Leisurely Days in the Autumn Sun

I’m curled up on the sofa in front of a warm fire after a morning of rain that made a cool day feel even cooler. As I sit here with my glass of wine, I think about our last couple of weeks and our days in the sun.

While we’ve had to move our breakfasts and dinners inside now, lunch is still outside on the patio sitting in the warmth of the sun. Most of our days have been filled with sunshine which makes the yellow-tinged leaves glow. I’ve been delighted to discover that I enjoy being outside even in the cooler temperatures as long as I’m in the sun – so that’s where I stay.

Several times last week, we wandered into the village on a sunny afternoon to sit and enjoy a cup of coffee and tea. The Cours is strangely quiet with just the locals and the same dogs patrolling. Last market day, we loaded our baskets with fall produce, a pastry treat, and sat in the sun at our favorite spot, Paulette’s Café. Kids run and play while parents shop. Last week we particularly enjoyed watching a group of kids who appeared to be about eight years old. They were having a great time but a little five year old boy was struggling to be included. Finally, he simply crawled under a sign board and made it his personal fort. He was too cute.

And we took a day trip to Frejus. Frejus is an old Roman town established by Caesar in 49AD. It’s the oldest settlement close by. It used to be a port but now it is 8 km from the sea. Roman ruins are scattered about the town in a jumble – a wall here, a tower there, and the remains of an amphitheater that is today under restoration. After a stroll around town, a visit to the church and cloister (we are at the you’ve-seen-one-cloister- you’ve-seen-them-all stage), a visit to the amphitheater, and a marvelous lunch, we decided to drive the few kilometers to St. Raphael. We visited there on our honeymoon eleven years ago but hadn’t been back since. After parking the car we walked along the waterfront with the Med glistening bright blue. After soaking up the sun at a sidewalk café and relishing in our good fortune, we headed home.

The clear highlight of our days in the sun was our two night excursion to Hyeres and the Ile des Porquerolles. Hyeres has a history as a resort community in the 1800s particularly for the British; however, as people gravitated to beach communities, Hyeres lost favor since it is a couple of kilometers inland. Nonetheless, it has a tropical climate and is fringed with date palms and a wide variety of tropical plants. The roads leading into Hyeres are landscaped with palms and verbena that are still blooming profusely in large clumps of color. It was a lovely, sunny day and we enjoyed a lunch in a charming square before our walk around town. We visited the villa where Robert Louis Stevenson wrote “A Child’s Garden of Verses.” That brought back memories of my mother helping me memorize “The Swing” which I was still able to recite for Michael (all but the last stanza which I could never remember anyway). The villa was later purchased by the writer, Edith Wharton. Today, it is a public park available for strolling through the gardens that are extravagantly terraced along the steep hillside. The gardens are so large that we got a bit lost in our wanderings. Our walk took us up the hill (Mike says that every street is up) and through another botanical garden before heading back to the car. We were in time to catch the 15 minute ferry to Ile des Porquerolles late in the afternoon.

The minute we stepped off the ferry we were captivated. The island is very small (about 3 km by 10km) with no cars, covered in umbrella pine trees, and surrounded by blue-water coves. Crisp white sailboats were returning to the picturesque harbor. After rolling our luggage to the hotel, we found a warm, sunny spot at a friendly bar and stopped….just stopped. What could be better – sitting in the sun, with my husband, the sea sparkling behind him, sipping a kir, and almost no one else around. It was the perfect start to our weekend.

