The end of the Way and the return of the Bad.
8am Monday morning. Eaten breakfast and boiled 3 eggs for the trip and I have left overs for the flight. Bla Bla Car at 9:30am to Brive. Then hitch to the airport. The flight is at 14:55 to Stansted so no rush as it's around an hour by car to Brive from Figeac... It goes via Rocamadour. *** For the first time Pierre and I had little to say on the journey. I was a little distracted by the scenery, the towns we were passing, he spoke little English and, obviously, my French is pas bien! He offered to drop me at either the airport, at la gare or in the center ville: which I chose just as the dark clouds loomed hooded and sinister above Brive-la-Galliarde. After a brief visit to the Office de Tourism to confirm my fears that there was no connection other than extortionate taxi's to the airport I found my way back to the centre where the heavens came down as I hastily tucked into a poke bowl on the sidewalk. Pohmaë sashimi style with fresh salmon, avocado, mango, etc, etc, which...