Live from St-Cirq 7
Aug 6th, 2004, 12:29 AM
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Live from St-Cirq 7
8/1/04
The lake-picnic concept was such a hit we decide to repeat the experience. I remember another lake, in Lanquais, near Lalinde, that I have seen before, and that is in the shadow of the beautiful Chateau de Lanquais, so we make this our Monday excursion. While Taylor sleeps, I spend the early part of the morning planting and pruning and weeding and mulching until the two strips of garden in front of the house are blooming with fresh lavender and the enormous climbing roses that have almost reached the third storey of the house are clipped and fertilized and sprayed. Hikers keep walking by the driveway, and I'm reminded that we're on one of the Grande Randonee trails. A group of horseback riders clops by as well, pausing to fill bottles at the spring just down the lane. Everyone who passes by and sees me says a cheerful hello, be it in French, Dutch, German, or English. Hikers are a friendly lot, and I think it gives them a cheerful boost to encounter people they think are "locals" in their travels.
We pack the usual picnic suspects and leave for Lanquais around 11 a.m. The traffic getting through Le Bugue is disturbingly difficult. We come to a screeching halt at least 2 kms outside town and crawl thereafter. It's a strange town, traffic-wise, to begin with - there's one main straight road that leads from Campagne through to Limeuil and on, but smack in the center of town there's a big 90-degree left turn over a bridge that takes you to Le Buisson and Cadouin, and then you have the small right-hand turn onto the rue de Paris, which is the main commercial street, but really just a lane. And so, in the very center of town you end up with this 4-way intersection, with no stop signs or any other indicators of who has the right of way, and, frankly, people just lose it when they arrive at that point. It is absolutely unclear who has the right of way, so everyone thinks he does, and especially this time of year when there are tourists by the dozens combing these parts, there are fenderbenders and fistfights and major stalling matches and lots of horn blaring and continual confusion . It's so utterly different from most of the rest of the year, when people are content to wait a minute or two and let someone pass through. I try to put myself in the mind of a local - it's a two-edged sword, for a load of money passes through this small town in the months of July and August, but so do a load of headaches and stresses.
Once through the chaos in Le Bugue, we sail on over to Le Buisson and Cadouin and then along a beautiful, wide stretch of the Dordogne leading into Lalinde, a stretch that is feathered with river flowers with small white blossoms and teeming with swans. You traverse a narrow bridge, make a series of turns and are in the bastide town of Lalinde. There's something comforting about a bastide town, the grid pattern reassuring you of your bearings. The old covered marketplace is in the center of town, and part of it is occupied by a cafe, where we take seats and order salads of tomato and mozzarella, and a sandwich of crudites for Taylor as well, plus two iced teas. A few minutes after our drinks are brought to us, I reach for the bread basket and upset my bottle of iced tea, all over the table and my dress. An embarrassing moment. A French lady sitting nearby offers me a packet of Kleenex, which I gratefully accept, apologizing for my dumb mistake. " It's all right, Madame," she says, " Life is full of unexpected events." Yes, and French is full of expressions one must learn to deal with them.
The lake at Lanquais is delicious, the water 32 degrees Celsius. The chateau looms at one end, and there are tennis courts and a real (not concrete) ping-pong table. It costs 1,80 euros to get in and another 50 cents for the ping pong paddles and ball. Everyone we encounter here is French. They all defie the myth of the thin, elegant, well-dressed French person, every one of them. At least half of them, including kids, could be classified as obese. We are far from Paris, and the French people that spend time at man-made lakes in the Dordogne are definitely not well-dressed or well-heeled. It is distressing to see fat French kids, though, snarfing down potato chips and Coke - I can almost get in a Jose Bove frame of mind after witnessing that.
We drive home through Cadouin, where we stop at the Basque shop, which I love. We buy some sauce piment, but not the extra fort, which is so hot you want to scratch your insides out the minute you taste it. Then we go on through Le Bugue to Les Eyzies to Le Mentalo, which has been one of our regular eating holes for about 10 years. We have a Carte de Fidelite there, whichgets us the occasional free meal. We order a salade nicoise for me and a steau au poivre for Taylor. The waiter wants to speak English, but Taylor and I want to speak French. We say we are in France so we should speak French; the waiter says he needs to practice his English. We agree that he will speak English to us, and we will speak French to him, and that's how it proceeds.
It's 9 p.m. or so by the time we get home, but it's warm and light, so we jump in the pool and play for half an hour. Then we get serious with the ping-pong. Then we read and are asleep by 11 p.m. We've both read 4 books by now - always a sign of a good vacation.
The lake-picnic concept was such a hit we decide to repeat the experience. I remember another lake, in Lanquais, near Lalinde, that I have seen before, and that is in the shadow of the beautiful Chateau de Lanquais, so we make this our Monday excursion. While Taylor sleeps, I spend the early part of the morning planting and pruning and weeding and mulching until the two strips of garden in front of the house are blooming with fresh lavender and the enormous climbing roses that have almost reached the third storey of the house are clipped and fertilized and sprayed. Hikers keep walking by the driveway, and I'm reminded that we're on one of the Grande Randonee trails. A group of horseback riders clops by as well, pausing to fill bottles at the spring just down the lane. Everyone who passes by and sees me says a cheerful hello, be it in French, Dutch, German, or English. Hikers are a friendly lot, and I think it gives them a cheerful boost to encounter people they think are "locals" in their travels.
