Oh Nikki, what an experience! I hope you will continue with your trip report. Thank you for sharing your day with us. Take good care.

The apartment was fantastic. It is on Cadogan Gardens, just behind the Peter Jones department store on Sloane Square. I had seen pictures, but the reality was better. This is a two bedroom apartment with a bath and a half, a large living/dining room, and a kitchen equipped with dishwasher, clothes washer, and a table and chairs. The apartment is privately owned and feels like somebody's exceptionally nice home. The ceilings are high, the furniture attractive and comfortable, and there are excellent beds. Many lovely touches, and the place is equipped with all sorts of things one might need, with the request to replace anything that one uses up.

We walked to the Waitrose supermarket on King's Road and found that many shops were closed. There were plenty of people on the street, however, and Waitrose was open. Really liked this store, which has a much nicer deli counter than our supermarkets in Massachusetts. We stocked up on groceries and carried them back to the apartment.

Dinner that night was at a very nice Italian restaurant in Chelsea near the apartment. Manicomio, 85 Duke of York Square, tel. 020 7730 3366. This was probably the best meal we had in London. After dinner we watched the news until we fell asleep.

Friday we got together with a couple I had met with my daughter on our tour in Greece in March. We took the bus to Little Venice, where we strolled along the canal and had a drink at a snack bar set up in a narrow boat. Then we took a boat ride through the canal. This was really pleasant. The boat went through the zoo in Regent's Park, and we could see the aviary and some animals from the boat. There were only two other people on the boat besides our party. I do not know whether the lack of tourists was due to the bombings of the day before.

When we got off the boat at Camden Lock, we did see other people at Camden Market, however. This was an interesting experience, felt something like a trip back in time, mixing the head shops of a sixties hippie drug culture (magic mushrooms, anyone?) with the tattoo and piercing parlors of an eighties punk sensibility. Plenty of people dressed in a fashion I haven't seen for twenty years. Some fun crafts booths to explore.

We wandered in search of lunch and ended up at a Thai buffet which we didn't realize until we were seated was vegan. The stuff that looked like chicken skin really wasn't chicken. The menu explained that fake meat has a long and distinguished history in Thai cuisine, dating to the ruler's conversion to Buddhism and the royal chefs' attempts to make the new vegetarian fare appealing to those who had previously eaten meat. This was something new for all of us. The vegetarian dishes were good. I was a little less enthusiastic about the fake meat, however.

We took the bus from there to Leicester Square, where our companions left us. We saw a man recording a radio broadcast, commenting on how on an ordinary day the square would be filled with tourists and people buying theater tickets but that it was much emptier than usual this afternoon. There were still people around, though. We considered buying tickets for a show, and I sent Alan and our daughter off to hunt up a Time Out magazine for reviews. While they were gone, I waited on a park bench, where a good looking young French man started chatting with me. Ooh la la. He was spending part of the summer in London to improve his English. I probably reminded him of his mother.

The search party returned without Time Out, which was sold out at the only news stand they could find. They had decided they were too tired for the theater that evening anyway. So we walked to the National Gallery, which would be closing in half an hour. My daughter and I raced through the museum following my father's advice, which was to start any museum visit by looking for the Rembrandts. So in his memory we flew through the hallways and did end up in the galleries with the Rembrandts and the Vermeers with a few minutes to spare.

When we returned outside, Alan was lying down on the grass outside the museum. All the flags of various nations on buildings around Trafalgar Square were at half mast except for one, which Alan had traced to a Ugandan building. As we sat there, however, that flag also was lowered.

We watched people for quite some time. I marveled at the variety of humanity going by, and once again I had to smile to myself at the "What do I wear in London" ongoing discussions. For not the first time, I wondered what one could wear in London that would actually look strange enough to attract any notice. Then a man walked by wearing gray slacks, a brown jacket, white sneakers and a sign around his neck saying, "Up yours, Al Qaeda".

Helicopters were buzzing around above Trafalgar Square. I couldn't decide whether this was reassuring or the opposite. A disheveled man came and sat next to us, asked for a cigarette, then started scattering pennies on the ground. The pigeons came by to check it out, but finding nothing more interesting than pennies, left for greener pastures. We left too. We found a bus back to Sloane Square, went back to the apartment and had supper at a Lebanese restaurant near us in Chelsea. Watched the news for the rest of the evening until bed time.

Nikki

I am curious as to how much you paid for your London flat rental? It sounded so nice.

I loved your comment about what to wear in London and agree 100%.

Enjoying your detailed report and will be looking for your next posting. Thanks so much.

Sandy

Sandy, the apartment was 1195 GBP per week. There was an additional administrative charge of 35 GBP. This seemed to compare favorably to the cost of two rooms in a mediocre hotel. The agency does request a security deposit, and in the past I have avoided renting from companies that require this, but I read good reviews of the agency on Fodors and am hoping for a trouble-free return of the deposit.

Interesting report, Nikki.

Looking forward to more.

What a way to start a trip indeed. Looking forward to the rest of it.

Thanks to all for the encouragement to continue writing. We'll see if anyone is still interested by the time I get to France, where our adventures in the Dordogne await. Meanwhile, back to London.

