Dog Days in the Dordogne
Aug 13th, 2005, 01:52 PM
#41
This is a magical report. I yearn for the Dordogne and I have never been! I would even be happy to help you eat your cheese. How fortunate you are to have all the comforts of home and be away at the same time. Your writing is superieur. I will be looking up your other reports as well. I'm hanging onto every word since I will be heading for France in a few weeks myself. I land at CDG on Sep 6. Will you still be in France?
Aug 13th, 2005, 05:03 PM
#44
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How long does it take for eggs to become rotten? Do you put them out where they need to be before or after this transformation? How many eggs? Can you smell them when you're in your room under the eaves? As you can see, I'm absolutely fascinated by this natural vermin control tale.
Aug 13th, 2005, 05:19 PM
#45
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I am, too, Shellio. But a lot can happen to an egg sitting in a porcelain cup BEFORE it gets rotten: wind, hard rain, smart playful animals knocking t off, just to give three examples. Not to be a broken record or anything, but moth balls would be SO much quicker, and I'm so impressed with myself for having "invented" this mothball technique to relocate mammals with keen noses (even if others may have figured it out before me, without my having heard of it).
StCirq: This is a really good vacation, isn't it. And problems and all, it makes for good stories.
StCirq: This is a really good vacation, isn't it. And problems and all, it makes for good stories.
Aug 13th, 2005, 07:08 PM
#47
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I'm not kidding; I can get there really really quickly. I'm not working at the moment. If you need some warmer clothes, just say the word and I'll pack up some jackets and be there. I can also say "Combien par kilo coûte votre fromage ?"
Oh man, I had the best brie I have ever eaten in my life in Paris last month. Ours was not 100 E but we did over buy. Ate the whole thing though.
Oh man, I had the best brie I have ever eaten in my life in Paris last month. Ours was not 100 E but we did over buy. Ate the whole thing though.
Aug 13th, 2005, 08:10 PM
#48
I have done far stupider things than spend a hundred dollars on cheese. In fact I bought a way bigger piece of cheese than I needed at the same Le Bugue market last month, while my husband stood pantomiming his horror to me.
And I was feeling so happy about our lack of rain when we were in your valley; now I wish we had seen such a storm as you describe.
And I was feeling so happy about our lack of rain when we were in your valley; now I wish we had seen such a storm as you describe.
Aug 14th, 2005, 02:05 AM
#49
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Oh, I've been seduced by the Pyrenees cheese guy, too, but not to the tune of 100 euros, at least not yet. And there's a sausage guy in St-Cyprien who is a glib talker who sells a lot of 20 euro sausages you could buy elsewhere for 7 or 8. But that's part of the market experience, I suppose. The vendors who are beguiling and quit witted conversationalists will always make the most money.
Back to the vermin - the eggs aren't really exposed to the elements; they're nestled inside the gutters, which are very deep and run under the edge of the roof, so barring a very hard downpour they won't fill up with rain or anything. Th house martens despise eggs and won't eat them, but when they begin to rot, the smell apparently drives them crazy and they vacate. As for moth balls (boules de naphtaline), I asked my neighbor about that and he just laughed and said they'd probably just feather their nests with them. Maybe that's not true, but rather than go on a scouting expedition for mothballs, I think I'll just follow tradition. As I recall from the last time I had fuines in the attic, it took a few days for the eggs to rot, but when they did the martens made a hasty exit.
Back to the vermin - the eggs aren't really exposed to the elements; they're nestled inside the gutters, which are very deep and run under the edge of the roof, so barring a very hard downpour they won't fill up with rain or anything. Th house martens despise eggs and won't eat them, but when they begin to rot, the smell apparently drives them crazy and they vacate. As for moth balls (boules de naphtaline), I asked my neighbor about that and he just laughed and said they'd probably just feather their nests with them. Maybe that's not true, but rather than go on a scouting expedition for mothballs, I think I'll just follow tradition. As I recall from the last time I had fuines in the attic, it took a few days for the eggs to rot, but when they did the martens made a hasty exit.