But when there is a new place to explore, sitting can only last so long – at least for me. I was up with the birds to watch the colors of the sun play across the harbor in the early morning. After breakfast we embarked on a walk to the point Langoustier. The island has 51 km of walking and biking trails and we tried about 17 kilometers of them. The trail to Langoustier was lovely. In addition to the umbrella pines which I love, there were these delightful shrubs with bell-shaped white flowers which perfumed the trail with sweetness. Some of the flowers had become green, then yellow, and then red berries about the size of large marbles. They had a pebbly texture and almost glowed with color. It looked like Christmas ornaments hanging from the bushes. Later we learned that they are arbrousier – a fruit that is not eaten here but is similar to an Asian fruit that is edible. As we walked, we were serenaded by twittering birds. As I tromped into the trees for a photo, I startled a large bird that, to my surprise, was a ring-necked pheasant! I could see the ring around his neck and the flicker of blue on his long tail feathers. How fun is that?! We saw several others on our walk that morning and learned to recognize their ruckus cries.

Our walk took us past cozy coves of blue water edged by rocky cliffs – calanques – and the occasional beach. I don’t naturally gravitate to sailing but this is the perfect place to be a sailor. We hiked to the ruins of an old fort perched on a slender spit of land. It took little imagination to understand why this was a perfect spot for a fort. We stopped for a break along a narrow beach that was covered in a wall of seaweed. Apparently, the seaweed washes ashore this time of the year, piles up and forms a natural barrier against the erosion of the waves. My darling husband is always on the lookout for great photo ops. He's particuarly accomplished at searching for the best angle for photographing me. I hope he continues his search!

We continued our walk through the center of the island through pine needled-covered trails with pines bent to the wind into a snug cove surrounded by rocky calanques. Mike tried to coax a seagull into eating from his hand….when there was nothing to eat. The gull figured it out.

After lunch (and a nap), we rented bikes to explore the other part of the island. That’s when we learned that the economy of the island revolves around the ferry schedule. It was 4PM and the shop was closing at 4:45PM because that’s when the last ferry left. The nice young man allowed us to keep the bikes overnight and drop the key in the door slot the next morning – all without a deposit or credit card. There seems to be no end to the generosity of spirit and trusting nature of the local people.

So, with our bikes we set out for the other side of the island. The trail was perfect for mountain biking – a wide, flat, dirt road. The roads were shaded by eucalyptus trees with their shredded bark falling around them like a grass skirt. They made the air smell like a spa. We must have stopped six times in three kilometers. Around every bend was another beautiful cove with sail boats anchored peacefully. The scenes exuded restfulness.

We sat on a rock in the sun to absorb the tranquility. After returning and relaxing with another drink sitting in the sun at the bar, we returned to the hotel, had a light dinner and slept well.

I couldn’t resist exploring one final trail before we left on the morning ferry. I got up early and set out for the opposite side of the island for sunrise. The trail was dark and I had to pick my way carefully. As I got closer, a bright beam of light appeared – a lighthouse with its circling strobe. I reached the rocky cliffs as the sun was streaking the sky with blues, pinks and oranges with the colors reflected off of the cliffs. What an inspired start for the day. It was worth the early morning trek, but then, seeing Mother Nature at work is always worth it.

We returned to Cotignac in time for the quince festival. Yes, quince. Yes, a festival. For those who may not be familiar with quince, it looks like a large, yellowish green and very hard pear. The festival was a big production and included a big lunch and entertainment such as a strolling dixieland jazz band. (We've heard more dixieland in the last six months than we've heard in the last six years!) And they had a female vocalist who rolled her grand piano into the street and performed. As we walked past, she started into "Tonight, Tonight" from "West Side Story." This is Mike's favorite song...although, if you listen closely to the video you'll hear that he doesn't quite know all the words.

But quince was the star of the show. There were booths set up along the Cours with homemade quince pates, jellies, confitures (natural, with apple or ginger), cakes, tarts and pastries. There were even duck terrines with quince, quince and salmon toasts, quince paella, and foie gras topped with quince.

It reminded me of the Spam-o-rama in Austin with all things made from Spam. Or the scene in Forest Gump where his friend rattles off all the types of shrimp dishes. We sampled everything – and it was yummy – even better than Spam Bolognese! (I am not making this up.)

With all the enjoyment we’ve had soaking up the sun in Provence, a day by the fire is just fine. Although – I’ll still look forward to sun tomorrow!

