the weather forecast for the day was pretty grim!

It was a pretty dreich day in all honesty. A bit like going on a summer holiday in the Scottish Highlands. The mercury had dropped 20C and visibility was 50 metres at most. I can’t remember much about the walk as there wasn’t much to see other than mist shrouded hillsides covered in pines.

At a small village called Lescale, I followed one of the paths used by the Maquis resistance fighters to ferry allied soldiers across the Pyrenees to freedom in Spain.

On the 9th August 1944 the small hamlet of Lescale suffered a terrible fate at the hands of the German Occupation forces in retribution for sheltering members of the Maquis resistance fighters.

It’s August 6, 1944, and the Upper Aude Valley, which one might imagine to be so peaceful and far from everything, sees a shiver run down the spines of its inhabitants. A detachment of the Panzer Grenadier Regiment rolls up to Puivert and its famous castle. It is commanded by two men: Lieutenant Bernahrd Brandt and Corporal Franz Biskup, arrives in Puivert. At their side is a certain Jean Terrier, an interpreter and Gestapo agent in Pexiora. The arrival of the convoy does not go unnoticed, especially since the population is not unaware of what is going on in the dense woods of the Picaussel forest a few kilometers from here. 

On the same day, late in the afternoon, four young resistance fighters from Picaussel were trapped in an ambush set by the Germans. Jean Carbou and Joseph Lebret, both residents of the hamlet of Lescale, were killed in the shootout. This skirmish was, in fact, only the beginning of a large-scale operation. Indeed, at the same time, the resistance fighters hidden in the immense Picaussel forest received a large parachute drop of machine guns.

Everything was in place for the confrontation. It didn’t take long, because the very next day, German units stormed the camp where the resistance fighters were hiding. The battle lasted more than four hours, but the Picaussel forest held no secrets for the French, who knew every nook and cranny. The operation was a failure for the Germans, who, around 2 p.m., threw in the towel and retreated, leaving behind eighteen dead and around sixty wounded. For the resistance fighters, the victory was total. Or so they thought. 

Alas, the Germans had only one idea in mind: revenge in any way they could, and they set their sights on the peaceful hamlet of Lescale, which adjoins the forest. They decided to occupy the area and engage in a thorough pillage. Nothing escaped them: furniture, silverware, grain, livestock. Everything was transferred to Pexiora. But the distraught inhabitants had seen nothing yet. On August 9, on the orders of Lieutenant Brandt, the Germans decided to raze the hamlet and set it on fire. Fortunately, by the time they arrived, all the inhabitants had had the good sense to flee. Upon their return, they found only a field of ruins from which only the school and the church emerged. It’s a fascinating and relatively unknown part of WW2 history. If you fancy finding out more, then I can heartily recommend Edward Stourton’s Cruel Crossing.

With these grim reminders of the horrors of modern warfare still fresh in my mind I arrived in the small village of Espézial. I was soaked to the bone and in need of food and liquid refteshment. Inside the rather dingy establishment, which had obvious seen better times, a grizzled local was propped up at the bar engaged in animated conversation with the barman about the follies of various renovation projects undertaken by newcomers to the area. Disappointingly the auberge no longer ran to food but the barman recommended the Sundial restaurant in Roquefueil. I sank a beer and headed off into the rain in search of food.

Lunch at the Cadran restaurant in Roquefeuil was little short of superb. Despite it being a drizzly Monday lunchtime, the place was buzzing.

For €17.50 I enjoyed a regal three course lunch: melon and serrano ham, followed ny tender portions of pork on a bed of mashed potato and finished up with some chocolate mousse that was out of this world. When the chef appeared to ask the diners how they had enjoyed their meal I felt ready to embrace him with joy. He was quite a sturdy chap so I probably wouldn’t have managed much more than a friendly bear hug!

As the Troubadour gite where I was staying didn’t open until 4pm I killed a couple of hours sheltering from the rain in the porch of the local church ( built in 1958) that already was in a sorry state of repair complete with a leaking gutter. For once it was good to sit back, relax and watch the world go by. Well it would have been except for the fact that for nearly 2 hours I didn’t see a soul stir in the village!

After a,shower and a nap at the gite ( where I had a six bedroom dormitory all to myself) I hot footed it downstairs for supper. And who should be there but the same couple from Arles whom I had met two days previously in Quillan!

The food was superb – the chef had worked in a two star Michelin restaurant in Carcassonne. It’s probably the best meal I’ve ever had in France and a snio at €15! It’s reasons like this that so many people move to live in France!

The French couple who lived near Arles on the GR69 (La Routo) were happy to discuss their travel plans and gave me their contact details should I want to come and stay with them when walking the GR69. What a great end to another absorbing and enjoyable day!