Aug 14th, 2005, 02:28 PM
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Thursday, August 11
Naturally, the day we have chosen for a 12-kilometer kayak outing is shaping up already at 8 am to be a scorcher. Not a single wisp of cloud in the sky and already a shimmer of vapor hovering around the tops of the hills on the other side of the valley, like a wrapping of sheer organza. The roosters sound faint and weary. For the first time since we've been here, there's no breeze, just utter stillness punctuated by the whine of the occasional motorcycle or the guttural revving of a tractor engine off in the distance.
We lazily wander around gathering up the things we'll need for our kayak trip - a small soft cooler, bottles of water filled down the lane at the spring, sunglasses, sunblock, water shoes, towels. We make a trip up the hill to the dump to get rid of the garbage, get the latest gossip from Madame L, and take off for Beynac just before noon. There is so much traffic here in August compared to the times when I'm usually here that it's maddening, and time to sit in traffic or crawl along in first gear must be factored into each outing.
We have to park in the main parking lot in Beynac, because that's where our bus will pick us up to take us downriver to Cenac, where our trip will begin. I sit in the parking lot for a full 20 minutes before a space opens up, and as soon as it's vacated a car zooms around me and attempts to take it. Appalled, I maneuver forward to block the cretin and roll down the window and point out to the driver that I've been sitting here patiently waiting for a space for more than 20 minutes. Hands are thrown up, BEHs!! are cast all around, along with a lot of muttering and more hand motions, and the car grudgingly moves forward a few inches, enough to allow me to get in the space with a lot of completely unnecessary back and forthing. But park we do, and head to a favorite shop for a sandwich poulet crudites and cold drink before returning to a small shady spot at the end of the parking lot to wait for the bus.
It arrives precisely at 1:55 and loads us and another American family, then proceeds through traffic-clogged Beynac to the Capeyrou campground, where another 30 or so people board. Then down the river to Cenac, just below Domme, which is our port of departure. We are issued three standard kayaks as promised and a container to keep our stuff dry in, which is strapped onto M's kayak, three double paddles, and we're off! But the river is like an aquatic autoroute, with all lanes full, plus there are bathers and snorkelers everywhere. I've been canoeing and kayaking on this river for more than a decade, but never have I seen such a mass of humanity in the river all at once. Maneuvering around it all, even if you're comfortable in a kayak, as we are, is treacherous, particularly with the snorkelers, who submerge themselves in the middle of the river and are invisible until you feel them underneath your kayak pushing you away from them - you have no idea if it's a human or some huge water beast you've encountered. And then there are the (invariably German) tourists in canoes whose only aim is to bash into each other and tip the boats over, or at least have a huge water fight in the middle of the river. I'm broadsided three times in the first hour by such groups, and though it's not dangerous, it's decidedly irritating.
Other than the crowds on the river, our trip to Castelnaud is relatively uneventful. We always dock at Castelnaud and go sit in the cafe by the river and have a cold drink and an ice cream, and this we do, resting our tired arms for about a half-hour. The " beach" there is crowded, too, not only with canoers and kayakers, but also with locals who come down there on hot days to sunbathe and swim.
After our respite, we take off from Castelnaud and almost immediately hit low water and have to portage the kayaks about forty meters over stones. M gets through first and gets back in her kayak and takes off, with T just behind her and me just behind him. He gets over the rocks and into the kayak but is stuck, so I give him a push and he starts sidling sideways, not a problem, but there is deep water and a strong current to our left. I get my kayak into deep enough water to take off, but as soon as I'm going I see T behind me to my left wobbling in the deep water, and before I can say anything to him his kayak capsizes and he's under water. I panic because although I'm fine steering a kayak on an essentially lazy river, I'm not really good in general at water sports and have a couple of ugly near-drowning experiences in my distant past. T pops out of the water within seconds, fortunately, but I realize we're now both headed into treacherous water and neither of us has a life vest on (note to self: they give you these for a reason; wear them and forget about your tan!).