Saturday morning we attempted to take the bus but were unable to buy bus tickets because the Sloane Square tube station was closed and surrounded by police. Evidently people had reported suspicious packages at the station which were probably trash but might have been bombs. This was happening throughout our stay at various underground stations throughout London.

Bus tickets are not available on the bus, and there were no news agents in the area, at least we couldn't find any. I found this a serious impediment to taking the bus on a casual basis. If one knew they would be using the bus on a regular basis, they would have a bus pass. But if you needed to buy a ticket or a daily pass in an area with no news stands and no underground station, it was impossible to take the bus. I understand that bus tickets used to be available on the bus when there was a conductor, but now that the old buses with conductors are being phased out, this seems to be a real problem.

We ended up taking a taxi to the south bank for a stroll past the National Theatre, the Tate Modern Museum and the Globe Theatre, where we bought tickets for a performance for Monday night. That afternoon we were to go to Alan's cousin's house in North London for tea. Since several tube lines were still closed and stations were closing on a sporadic basis for police investigations, we took a minicab we called with a number supplied by Alan's cousin. This was substantially less expensive than the metered cabs one hails on the street, and it seems to be the way to go for any journey into the outer reaches of London. Tea means supper, it turns out, and there was a large crowd of seldom seen relations with whom to visit.

Sunday we were meeting a group of relations for lunch at a vegetarian Indian restaurant in West Hendon, so we once again called a minicab to take us there. We were a fairly large group but were the only people in the restaurant for the entire afternoon. There was no menu; we had large plates with attached small bowls for condiments, and the wait staff continued to come around filling the plates until we finally asked them to stop. Everything was very good, but I couldn't begin to tell you what it was. And as we were leaving, the restaurant insisted that we pay less than we had been led to believe was the price. Came to five pounds per person, I believe.

One of Alan's cousins drove us to her house, where we spent the afternoon visiting. Then we drove in with her to hear jazz at the Lamb and Flag pub near Covent Garden. A sign at the pub says that Dickens used to be a patron. The sagging floors upstairs attest to the building's age. After the band finished a set, we walked to Covent Garden and had a late supper at an Italian restaurant where we had pasta and salads in a very pleasant al fresco setting.

Fascinating report, Nikki. Certainly the start to this trip is one that will live in your mem'ry. An excellent reality check: your comment about what to wear in London. Such concerns do seem to get a little out of hand sometimes. Look forward to reading more...

Monday we met another cousin of Alan's for lunch at the Royal Academy of Arts, where she works. After lunch in the pleasant cafeteria, we toured the galleries, seeing the summer show of art submitted by artists both known and unknown, all of which was for sale. Fantasized about buying some cutting edge art to bring home as a souvenir. Then we saw, oddly enough, a show about the Impressionist artists associated with Boston collectors and with the Boston Museum of Fine Arts. This exhibit helped me make many connections that I had not made before, despite seeing most of these works many times in Boston. For one thing, the Boston MFA shows the French paintings in the European galleries, and the American paintings in their own gallery. Here they were juxtaposed. The history of the interaction between artists in Boston and in France, and between artists, collectors, and the museum in Boston, was very interesting to me. Sometimes you have to travel to exotic places to understand what is in your own back yard. Oh, wasn't that the theme of the Wizard of Oz?

We took a bus to St. Paul's Cathedral and went inside briefly. A service was beginning soon, so there was no access for the public to most of the building. We then walked over the Millennium Bridge to the Tate Modern Museum, where we saw an exhibit of works by Frida Kahlo. We had tickets for a performance at the Globe Theatre so we had dinner at the Pizza Express across the street from the theatre.

The play was one that none of us had heard of before: "Pericles, Prince of Tyre". This was a very entertaining experience. The mood of the crowd at the theater was festive, especially among those standing in the center. We had seats, however, and rented cushions to make them more comfortable. There were circus aerialists among the chorus, which contributed to the lively tone of the production, especially during the storm scenes. Interesting, vibrant music was played by a small band above the stage. The program indicates that the original music developed in an organic manner as the play was being rehearsed, and was based upon the instruments and abilities of the musicians. The role of the senior Pericles was a substitution. If I heard the announcement correctly, the substitute was Mark Rylance, who is the artistic director of the Globe. He held a script while performing near the end of the play, but was a pleasure to watch. The narrator was using techniques drawn from African storytelling and singing songs which were also developed in the course of rehearsals. Now that I am home, I need to get my hands on this play and see how much of it was Shakespeare and how much of it was modern interpretation.

Tuesday was our Day at the Races. We met yet another cousin of Alan's at Victoria Station and caught a train to Brighton, then a taxi to the Brighton Race Course. Alan's cousin lives in Jerusalem, where there is no horse racing, so when he visits his sister in London he enjoys going to the races and to the bookmakers' shops. Alan is working on his lifelong project: 1001 Ways to Lose Money Betting on Horses. The track was strange, not oval shaped but with a long linear track beginning out of sight of the stands. Only the very end of the race was visible. A large screen behind the track showed the course of the race.