Shopping at the Gourmet Spar

As most of you know, my darling husband, Mike, is a wonderful cook. When we arrived in France we already knew about the weekly fresh markets, but we knew much less about your garden-variety grocery stores. We assumed that a village the size of Cotignac (roughly 2,000 people) would have limited grocery shopping opportunities. We were prepared to – and, in fact, - did drive to larger towns for our shopping. The longer we live here, however, the more we have come to appreciate the availability and variety of grocery stores in the village.

Here’s the inventory: three bakeries, a butcher shop, a gourmet market, a small produce shop and the Spar. I’ve written about the bakeries but not about the others. It’s time they had their names in print!

Mike loves the butcher shop. That's saying a lot since he spent time working as a butcher during his college years. He’s very particular about his meat and how it is cut. The butcher shop here is like the butcher counter I remember as a kid at Shirocky’s Grocery in Texas. The meat is laid out in the case and neatly labeled. The assortment is broad including the usual chicken, pork and beef but here we also have duck, rabbit and an assortment of terrines and pates. It’s a tiny shop – as are all of them – but it’s also a bit intimidating. We can't hide in the corner while we figure out how to ask for what we want. It took awhile for us to warm up to it and be brave enough to attempt an order, but once we did, we were hooked. We met the butcher and his wife who jointly run the shop only to discover that they sold the shop to new owners who took over in September. We were in the shop last week and were graciously introduced to the new owner. Mike was thrilled to discover that the quality and attentiveness was the same. So, here’s how it works.

We tell them generally what we want. They ask how we will prepare the meat and then he cuts it for us. Right there. In front of us. Take something as simple as ground beef. Mike orders 300 grams of “steak hache," the butcher picks up a piece of beef chuck, carefully cuts off any fat as though he is doing intricate surgery, and grinds it as we watch. Then there was the turkey. Turkey is not as prevalent here but they had a filleted turkey breast in the meat case. We told him that it was to be roasted so he went to the back, brought out a larger breast and, before we knew it, he had carefully rolled it and tied it into a neat bundle for roasting. How nice.

We do most of our produce shopping at the weekly market – another blog to come on that - but if we forget something at the market, the small produce stand or the gourmet market is a great option. I particularly like the husband and wife team who run the gourmet market. They have a nice assortment of terrines, pates and cheeses. They also carry big bowls of fresh butter and crème fraische. Not a bad option to have at your doorstep. They are on vacation for a couple of weeks and so missed having their picture taken.

But the shop that amazes us is the Spar. The Spar is smaller than a typical 7-11 in the U.S. and half the size of the Royal Farm Store down the street in Annapolis, and yet the Spar has the variety of a small, gourmet supermarket. The Spar is two aisles wide and maybe 150 square feet including the exterior. Each morning at 7:30AM I see Sebastien, Remi or Julien wheeling out their produce carts which line the entry into the Spar. The Spar is family run and is a small miracle of efficiency. They have literally floor to ceiling products carefully organized and displayed. Every inch of space is accounted for. Like any major grocery store, they have all of the departments. The produce department is outside and you walk through the colorful fruits and vegetables to enter. Inside, there is the meat section and the cheese section with a wide variety of cheeses from the Camenberts of northern France to locally produced cheeses. The dairy section includes six types of butter, a variety of yogurts, milks and packaged desserts like flan, and pots du chocolat (their version of chocolate pudding). There is the hardware section with everything from straws to corkscrews; the paper goods section, the cleaning section and the house wares section. Mike is particularly enamored with the canned meats. There are nine types of canned tuna alone. This doesn’t include the sardines, anchovy or mackerel. There is a broad range of coffees, cookies, biscuits, and chocolate. Mike even found tortilla chips! Lurking behind the cash register is the spice section – floor to ceiling glass bottles of spices. But the wine section may be the largest part of the store. There are red, rose and white wines from all over France including the Cotignac wine from the local cooperative. They also have liqueurs and liquor. All of this, squished into two aisles. The checkout counters are barely big enough for a few items and shopping carts don’t exist. It’s BYOB – bring your own basket, or carry your products in your arms. If we have any problem finding something, usually it is Julien or Sebastien who will literally stop what they are doing – even checking someone out – and come to our aid. They are great. They always have a smile and cheery “bonjour” whenever I’m in the shop. Once, I stopped in for a few green beans that we’d forgotten but that were essential for our salad nicoise. It was only a small handful of beans and they refused to let me pay. Julien said it was “pas probleme” and “c’est normale.” To me – it was far from normal; it was extraordinary. These three young men, Julien, Sebatien and Remi, along with Carole, are a delight. I’ve grown to look forward to going to the Spar just for the experience. I can’t say that for the Farm Store with its empty, sterile shelves, overpriced goods and surly staff. Unfortunately, that’s “c’est normale” for convenience stores in the U.S.

