Auvillar -> Lectoure
September 5, 2026
Vous allez être assassinés!!!
It’s unsettling to hear that you’re going to get killed. Our host, however, was delivering worse news: the cost for a taxi to shorten today’s brutal stage would be around 150€ (a murderous rate) … if we could even get one at this late hour.
We took his alternative advice, gobbled some fromage fraiche and joined the chain of masochists on the way to Lectoure, resigned to a long, torrid go of it. We quietly passed into the Gers department and its gently ironed hills, criss-crossed with dried crops or tilled fields. This is pastoral comfort for the toasty walker.
A mirage of the Pyrenees appeared briefly as a grey corrugated band on the far-off horizon. We came upon the settlements of Flamarens and Miradoux, with a refurbished castle, bombed-out church and some sweet lanes.
We delayed the fateful moment with Oranginas at Miradoux’s quaint town square: would we hike on 16 km or try our luck at le stop a.k.a. hitch-hiking? We’d been assured that it would be sans problème, but admit to being self-conscious and dispirited after a handful of cars (and a tractor) sped by. They waved, though!
Then, just as we had to commit to the off-road trail, 2 cars who’d passed us by came back… within seconds we were off, in air-conditioned bliss, to Lectoure. A half hour later, after providing a description of Pacific North-West life (seafood and Asian fusion, mediocre wine, montagnes), we jaunted into a vibrant, colourful city.
Lectoure is a marvel: it’s a hill-top stronghold of the old Armagnac dukes, and remains well-heeled to this day. It holds that Goldilocks sweet spot of being a town with monuments, natural beauty and an array of services along its central lane yet just a bit over-run with anglos and pilgrims ( we being both).
Our chambre d’hôtes was peaceful and the hostess, kind – she booked us a table at a local bistro, which had a limited menu of terrific creativity – the lentils and beef tartare, on beds of greens, radish slices, parmesan, pine nuts and roasted tomatoes will echo in our culinary memory for a while.
Alas all good things must stop…
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