The most interesting part to me was the row of bookies' stands set up in front of the track. In the U.S., betting only goes on at the tracks' cashiers. There is only one set of odds available, the official one. At Brighton, there were maybe a dozen bookies competing with the track and with each other for customers. The odds are changing constantly and gamblers run up and down checking the odds before placing their bets. Gives one something to do in the half hour between races, I suppose.

There were also refreshments not found at such enterprises in the U.S. One stand had a guy selling various sorts of seafood, and since I enjoy much raw seafood, I thought I would try the whelks he was offering. Won't make that mistake again. I thought it tasted sort of the way the ocean smells at low tide, which makes some kind of sense but wasn't terribly appealing to me. I gave it to Alan, who was much less put off than I was. On the other hand, he has also eaten mushy peas.

Dinner was much more appealing. We took the train back to London and met others at Sofra Restaurant, a Turkish establishment at 1 St. Christopher's Place off Oxford Street. Telephone 020 7224 4080. After a shared assortment of appetizers and some good main dishes, everyone left happy.

Hi Nikki,

You are certainly visiting interesting places and eating well.

>Sometimes you have to travel to exotic places to understand what is in your own back yard. <

"He who only England knows, knows England Least" - Rudyard Kipling

Ira, visiting interesting places and eating well is pretty much the theme of our travels. And I suppose Kipling is a more highbrow reference for my philosophy than The Wizard of Oz.

Nikki:

Fascinating report. Whenever I've tried on this board to interest visitors in horse racing here, in France or in Ireland, there's simply never been any response.

Is there some stigma attached to racing in the US? Apart from occasional invitations to Churchill Downs that I've never been able to accept, I've never met an American with any interest in the gee-gees.

Here of course (though Brighton, thanks to Grahame Greene, has a slightly underworld reputation - at any rate among the tiny minority of the population that reads books) racing's spectacularly respectable and, by some criteria, the country's most watched sport.

Mind you, few of us would eat whelks either. Though they're served as serious stuff for gourmets over the Channel at Dieppe.

Flanner, I am pleased to have interested you in my report, as I have learned much from your postings about London.

I would not call horse racing spectacularly respectable here in the U.S., except for the big society events such as the Kentucky Derby. I'm not sure I would go so far as to say there is a stigma attached, but it is far from the most watched sport. My husband has been hooked since adolescence, so I have attended a fair number of races with him. In fact, I believe we went to Yonkers Raceway in New York with his sister, my college friend, the evening we met in 1973.

Alan would be interested in going to the races in France except that it would be really confusing. He did find a place in Paris to bet on races last year and it would have been better to be there with someone who knew what they were doing. Educational though: who knew they run in the other direction there?

Wednesday was our last day in London. My daughter flew home Wednesday morning, and I planned to have a day with some built in down time to rest up from the trip so far and prepare for the week in France that lay ahead. I went to an internet cafe for the first and only time of the trip and caught up on some e-mail. Alan and I had lunch at the local Lebanese restaurant, Al-Dar, at 74 King's Road, tel. 020 7584 1873. This was my second meal there, and it was a nice neighborhood option. Then Alan went off to meet his uncle for the afternoon and I contemplated what to do with my afternoon alone.

I decided to go to the Victoria and Albert Museum, which I had never seen. It was very hot. There was a crowd gathering in the lobby for a fashion show which was on for this day, and the man at the info desk said I could check for returned tickets. The fellow at the returns desk informed me that "It's a miracle", they had one seat, not standing room, and I could have it. The show was beginning in just a few minutes, so I went in.

The room containing the Raphael cartoons had been set up with a runway and seating, with standees behind the side rows of seats. At the end of the runway there were numerous press photographers. My seat was next to the photographers. This was very much outside my usual experience. I know nothing at all about fashion, and the scene was exotic to me. I had never heard of the designer whose clothes were to be featured, Gianfranco Ferre.

The lights went out and the models began to come down the runway toward me. As they got to the end of the runway, they would strike a very brief pose for the cameras, turn and walk back. And I have to modify my comments made earlier about what to wear in London: if you wore these clothes in Trafalgar Square, you would certainly attract attention.

Dinner that night was at a Spanish restaurant down the street from our apartment: El Blason, 8-9 Blacklands Terrace, Chelsea, tel. 020 7823 7383. We ordered tapas, which were pleasant but not outstanding. The Gipsy Kings music was atmospheric, and we sat out a cloud burst before returning to our apartment for the night.

Thursday morning we flew Easy Jet from Gatwick to Toulouse, and our French adventures began on Bastille Day.

What a fabulous report! I had an involuntary spasm just reading the word whelks

A Gianfranco Ferre show in the Raphael room -- very Ab Fab-ish!

What a great trip . . . . .

Ah, France! I got excited just looking out the window of the plane and seeing the farms with their round haystacks and the red tile roofs. We picked up our rental car and headed out of Toulouse toward Albi, where we were to spend the next two nights. I would never have thought of Albi without the suggestion of someone on the Fodors message board, and it was a great idea. We stayed at the hotel St. Antoine, which was comfortable and air conditioned. A great plus because it was extremely hot. After talking to the woman at the desk about the festivities planned for Bastille Day (including feux d'artifice, fireworks!), we walked out to explore the town. We had lunch at a pub on the main Place near the hotel. I had a great salad with duck gizzards, smoked duck breast, and foie gras. Welcome to France. There were people setting up a bandstand and speakers for the night's celebration. Children were running through some sprinklers to beat the heat, and there was a colorful carousel.