So, grocery shopping at the Spar in Cotignac may not be exactly like Whole Foods, but…you know, it’s not that far off either. With good quality meats, cheeses and a variety of products, topped off with a smile and friendly service, well - we think, it’s a winner. Thanks to Sebastien, Remi, Julien and Carole for making grocery shopping fun!

The Feel of Autumn

There’s no doubt about it, autumn is here. A few weeks ago we were just flirting with it but now there’s no denying that it’s fall. All of my senses tell me that it’s so.

The days have been splendid - bright, sunny afternoons perfect for hiking through the woods and around the lake, and chilly evenings for snuggling under layers of covers. The leaves on the grape vines are just beginning to turn gold and red. Hedges of pyracantha are flaming with red, orange and yellow berries. Plump purple figs are falling with a heavy “splat” onto streets and sidewalks. Shiny brown chestnuts rolling down the streets (Is there anything more beautiful than a chestnut? Shiny, deep brown, smooth, each with unique blob-like shapes.) Bins of apples and pears fill the market along with a variety of pumpkins. The potimarron or chestnut pumpkins are bright orange and shaped like a chestnut. Large dusty orange pumpkins are sold by the slice. There are many types of pumpkins except the ones that are so typical in the U.S. These pumpkins are for eating….no carving jack-o-lanterns!

As the products in the markets change, so have our tastes. Fresh raspberries are long gone but a crisp pear with balsamic dressing is a refreshing treat. Mike, having experienced cassoulet in the Dordogne, tested his own recipe and it was a hearty success. He’s tried new recipes using beautiful frilly cabbage and is itching to test a cauliflower curry recipe. We also took an excursion to Marseilles to see the old port and to have bouillabaisse. This is one of Mike’s favorite dishes and we wanted to try it from its original home. Marseilles is only an hour and half drive away so we thought it’d be an easy trip. Not so much…. We arrived to discover that a national strike was underway that day. Roads were closed, police were at every intersection and marchers with signs filled the streets. We finally found a parking place far from the port and barely had time to walk to our lunch spot. We choose a restaurant that has been preparing bouillabaisse in the traditional way for years. We ignored the price and ordered it anyway. What an experience! First they brought out a tray of four, fresh fish – still flipping as Mike would say – that would become part of our bouillabaisse. A half hour later, the same fish reappeared, cooked in saffron, to be filleted tableside. Homemade roux (made from fish stock including barnacles) was placed in our bowl and we carefully added the fish and potatoes. Homemade croutons, aioli and a spicy red sauce completed the dish. It was simple, elegant, rich in flavor and absolutely fabulous! We’ll relive that meal for a long time.

