The bouledrome on the edge of town was noisy. Team members winced as other players skillfully launched their weighted ball even slightly closer to the tiny jack ball, thereby taking the lead. Players were eliminated and headed off to drown their sorrows at the local bar, where we were having coffee. They, having been playing hard, needed heartier liquid sustenance.
Between the bouledrome and the bar, the old photo was displayed on the stone wall. If I remember my Roman Numerals correctly, I believe it identifies this as a view of the clock tower, 16th century. My photo follows, 21st century. Remarkably, however, the buildings haven't changed as much as I would have expected---no condos, no convenience store, no GAP.
Camon has a rose festival every spring. Every house is bedecked with rose bushes, with the tags hanging proudly identifying the specific rose. This is one of the oldest (or oldest) houses in Camon. It is across from the Tourist Bureau, where I was attempting to gather brochures, but the tour guide was just setting off with a group to visit the stone huts (cabanes).
On the short drive back to Leran, we stopped at the tunnel that was once a railroad tunnel and then a one-way part of the road system. Traffic was diverted through the tunnel going to Camon and on the roadway leaving Camon. It has now been converted for pedestrian and bicycle use only. Fergus is providing proportional scale, as well as a certain canine charm.