We returned to the hotel for a midday break and enjoyed an air conditioned nap. Then out for the evening. There were lots of people in the streets. We walked toward the old part of town, where there is a great old brick cathedral and palace, in which there is a Toulouse Lautrec Museum. Closed for the holiday, however. We walked down to the river and crossed the old bridge for beautiful views of the city. We sat outside at a bar near the river for some cold drinks before dinner and then went back to have dinner outdoors at a restaurant near the cathedral.

People were pouring into the area for dinner before the fireworks. A band set up and played across the street from our restaurant. All very festive. The wait staff was overwhelmed, service was practically nonexistent, and the two French women at the table next to us were taking matters into their own hands, literally, going to the kitchen to fetch their own drinks. We didn't mind too much. Hey, we were in France. At 10 PM, it was still light outside, but we made our way down to the river for the fireworks and sat on the curb watching the crowds arrive.

Two older couples came and stood near us, and one of the men was standing amidst some shrubbery and pushed a branch out of the way, which hung in front of my face. I laughed and commented that I did not need a beard, and he answered without a pause, "but you need un dressage". Hard to know what to say to that, especially with my somewhat limited French vocabulary.

The fireworks were terrific. Lasted about a half hour, with a good variety of effects including some extremely large ones. People were taking pictures of them with their cell phones. The next day, I heard people elsewhere talking about how far away they could hear the fireworks from Albi, and how they had heard what good ones they were. I felt like we found the right place to celebrate the quatorze juillet.

When the display was over, we made our way back to the central Place with the crowds. The cafes were all full. There was a band playing on the bandstand we had seen them setting up in the afternoon, but the music was unappealing (when we arrived they were playing the theme from Titanic) and the night was hot and there was no easy way to get cold drinks, so we called it a night and returned to the hotel. I am normally allergic to using the minibar in hotel rooms, but it was the easiest way to get a cold drink, and I really enjoyed that Orangina.
That night, listening to the radio as I went to sleep, I discovered my new favorite radio station, Radio Albiges, which is also available on the internet and I am listening to it right now at www.radioalbiges.com. They play a mix of jazz and French song (and some Occitan) all night, with a mix of eclectic programming during the day.

Nikki, what a great report..I enjoyed reading it so much!!The London apt. seems like a very good deal..
Welcome back !!!
BTW, my cute, adorable black cat is called Nikki also..

Friday morning we drove to Cordes. I realized that we had totally wasted the money we were spending for an extra driver; I would not be driving down these roads. I would still be sitting behind the first truck we encountered. Alan loved the driving, however, on the narrow, curving, hilly roads. Just wished he could do it in his Miata. It might have fit on the plane. Hard to fit the luggage, though.

I had read that one should park as far up the hill as possible in Cordes, but we couldn't figure out how to do that and parked at a spot fairly low down and started walking. We were going up narrow, steep back alleys and it took me quite a while to get to the village at the top. We then learned there is a tourist tram which ferries people up and down the hill. We did take it down to our car at the end of our visit.

We had lunch at the top under the covered square in the center of town. Another great salad for me, with smoked duck breast, liver, romaine, radishes, tomatoes, apple slices, and a mustardy dressing, topped with a scoop of pink grapefruit sorbet.

There were some nice craft shops in Cordes, and I bought two examples of the French pottery I love.

After finding our car again we drove off toward St. Antonin Noble Val. A sign pointed two ways: right for la vallee, and left for le causse. We went left and took the high road, hang on to your hats. This was a very scenic ride. At St. Antonin we took a bunch of pictures of the town from across the river, and I photographed a group of men playing boules in the park in front of the town hall. It was very hot for such an activity, but I suppose it would have been even hotter indoors.

From there we drove along the gorges de l'Aveyron. Another choice at a crossroads: right along the river or left along the corniche. Up we went. Great views all around. At some point we approached a tunnel. "Allumez votre feu", says the sign. And Alan goes, more or less, "Oops. Where are the lights?" as we plunge in.

It was, fortunately, a short tunnel. And Alan found the lights.

We saw people swimming in the river and became inspired to go join them. At a canoe landing, there was a place to park the car and Alan waded in, although the water was shallow and the rocks slippery.

We drove to and parked in the village of Bruniquel. Another impossibly picturesque village with a steep climb. Didn't make it to the top, however. I stopped in three very interesting art and craft studios: a printmaker, a jeweler and a weaver, all of whom were working as I browsed. I bought a beautiful blue and green mohair shawl from the weaver, although it was way too hot even to think about trying it on.

From Bruniquel we went on to the village of Montricoux, in search of a restaurant recommended very highly by Stu Dudley, to whom I am extremely grateful. We found the restaurant, Les Gorges de l'Aveyron, tel. 05 63 24 50 50, and made a dinner reservation. Then we killed the hour before they started serving by exploring Montricoux, where the circus was in town. There was a llama tied up outside near the tent, and a bull, and a pony, I think.