And then there are the almonds. Last spring, we discovered that we have two almond trees which were loaded with fuzzy, green nuts-to-be. Now, dry, tan almonds litter the ground and they were too inviting to resist. I collected a bag full from the yard. But, they had to be shelled. Bummer. We found a nut cracker and I went to work. It seems that there is a certain technique to shelling almonds. If you try to crack them across the flat part you pulverize the nut along with the shell. I discovered the best way is to crack them along the narrow part where there is a natural seam in the shell. Still, the shells are HARD! They’ll crack eventually but the nut may go flying across the room – intact – but across the room. I spent part of an afternoon shelling the almonds I collected - and I have the blister to prove it. It reminded me of gathering pecans as a kid in Texas. I still remember the delight on my mother’s face when I’d come in the house with an armful of pecans. She must have been thinking that NOW someone would have to shell them, but she just smiled and congratulaed me. I’d sit on the porch with her or my grandmother shelling – and eating- pecans. It was a treat when one would come out whole. What nice memories of Texas in autumn.

Back in Cotignac, even the sounds are different now. The cicadas are long gone and the “rum” of the harvesting equipment is diminishing. New sounds have replaced them. When I went for my morning walks in the summer the forest behind our house was striking for its lack of sound – not even any birds. Now, the forest is filled with tweeting, chirping and trilling. We were told that it’s migratory season and song birds are passing through. They have such a happy sound I wish they’d stay awhile.

The other new sounds are dogs and guns. Yep….dogs and guns. It’s sanglier (wild boar) hunting season. There are apparently many of them here and they do considerable damage to the vineyards. We were sitting on the patio one beautiful, sunny morning when we heard the baying of hound dogs followed by shouts and then shots. We didn’t know what to think! A few days later, walking along the back roads, I ran into a couple of hunters. Their dogs were in the truck while they loaded their shotguns. It's a scene that could have been in Texas except that these hunters were standing in a vineyard wearing berets!

As the grape harvest winds down, there seems to be a practice of burning debris in the fields. We wake to the smell of distant smoke as though we fallen asleep next to a campfire. The tendrils of smoke are visible and fill the valley with haze. It’s a cozy smell but I can’t help but wonder about the environmental issues.

But of all the senses, it’s the different feel that is noticeable in a subtle and yet obvious way. The atmosphere of the village is different now. The crowds of tourists are gone, and the village feels like it has been returned to its rightful owners. And they are doing wonders with it. We assisted with a small editor’s fair that was organized by my French teacher, Catherine. Mike helped assemble the plates of food for lunch and I distributed them. It was fun to be a true participant at a local event – and we even got tee-shirts! And, Mike had his picture taken with the Mayor.

Last week was a festival for the flavors of autumn. Vendors lined the Cours selling homemade jams, confitures, honey, pumpkins, spiced breads, and, of course, wine. A Dixieland jazz band strolled the streets – a bit of a jolt to the rest of the scene. But the highlight was the soup contest. About 20 residents brought their best soup to be tasted by official judges and everyone else. We joined the fun, sampled and voted for our favorites. The soups ranged from borscht to pumpkin to broccoli to gazpacho and a yummy carrot-cumin soup. It was a terrific event and downtown was humming with activity. We visited with people we knew and enjoyed a beautiful autumn afternoon.

(As a side note, we marvel over the number of events that are available in this tiny village. Mike – ever the economic development man– surmised that the City charged a minimal fee that allowed the groups to use the Cours. But, no. As we learned, the City pays the groups to have their events downtown! The City even provides and sets up the tents. The City believes that it’s good for business as it brings people into the shops and restaurants. Hmmmm. Maybe they’ve got something there.)

Finally, the other feeling that has changed is mine. We’ve been in France six of our ten months. While there are still several months to go plus weeks of travel around the world to get home, there is a distinct shift in how I feel. Gone are the feelings of anticipation leading into this experience. Now, I feel keenly that there is a time when this will come to an end. We’ve started an ever-growing pile of things to stuff into a bag to send home with the next unsuspecting guests (Wil and Siena – you know who you are!). And, for a variety of reasons, we had to book our return flights home that will start in late January. All of that contributes to a different atmosphere. I want to savor these last several months – indeed we have a number of guests yet to arrive and more trips planned – and there is a feeling of taking full advantage of every moment, of fitting in those last few experiences, of going back one last time to the places we love. Even if the day is simply sitting in the sun on the patio overlooking Cotignac – it’s a day to cherish and soak into my bones. Whatever I'm doing, I'm conscious of absorbing it whole - like a series of moving moments - each one special.

