Since visiting the Niaux cave, all of the boys have wanted to stay at “home”. It’s always lovely being around St Felix but by the end of the week I was beginning to get very itchy feet and planning to make a break out on my own if I had to. I had looked up the route to Rocamadour and saw it was a three hour trip, and I didn’t particularly fancy driving there and back in one day on my own with the boys in the back seat. As I was having a late breakfast and contemplating my options, Chris returned from a trip to the supermarket and said “Do you want to head to to Rocamadour today? We can stay the night if you like.” Within an hour we had packed toothbrushes and one change of clothes, booked accommodation in Le Rouget, locked up the house and we were off! By 5.00pm we had arrived in Le Rouget and were absolutely delighted with this pretty, tidy and very well kept little French village. The people were delightful and we had a lovely dinner there.

While our original intention had been to stay for one night and head back, we felt, looking at the map, that Lyon, and therefore Geneva were not too far away and that we could carry on through to Switzerland and then back through Provence. Apart from not having packed enough clothes, the other potential hitch is that we haven’t packed passports either…..

The next morning, after breakfast, we hit the road for Rocamadour and arrived an hour later. It was breathtaking! Perched on the side of a huge cliff in a picturesque valley, this old city is divinely beautiful and defies gravity.

With the small amount of reading I had done before hand I learned the interesting legend of its origins and while historians say is not true, I like the story and so I will recount it here. Rocamadour is named after it’s founder, St Amadour who was married to St Veronica, the woman described in the bible who wiped Jesus’ face as he walked up to Calvary. Because they were both persecuted in Palestine, they took a skiff in wild seas, guided by an angel, and end up in Aquitaine. Here they lived happily for years, until for some reason that it am not sure of, Amadour returned to Rome, where he witnessed the martyrdom of St Peter and St. Paul. He returned to France and build a small chapel dedicated to Mary at the site of Rocamadour, and from here the town grew.

It has now become an important site for pilgrims. In fact, millions of pilgrims have visited this site over the centuries. There are hundred of stairs leading from the village at the bottom, to the chapel of the Virgin Mary some way up the hill, and many pilgrims make their way up the stairs on their knees!!!

For us, Rocamadour was the most beautiful, fairytale town we had ever seen. At the top is a chateau in which people still live. From there a path winds down a hill – there are several shrines along the way, lots if trees and bridges – it looks a lot like Rivendell from The Lord of the Rings movie. Half way down the hill, there are several chapels, but the tiny chapel of Virgin Mary was the prettiest chapel ever – built into the rock wall on one side it us surrounded by stained glass windows on three sides. On the altar is a wooden madonna and child which was reportedly carved by St Armadour himself.

Outside the chapel is the tomb of St Armadour and a sign above proudly announces that his body has not decomposed. High above the tomb is a sword buried in the rock face of the wall, no doubt awaiting someone to pull it out and be declared king!

We had only planned to stay a couple of hours here before heading off to Lyon, but we ended up staying much longer. The trip to Lyon was fairly gruelling as we hit summer holiday traffic on the motorway, sometimes sitting stationery in the car for long periods of time. By the time we arrived at Lyon it was 9.30pm and we were all exhausted.