Dinner was wonderful. I can't remember the amuse bouche or Alan's appetizer. I had a foie gras/artichoke slab. There was a fish course consisting of a brochette of scallops with their roe, fresh bacon chunks, and an interesting pesto. Alan still salivates if you even mention this to him. I had a millefeuille of eggplant wrapped around lamb confit, oh boy. And Alan had sliced duck fillets with a cake of wild mushrooms. Dessert was called a souffle, but it was cold and more like a whipped mousse.

There were two odd things about this restaurant, though. They had a lovely setting beside the river, but when you sat down you could not see the river outside because the windows were too high. We asked the waiter about this and he said they had to do that for security reasons because if people could see the river as they ate, they might fall out the window. Sounds like insurance madness has stricken in France.

The second odd thing was the elevator music, which was a one hour repeating loop of easy listening arrangements of such songs as Somewhere Over the Rainbow and Don't Cry for Me, Argentina. We left as Memory was coming around for the third time and drove back to Albi in the dark.

I am especially enjoying this as I'm aboutto plan a trip to the same areas!

Thanks for all the good info!

Keep it up, Nikki.

Thanks for the cheerleading. I'm working on the next segment now.

Janis, by the way, what is Ab Fab?

Oh - sorry.

Absolutely Fabulous - the hysterical comedy series from a few years ago w/ Joanna Lumley and Jennifer Saunders - one theme was about trendy/outrageous designers.

Saturday we headed up toward the Lot. We stopped in Cordes where there was a market and bought lunch provisions. Then we drove a very scenic route which took far more time than I had anticipated. I was getting nervous about being in time for the reservations I had made to see the cave at Pech Merle. The confirmation I had from Pech Merle advised me to call if I had to cancel or delay the tour, so I did. Struggling to carry on the conversation in French, and unable to understand the man on the other end very well, I lost the cell phone signal in the middle of the call as we drove through countryside which is apparently far from the seemingly ubiquitous towers. When I finally regained the signal, I spoke to the office there and arranged to go on a tour later that day.

This gave us time to stop for a picnic. We drove along the Lot river looking for a spot that would be both shaded and scenic, and eventually we turned off onto a side road where there was a shaded spot along a stream. No good place to sit, but at least we weren't in the extremely hot sun. A man was busy working with a truck load of hay in the distance, and some kids on motorcycles drove by several times after taking a dip in the river. Maybe they were trying to dry off.

We arrived at the entrance to Pech Merle and got our tickets, then went to the small museum and watched a movie about the site. I was too hot to concentrate on the museum as I ought to have. There was a temporary exhibit about the representation of the female form in prehistoric art. Looked like it would have been very interesting had I been able to focus on it. I bought a book with more information that I can use for better understanding of the site now that I am home in air conditioned comfort. There is also a very interesting web site.

I remember being fascinated as a kid when I read about cave paintings discovered by teenagers in the French countryside. I wanted to do that. This might have been the first of the many times I have longed to be in the French countryside myself. In any event, the paintings at Pech Merle were indeed discovered by two teenagers in 1922. And I finally got to discover them for myself last week.

The temperature inside the cave was wonderfully cool after the oppressive heat outside. There are wide caverns and passageways in this cave system, making it very easy to get around. Tours go inside with groups of 25, and it did not feel in any way crowded, even when we passed other groups at a couple of points during the tour. The guide spoke French. There were English handouts, but it was not so easy to follow them while trying to see the drawings, engravings, paintings and fantastic rock formations. The guide pointed out the outlines of the animals drawn on the walls with a laser pointer. Some of them required a good amount of imagination, but some of them popped into focus for me.

I felt I was walking on hallowed ground.

Some of the paintings had stenciled hand prints next to them, created by the artist placing his hand on the cave wall and blowing paint around it. This physical representation of the artist, next to the work of the artist's imagination, all dating back 25,000 years, was awe inspiring.

Oh, this is terrific. Haven't been to this part of France (yet), but hope to conquer my claustrophbia enough to see some prehistoric caves.

Hi, Nikki, just wanted to chime in. I'm enjoying your report. You sure have a way with words. Thanks.

We spent the rest of the afternoon driving toward Le Bugue, where we were staying for three nights at Domaine de la Barde. This is a lovely property with rooms in a manor house, a restored mill, and a forge. Our room was in the mill. In the entrance to the mill there is a transparent part of the floor where you can see the stream running underneath the house. Our room was very comfortable and we had dinner there that night. Very good food. Alan had a mixture of sweetbreads and wild mushrooms in pastry for an appetizer, and I had another of those wonderful salads with smoked duck breast and foie gras. I followed that with duck confit and potatoes with cepe mushrooms. Oh boy. Alan had a fish dish, I don't recall the details. Very nice setting outdoors. The hotel is located along one of the roads into Le Bugue, so there was some traffic noise, but the grounds were otherwise very spacious and serene.