And, I have to confess, it felt good to make the flight reservations to go home. I could tell my mother when I’d see her after spending a year away. Mike and I talk with excitement and love about unpacking our beautiful home in Annapolis.

So, autumn brings complex feelings….luxuriating in the moments remaining in France while anticipating the return to our real home. My friend, Robert, tells a story of saying to his kids, “The only thing that should be coming out of your mouth right now is ‘thank you’.” And those two, little words are my feelings for autumn.

Artists of the Dordogne

Mike and I just returned from a few days in the Dordogne region of France. There’s a reason we chose that area. A couple of years ago, I was mediating – one of my favorite treats - at home in Annapolis. Sometimes when I meditate it’s like dreaming but not being completely asleep. This time I saw the inside of a cave with paintings on the walls. Shortly after this I learned of the caves of Lascaux and discovered that they were in France! Perfect. Those caves went on the short list of places to visit while we were living here.

Off we went to see the caves, only to discover that the Dordogne area is home to not one, but many caves, as well as other works of art ranging from the architecture to the food.

We stayed in the little town of Les Eyzies. It was clear that autumn had arrived. The trees were tinged with gold and russet and the numerous corn fields were filled with golden stalks topped with deep orange tassles. Our hotel overlooked a tributary of the Dordogne River that sparkled as it ambled past. Each morning a thin mist whispered along the surface of the water. We enjoyed the setting. I spent a relaxing late afternoon sitting on the hotel terrace, sipping wine, listening to the amiable French chatter floating by like the thousands of tiny flies backlight by the sun. One afternoon we had a picnic of foie gras and cheese along the river bank. Les Eyzies is built literally underneath and into a shear cliff wall. Buildings seem to morf out of the stone, sometimes precariously so. The Dordogne region is characterized by these long, shear rock cliffs along with rolling green hills– nature’s art.

But it was the drawings in the caves that brought us here. We learned that Lascaux is only one of many caves. Indeed, the area is filled with caves due to its unique geologic history that allowed the caves to form and to be preserved for thousands of years – like 15,000 years and that’s the minimum date. And, there’s a maximum number of people who can be accommodated inside. The ancient people weren’t exactly thinking about the tourist potential when they started drawing on the cave walls.

Thankfully, I was able to get advance tickets (sometimes it pays to be a planner!) to a couple of the most restrictive caves: Font de Gaume and Combarelles. Font de Gaume was our first stop and my favorite. It is one of three polychrome (multi-colored) caves in the world, and it happens to be the only one still open to the public. Mike and I arrived at the appointed time with me secretly wondering if this could possibly be worth the hassle and the seven hour drive from Cotignac. I mean, really – these are cave paintings after all. How much can one expect from cave paintings? But the magic started right away.

The mouth of the cave was slotted into the base of a shear rock cliff with rock hanging over head. It was a sunny cool day as our guide explained about the cave. It’s felt strange knowing we were walking a pathway taken by others thousands of years before into a place that some say is sacred. Our guide gave us the rules (including no photos, so I'll supplement the story with other photos from the area) about not touching anything….at all….so there was no risk of damaging the artwork. And, here’s the thing, it was art - in every sense of the word. We and ten others walked single-file into the dark narrow passage way, ducking under rocks as our eyes adjusted to the dimness. When we stopped, our guide asked us to observe the rock wall in front of us. The first thing I saw was a dark blob. As I gazed further, I had that flash of realization - the blob became a bison. Once we learned how to “see” the drawings, they appeared everywhere - in front, behind and above us. There are more than 200 paintings in this cave alone. We were literally standing in a 15,000 year old art gallery.