We pack the usual picnic suspects and leave for Lanquais around 11 a.m. The traffic getting through Le Bugue is disturbingly difficult. We come to a screeching halt at least 2 kms outside town and crawl thereafter. It's a strange town, traffic-wise, to begin with - there's one main straight road that leads from Campagne through to Limeuil and on, but smack in the center of town there's a big 90-degree left turn over a bridge that takes you to Le Buisson and Cadouin, and then you have the small right-hand turn onto the rue de Paris, which is the main commercial street, but really just a lane. And so, in the very center of town you end up with this 4-way intersection, with no stop signs or any other indicators of who has the right of way, and, frankly, people just lose it when they arrive at that point. It is absolutely unclear who has the right of way, so everyone thinks he does, and especially this time of year when there are tourists by the dozens combing these parts, there are fenderbenders and fistfights and major stalling matches and lots of horn blaring and continual confusion . It's so utterly different from most of the rest of the year, when people are content to wait a minute or two and let someone pass through. I try to put myself in the mind of a local - it's a two-edged sword, for a load of money passes through this small town in the months of July and August, but so do a load of headaches and stresses.
Once through the chaos in Le Bugue, we sail on over to Le Buisson and Cadouin and then along a beautiful, wide stretch of the Dordogne leading into Lalinde, a stretch that is feathered with river flowers with small white blossoms and teeming with swans. You traverse a narrow bridge, make a series of turns and are in the bastide town of Lalinde. There's something comforting about a bastide town, the grid pattern reassuring you of your bearings. The old covered marketplace is in the center of town, and part of it is occupied by a cafe, where we take seats and order salads of tomato and mozzarella, and a sandwich of crudites for Taylor as well, plus two iced teas. A few minutes after our drinks are brought to us, I reach for the bread basket and upset my bottle of iced tea, all over the table and my dress. An embarrassing moment. A French lady sitting nearby offers me a packet of Kleenex, which I gratefully accept, apologizing for my dumb mistake. " It's all right, Madame," she says, " Life is full of unexpected events." Yes, and French is full of expressions one must learn to deal with them.
The lake at Lanquais is delicious, the water 32 degrees Celsius. The chateau looms at one end, and there are tennis courts and a real (not concrete) ping-pong table. It costs 1,80 euros to get in and another 50 cents for the ping pong paddles and ball. Everyone we encounter here is French. They all defie the myth of the thin, elegant, well-dressed French person, every one of them. At least half of them, including kids, could be classified as obese. We are far from Paris, and the French people that spend time at man-made lakes in the Dordogne are definitely not well-dressed or well-heeled. It is distressing to see fat French kids, though, snarfing down potato chips and Coke - I can almost get in a Jose Bove frame of mind after witnessing that.
We drive home through Cadouin, where we stop at the Basque shop, which I love. We buy some sauce piment, but not the extra fort, which is so hot you want to scratch your insides out the minute you taste it. Then we go on through Le Bugue to Les Eyzies to Le Mentalo, which has been one of our regular eating holes for about 10 years. We have a Carte de Fidelite there, whichgets us the occasional free meal. We order a salade nicoise for me and a steau au poivre for Taylor. The waiter wants to speak English, but Taylor and I want to speak French. We say we are in France so we should speak French; the waiter says he needs to practice his English. We agree that he will speak English to us, and we will speak French to him, and that's how it proceeds.
It's 9 p.m. or so by the time we get home, but it's warm and light, so we jump in the pool and play for half an hour. Then we get serious with the ping-pong. Then we read and are asleep by 11 p.m. We've both read 4 books by now - always a sign of a good vacation.
Aug 6th, 2004, 08:35 AM
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Ah, StCirq, so nice to continue to read these evocative descriptions of the French countryside. Isn't it amazing how your mind retains the locales of these lovely lakes? How nice, too, to hear of a child and parent who share such a great love of reading--I'm convinced it's one of the most precious gifts we can pass on from generation to generation.
Merci Beaucoup,
BC
Merci Beaucoup,
BC
Aug 6th, 2004, 10:09 AM
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I love your reports St. Cirq. Your encounter with the waiter who wanted to speak English brought back memories of our travel in Greece. My husband speaks a little Greek. When we were there on a visit, DH would speak Greek, but he could not understand the responses. Usually the other person would have to speak English, and that is how most of his conversations evolved.
Enjoy the sunshine and days with doing whatever you want.
Enjoy the sunshine and days with doing whatever you want.
Aug 29th, 2004, 04:43 PM
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After being home 2 months, I am just now finding the courage to get back on the boards - meaning I am finally having to admit to myself that I am not in France and it will be a while before I can return. St Cirq - thanks for letting me live vicariously thru you!
May 11th, 2005, 08:28 PM
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Link to part 8: http://www.fodors.com/forums/threads...p;tid=34519387
And I cannot find any signs that there were any more parts after that, even though part 8, does not seem to "conclude" the report.
In any case, I will top it, so tha they all float along together (for a while).
Best wishes,
Rex
And I cannot find any signs that there were any more parts after that, even though part 8, does not seem to "conclude" the report.
In any case, I will top it, so tha they all float along together (for a while).
Best wishes,
Rex
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