Sunday morning we went to the market in St. Cyprien. This was terrific fun. I particularly enjoyed the man selling sausages, the "caviar de saucisses". He asked where I was from and I told him I was American. He got excited and said his cousin was the maire (mere? merde?) de Las Vegas. Basque like him. Maire (mayor) makes the most sense, so if there is a Basque mayor in Las Vegas, I guess his cousin is selling le caviar de saucisse in St. Cyprien.

I bought a large, colorful basket made in Madagascar to use as a beach bag and filled it with goodies from the market, including the caviar of sausage and several kinds of cheese. Also some walnut oil to bring home. Then we drove off to Beynac to tour the very atmospheric castle there. By the time we returned to the hotel, we were ready to cool off in the swimming pool and I felt we had arrived in paradise.

Dinner that night, on the strong recommendation of several Fodorites, was at the Jardin d'Epicure in Castels, just outside St. Cyprien, tel. 05 53 30 40 95. This was a wonderful meal. I started with a summer tartine, or open sandwich, with prosciutto, cheese, tomatoes and summer truffles. Alan started with foie gras seared with figs. Then I had roast pork that made me say oh yes as I tasted it, served with cepes in a thin pastry shell. Alan had lamb with a side dish made, I think, of eggplant and mushrooms. All delicious. For dessert I had quenelles de chocolat with coffee ice cream, and Alan had a grand marnier souffle served with a small glass of grand marnier. Divine.

Nikki, this is so good!!!!!

Oh, I'm so happy to hear that the Jardon d'Epicurie is open! When I was there last fall it was all boarded up and really looked as though it had closed. Maybe they were just doing renovations. At any rate, this is good news! I can go to dinner there in a couple of weeks!

Hi Mimi, I believe I decided upon the Hotel St. Antoine in Albi based on your mention of it, as well as a description in a guide book.

Ah yes, Jardin d'Epicure is very much alive and well. We ate outside on the terrace (on plastic lawn chairs and tables!) and I didn't really see the interior enough to notice whether it had been recently redone.

St. Cirq, I envy you being able to go there in a couple of weeks. Much of the itinerary for our days in the Dordogne was arrived at by reading your recommendations of the best sites. I don't think I would have necessarily gotten to Beynac or the Roque St. Christophe if you hadn't included them on your short list. And as we drove from Les Eyzies to Le Bugue, losing the signs to Le Bugue (those French signs have a way of seducing and abandoning me), I saw a sign for St. Cirq and followed it, knowing I was on your home turf and thinking what a wonderful thing the internet is.

Monday morning we had reservations to tour the Font de Gaume cave. This was actually the inspiration for the trip to this part of France. Having read that this cave might close to the public forever, I wanted to go before the opportunity was gone. I had called for reservations over a month before our visit, and I heard the ticket agent tell people when we were there that they were sold out until the next month. We climbed the steep path to the entrance to the cave, which is half way up a cliff. Everyone had to leave their bags in a locked area before entering the cave.

This was a much smaller cave than Pech Merle. Tours are conducted in groups of no more than twelve people at a time. Our tour was conducted in English. We walked carefully to avoid touching the walls and then stopped where the guide told us to. Then she shone her light on the wall not five inches from where we were standing, and the animals painted on the wall came to life. We turned around and she shone her light on the opposite wall, which we had been backed up to, and that too was covered with art. This was a very intimate encounter with the prehistoric art. We left with the feeling that it was a very special experience indeed.

We drove from there to the Roque St. Christophe, where there is an extensive cliff dwelling used from prehistoric through medieval times. Access to this site is not limited, and there were large numbers of people touring the cliffs. An entire city was built into the cliffs on five levels, at one time containing hundreds of dwellings and a thousand people. This was fascinating.

Dinner that night was in St. Cyprien at La Gravette, Route du Chateau de la Roque, tel. 05 53 29 21 86. This is an unassuming hotel restaurant where the patron greeted us in shorts and a tee shirt. The meal began with a tureen of mushroom soup for every table. Then I had a salad of crayfish with apples and citrus fruit. Alan had that along with some more foie gras. For our last night in the Dordogne, I indulged myself with more duck confit with the fabulous potatoes sauteed in duck fat with garlic. I will dream about them. We decided we had been force feeding ourselves like geese, but that we would happily continue if the food was all like this.

Tuesday morning we went to the market in Le Bugue. I admit it, I bought more pottery from a potter whose studio was in the town. Also more cheese and sausage, bien sur, and some foie gras to bring home.

We were headed for the Loire Valley, but we made a stop on the way at Oradour sur Glane. I would never have known about this site if it weren't for advice on the Fodor's message board, but when I researched it I knew we would have to go. This is a town that was destroyed by the Nazis, who massacred the inhabitants and burned the village. It has been preserved in the state it was in when the Nazis left, and is a very haunting memorial. A new town has been built next to the old one, and I can not imagine what it must be like to have a perpetual view of this reminder of horror in one's back yard.

A memorial and museum has been built near the entrance to the town. I found the museum exhibits disjointed and hard to follow. There was, however, a good movie with footage of the village and commentary by survivors and, amazingly, by one of the German soldiers telling what he had done.