And there were so many things that I’d misunderstood. First, the people didn’t live inside the caves. They came here to paint their masterpieces – by firelight. I also thought the cave paintings would be simplistic – they weren’t. The subject matter was predominantly bison and reindeer but it was the rendering of the animals that made it art. It took reflection to truly appreciate their work. For one, the animals were drawn on rock – no erasing the lines – and there was no “practice cave” for the beginners! The art wasn’t realism but impressionism. Stylized antlers of reindeer swept upwards to frame beautiful compositions. And, the animals were eerily three dimensional. Color, shading and minute etching created detail, perspective and volume. But here’s thing - the animals were painted in harmony with the rock forms. The artists took advantage of the rock shapes to give the animals relief. A rock edge became a bison’s shoulder. A rounded stone was a reindeer’s rump. Of course, the artists were painting by the light of flames. It sounds limiting but, in fact, it opened their art to movement. The forms were more visible in the dim light with strong shadows than in the flat electric light. And when viewed by the flickering light of a flame, the animals moved! Static paintings came alive as light and shadow gave them ever changing animation and life. I felt like my breath had been taken away as I gradually grasped the complexity and sheer beauty of this art form. This alone was worth the trip.

Our next appointment was at Combarelles, just two kilometers down the road. Here the colors washed away years ago, but left behind were thin, detailed etchings, one overlaid on top of the other. Only eight could go into this cave at a time. The opening was under another rock ledge that naturally restricted access. Once again, our guide carefully led us through the narrow and dark passage with a small flashlight. She turned on isolated lights as we arrived at each area. We stopped along a seemingly nondescript section of wall. As she played the light along the wall, a jumble of delicate lines became visible. It was only with her explanation that we were able to decipher the animals – bison, reindeer, mammoth, horses. Each intricately carved into the stone with lines the width of a pin. A young deer was frozen in time with its head up- stretched eating leaves. A horse still ran with its mane flying. The detail was astounding but the trick was to sort out all the lines. The etchings were literally one on top of the other; there are more than 600 in Combarelles. It takes years of training to see and understand the etchings - particularly without the benefit of the original paint. Our guide was adept at picking out the drawings from a seemingly endless array of lines. Mike remarked that she’d be good at picking out “the Pope's face in the pizza.” He also entertained us with shadow puppets. That’s my guy!

We finished our tour of the caves the following morning at Lascaux II - the Sistine Chapel of prehistoric art. But here’s the thing – small caves could not handle the ventilation needs of loads of tourists. The change in the air damaged the paintings, so much so that the original cave was closed to visitors. A reproduction was constructed – taking 10 years to build and recreate with minute detail. It was the reproduction – Lascaux II – that we visited. The reproduction is beautifully done. This cave is far larger than either Gaume or Combarelles, and the animals are huge! One bull was 5.5 meters from horns to tail. Horses and bulls chased each other across the high ceiling. (There are no hunting scenes in any caves – simply the animals.) The colors were rendered using the same materials as the original and the cave surface is contoured so that the animals take the shape of the rock walls. Again, the art was simply astounding – and yet – somehow, it was different. There was less magic with the large crowd of people and the knowledge that it wasn’t really real. Maybe it would have been different if we hadn’t already been inside the real thing. Like other great works of art, there’s no substitute for the emotion that is transmitted by the original work. Real hearts and minds used real hands on those very walls to communicate their experience of their world for others to feel. It’s what art is.