Walking around in the village reminded me in some ways of Pompeii. Here was a town in ruins that had been destroyed in a single day. While the eruption of Vesuvius was not an intentional human action, it was every bit as devastating. Yet my reaction was almost completely opposite to my reaction in Pompeii. I had wanted to see everything in Pompeii, learning about the lives of people living so long ago that I knew very little about them. In Oradour sur Glane, it was easy to imagine the lives of the villagers there as similar to the lives in the villages we had been driving through all week in France. The destruction was more recent, more repellent, and I didn't want to explore the town, I didn't want to see it all, so I sat and contemplated the scene before me while Alan walked through the streets.

When we left there, we headed for the Loire Valley. Our hotel was Demeure de la Vignole, near Saumur, in Turquant. This is a unique property which has been created on the site of a troglodyte village built into a cliff. Our room was in a house across the small lane from the cliff, but there were some rooms built into the cliff itself. We ate dinner there. Only hotel guests were there, and there was a fixed menu, no choice. We had tartine de rillettes aux deux saumons; at least one of the two salmons was smoked. That was followed by croustillant de thon (tuna in a crust) with basil and tomato. This was fantastic. It was accompanied by confit of fennel with garlic sauce. There was also a cheese course and for dessert a coffee parfait.

Wednesday was our last full day in France. We spent the morning touring the fascinating Chateau de Breze, which advertises itself as a chateau under a chateau. There are tunnels and rooms dug into the rock underneath the chateau, much of which can be toured. There is a vineyard on the property, and Alan tasted and purchased some wine. Then we picnicked on the grounds before leaving for our drive toward Chambord.

Have I mentioned the pleasures of navigation a la francaise? Unlike signage in the U.S., French roads are signed by means of the villages and towns the road is heading toward. If there are road numbers at all, they are really small. No sign ever says East or West or North or South. Which is fine if you aren't going too far and the town you are looking for is actually mentioned on the signs. Unless, of course, you are seduced and abandoned by the name of a town that you never see again. And instead of square intersections, there are rotaries at almost every junction. The effect is sort of like a game of pin the tail on the donkey, where you are turned in a circle before deciding which way to go, the better to disorient you.

We were trying to follow a numbered road, at least it was numbered on the map, along the Loire. Looked simple. Wasn't. We got off track several times. Finally we were heading toward Tours. At least that was a town with a name that kept appearing. But once we got there, there were signs for seemingly every town except the ones I could find on the map. Also signs for autres directions. I figured that must be our way, since none of the other ways looked right. We found ourselves going through a fairly ugly stretch of civilization resembling Route 1 in Norwood, filled with McDonald's and home supply stores.

Time for a mental detour. Thirty-three years ago, when I was last in Tours with my friend Ellen on a college kids' jaunt around Europe, we wanted to go for a swim. Being young and stupid, we hitched a ride out of town. Being young and charmed, we were picked up by a priest. He brought us to a lovely rustic beach in a little village outside Tours, where there was a little church and grassy river banks. It was a wonderful day which has crystallized in my memory as a symbol of that wonderful, life changing summer. We hitched back to Tours, and I remember it being pretty complicated, thinking this was too big a town to find our way back to easily. We passed through some industrial areas, and I wondered (now, in 2005) whether this ugly stretch of highway was the same area we had gotten confused in so long ago.

Things were getting tense in the car. None of the towns on the signs seemed like anything I could find on the map. We had left Tours and entered some other town. I wanted to pull over and try to figure out where we were. And then we passed the sign that indicated we were entering Larcay. Larcay. And there was the little church, and I said, "Turn left, there is a river there and a small beach." Alan, not as amazed as he should have been, turned left, and there was a river and a park. And we parked. And I teared up.

The beach is closed to swimming now. There is a notice posted saying that the water isn't clear enough at a certain depth to permit swimming, and it has been closed since 2001. There were some camp kids playing on a slip and slide, and some little old ladies playing cards. Past, present, and future. I remember fighting to swim against the current. Still looked pretty strong.

Nikki: You report makes me so glad I have the Fodors forum with which to communicate with French travelers. It touches me that people actually go to the Dordogne and see the places I recommend and get some lasting memories from them. It's all so worth it when someone like you reports back and tells of their experiences.

I'm glad you had an English tour of Font-de-Gaume - they are hard to come by, but the woman who usually does them is good and makes you feel the seriousness, spirituality, and yet playfulness of the whole experience.

Did you actually drive up to St-Cirq, or just take the road that runs by it between Le Bugue and Les Eyzies?

I'm glad you liked La Roque St-Christophe. It can be very touristy in summertime, but in and of itself it's an amazing testimony to hundreds of generations of people who all lived on this rocky hillside. Amazing, indeed.

I know La Gazette in St-Cyprien, and am glad you stumbled on it. It's really very much a local place, not on the tourist circuit at ALL, but full of homey atmosphere and down-to-earth good food. Glad you liked it. I don't think I'd recommend it on Fodors because there are too many people here seeking gastronome, but for what it's worth it's so authentic.

Since you seem to have spent a good part of your trip in the Dordogne eating pommes de terre à la Sarladaise, if you want a recipe let me know. I make a mean one even here in the States, but it does require some duck or goose fat. The cepes are easy to find, either fresh or dried.

St. Cirq, we didn't make it all the way to St. Cirq, just saw the crossroads but followed the signs to Bug (sic). Promises to keep.

La Gravette didn't seem to be all that far off the tourist track. The night we ate there, every single table was occupied by people speaking English. We were the last to leave, and we asked the proprietor if this was usual. He said about 50% of his business is English speaking.

Re: potatoes sarladaise: yes please.

We finally reached the Chateau de Chambord. This is an enormous place surrounded by an enormous park. We wandered up the double helix staircase and through the various royal apartments for an hour or so, and then we drove to our bed and breakfast, Le Beguinage, in Cour Cheverny. This is a simple, charming property that was once a convent on a village street. Once you walk through the reception area and out the back door, you are in a lovely open garden with a pond and what appears to be a restored stable. There were some rooms in the house and ours was one of several in the stable.

We walked into the village of Cour Cheverny for dinner at the excellent restaurant in the Hotel des Trois Marchands, tel. 02 54 79 96 44. The amuse bouche was an assortment of hot pastry hors d'oeuvres, one of which reminded me of pigs in the blanket. But really good ones. I had frogs' legs to start, served in a garlic butter that would have made sawdust taste good. After soaking this up with lots of the terrific bread, I went on to have pigeon in a red wine sauce, a cheese course with local chevre and cow's milk cheeses, and a tarte fine with the tartest, finest apricots it has ever been my pleasure to taste. It was the last dinner in France, so I forced myself to finish almost the entire tarte, trying to preserve the memory of these French dinners in a sufficiently vivid manner to recall them through the long months ahead.

Thursday morning we drove to Paris. The drive was uneventful, although we sat in some traffic on the Peripherique. We found Charles de Gaulle airport without too much trouble and even managed to get the car to the rental return area in the correct terminal on the first try. We finished up the last of our cheese and sausage at a table at McDonald's in the terminal and checked in for our flight. Bought some CDs at the airport shop so I can listen to Serge Gainsbourg and Barbara for a French fix at home. Watched French movies on the flight to Boston. Landed on a muggy Boston summer evening, happy to see our smiling daughter waiting for us outside customs.

Thanks for a great report, Nikki.

We look forward to following in your footsteps (tire tracks?) through the Lot and Dordogne regions.

Nikkï: Regarding "Le Bug," someone spray painted the "ue" off those signs two April Fool's days ago. We couldn't figure out if they meant for it to be "bug" as a reference to the English word "bug" or if there was something more subtle in French going on. But it was funny.

Pommes de Terre Sarladaises (for 4 people):

4 large or 8 small potatoes
2 cups cèpes (fresh or dried; if dried, reconstituted), coarsely chopped
4 tblspns goosefat
2 slices bacon, finely diced
4 cloves of garlic, minced
1/2 cup chopped parsley
1 tblspn fresh thyme
1 bay leaf

Peel the potatoes and cut in rounds 1/4-inch thick. Rinse in hot water to remove starch. Melt goosefat in a cast-iron skillet. Brown bacon in goosefat, then add potatoes. Turn potatoes constantly for 3 minutes so they don't stick to the pan. Add the cèpes when potatoes have started browning. Cover the skillet and let the potato-mushroom mixture cook for 5 minutes over medium heat. Lift lid, add parsley, thyme, bayleaf, and salt and pepper to taste. Cook for another 10-15 minutes, turning as necessary, until potatoes are browned and soft.

Loved the report--both countries!
Besides our brief foray through St. Cirq La Popie, it seems I remember a sign for another St. Cirq somewhere on the N road between Cahors and Gourdon.

Your south of France portion sounds adventuresome and it's always fun to read a report that took a slightly different route.

There are at least 8 St-Cirq's in the Dordogne/Lot area. The one you probably saw on the way to St-Cirq-Lapopie was St-Cirq-la-Madeleine.

Great report, Nikki!

Fabulous report Nikki. You have a real talent for writing. I'm now moving up on my list of to-dos the Lot/Dordogne.

Thanks for the encouragement and the recipe. So where do I get my hands on some goose fat?

Hopingtotravel, if you think this trip sounds adventuresome, you should have seen the one in 1972.

You can buy goosefat (or at least duck fat, which is almost as good) from the Joie de Vivre catalogue online.

Nikki, I buy mine from Savanor's on Charles Street on lower Beacon Hill. We can meet one day and I'll take you there. You can buy almost anything like boar, rabbit lion, antelope at various times. Julie Childs kept a storage locker in their old location.(Cambridge) that burned down

Lovely report, Nikki. Thank you for sharing.

Woody

Great report -- we spent several days in the Dordogne a couple years ago and hope to go back for a longer visit someday. It was really lovely and in May (before the big tourist season) it was not at all crowded.

uhoh, I would love to see the South of France in the off season. I have only been able to go in July, and it has been incredibly hot. One of my memories from my 1972 experience is the room we rented above a restaurant kitchen. The tiny old lady who worked as a housekeeper there would keep saying as she passed us in the hallway, "Il fait chaud, n'est-ce pas?"

Mimi, it's a date.

Thanks for the great read Nikki!