While the prehistoric artists were the stars of the show, the Dordogne region and towns provided a worthy setting. We had seen the chateaus in the Loire valley but we were unprepared for the chateaus here…and they were around every bend in the river. The only things more numerous than chateaus were walnut trees and foie gras shops. (That's not technically accurate but you know what I mean!) We filled our fist day with a scenic drive through the villages along the Dordogne River. Each village was a part of the rock outcroppings. They were either on top of or built into the side of the rocks. The stone here is a soft golden-yellow color that glowed in the sunlight. The golden houses and shops were roofed with black stones or flat clay tiles weathered to deep grey, and windows were finished with natural wood trim and shutters stained a deep brown. The shallow river flowed lazily by with a gold and grey pebbled bottom visible between the waving green moss. Such a peaceful scene. We spent hours wandering the streets of La Roque, Domme, and Beynac. We drove to the top of Castelnaud where their chateau is perched high above the river with the town tumbling down below it. The town is so steeply perched that one roof top had a sign stating that it was a roof and not a place to sit! No one was around and the only sound was a single leaf blower of an optimistic restaurateur.

We ended that day’s excursion with a visit to Rocamadour. Rocamadour is a spectacularly terraced town built on three levels clinging to a shear cliff. The chateau is on top, the church in the middle with the town at the base and the river far below. It is one of France’s main sights. Maybe it’s just us, but we don’t seem to enjoy the “main sights” so much. Rocamadour is truly spectacular, but while the crowds had lessened, it still felt like the place had lost its sense of self. It is a tourist destination ….only. We saw no evidence of “real” life – no grocery shop, no bar, no local hangout. But there were tons of souvenir shops selling everything and nothing. I’m glad we saw it but we were equally glad to return to our little village for the evening.

Our last day was for exploring the region. This area is known for walnuts, chestnuts, duck, cassoulet, and, of course, foie gras. Walnut groves were spread out along every road with the round green shells ready to break open. But foie gras is the main attraction. There must have been six foie gras shops in our tiny village, and the roads were papered with signs to local foie gras farms. We wanted to learn more about its production. So – we set off in search of a real farm that would give us an education.

It was not to be. With advice from two different tourist offices we tracked down at least four “leads.” With my trusty map in hand, I sent poor Mike, at a moment’s notice, down tiny two-way roads barely wide enough for one. We followed every lead but the closest we came was photographing a few geese. It was (forgive me)….a wild goose chase. We had to settle for a lunch of foie gras prepared a variety of ways, and an Internet search. Nonetheless, we came away with a better understanding of the great pride and history that the French have in this unique specialty. It, too, is an art form.

Finally, our drive home took us through Albi and the Toulouse-Lautrec Museum. Toulouse-Lautrec was born in Albi, and his family donated the work in his studio to the city. The museum was exceptional and I gained a new appreciation for both the artist and his art. Albi is also the home of a stunning cathedral. Mike, having been raised Catholic, always notices the details like the pricing scheme for the candles. Bigger must be better!

We continued to Carcassone for the night - a real treat. Driving up to Carcassone was like stepping back into the Middle Ages. I felt like we needed armor just to enter. Instead, we rolled luggage past the moat, across the draw bridge, and through the cobbled streets of the medieval village. The original walls, chateau and church of Carcassone were restored in the 1800s and they are a marvel. There are two rows of walls that encircle the town. I walked around the city between the walls to view the towers with their narrow slits expecting to see a damsel in distress atop the castle walls. The church features beautiful stained glass in rich, deep colors of blues, reds and golds, and an organ built in 1522. We had an unexpected treat. Shortly after we arrived, five men began singing in .....hmmmm, heavenly harmonies. The music stopped us in our tracks. All we could do was find the closest bench to sit mesmerized. Mike said it was like an ecclesiastical barbershop quintet. We toured the chateau (after a brief delay due to a nationwide strike) and saw the defense systems of that day. There was a murder hole at the entrance gates where boulders could be dropped on invader’s heads – definitely ruining their day. On top of the stone walls, wooden structures allowed invading armies to get close enough to the stone walls to give archers overhead a clear shot from above. This chateau was so well constructed that no one ever tried to invade it. Now, it’s a wonder to see ….and a useful film set (Robin Hood, The Prince of Thieves).


After seeing prehistoric masterpieces, gold-stoned villages, the art of Toulouse-Lautrec, and the mastery of the walls of Carcassone, we returned to Cotignac and our own little work of art – our home away from home.