I yell to T to put on his vest, and he does, but he's struggling with a very strong current and a kayak that's quickly filling up with water and becoming hard to handle. I paddle upstream furiously to reach him and grab the kayak and his paddle while he gets his vest on, and then I stay with him for a bit trying to formulate a plan to get us out of this predicament. Over on the left bank I spot a boat landing, and I tell T to stay with the kayak while I take his paddle and my own kayak over to the landing and come back to help him. Amazingly, dozens and dozens of canoes and kayaks have by now passed us without so much as acknowledging that we're having something of a problem, nevertheless offered to help. So I leave T in the deep water with the strong current holding on for dear life to a very heavy waterlogged, quickly sinking kayak and race upstream to the boat landing, jump out and drag my kayak up to a safe spot on it, and jump back in the water and swim out to T. As soon as I reach him and grab the kayak I realize how hard it has been for him to even stay where he is in the river, because the boat is incredibly heavy and the current is incredibly strong right here. I look around and decide we just have to get to the bank of the river - about 15 meters away, even though it's not really a bank, just a foot or so of stone with sheer cliff rising up above them.
Together we get the kayak over to the river bank, but it's not wide enough there to empty it, so once there we have to inch our way along the bank back toward the boat landing. It's amazing how heavy this kayak is, or maybe we are just fatigued beyond belief by now. The stones underfoot in the river are incredibly slippery even though I have my rubber French garden shoes on and T has miraculously retrieved his rubber sports sandals from the kayak. As we inch our way toward the landing, through the clear water I spot an adder sitting on the river bottom, about six inches below me. I don't know if adders normally hang around under water, and I don't even know if this one is alive or dead, but I do know that we've had them in our pool before and they seemed very much alive under water and very much dangerous when pulled out. It's only a foot or so long, but I know their bite can be deadly, so I tell T to stop, we must go out to deeper water for a bit and then get back in toward shore again. So we sidestep the adder, which barely moves at all, and eventually make it to the boat landing, where we collapse, get a bottle of spring water out of my kayak, drain it, and contemplate our next move. We're safe, though every muscle of my body is aching.
It takes four or five flips of T's kayak to drain all the water out, and when we do, we're eager to complete the journey. I ease him down the boat ramp and into the water and follow closely behind. It's smooth sailing from here to Beynac, with only a ripple or two caused by the passage of the gabarres carrying tourists. We keep our life vests on this time, and proceed slowly and cautiously, avoiding other boats or anything that could upset the kayaks' equilibrium. We arrive at Beynac about a half-hour later. M is sunbathing on the banks, asking " What the heck happened to you?" We ask her the same and she says "I never looked back." We know that.
Driving out of the parking lot in Beynac, we notice several people pointing at the front of our car and gesticulating. I assume they're seeing the flimsy bumper I've patched back together that doesn't yet look quite perfect and smile and say "Je sais - c'est bien!" but when we get back to Les Eyzies and are caught in another traffic jam a half-hour later, the car behind me keeps flashing its lights and the woman at the wheel keeps gesticulating to me until, caught in a traffic standstill, she comes racing to my window and says in broken French that I seem to be dragging something at the front of my car. I pull over and M gets out and looks under and tells me there's a big flap of plastic hanging under the front of the car. At the same time a gaggle of Dutch tourists across the street start pointing at my car and yelling at me and themselves " De shnokker ist befrokt, o ist de helmke? Nay, nay, ist de freeper hot bumpde?" in that fractured English that Dutch sounds like. Maybe I haven't, after all, fixed the bumper problem. M rummages around under the car for a few minutes and then hops back in and says " It's fixed. Just like Leggos. No problem." And off we go back to St-Cirq, having conquered both the river and the bumper.
Naturally, the day we have chosen for a 12-kilometer kayak outing is shaping up already at 8 am to be a scorcher. Not a single wisp of cloud in the sky and already a shimmer of vapor hovering around the tops of the hills on the other side of the valley, like a wrapping of sheer organza. The roosters sound faint and weary. For the first time since we've been here, there's no breeze, just utter stillness punctuated by the whine of the occasional motorcycle or the guttural revving of a tractor engine off in the distance.
We lazily wander around gathering up the things we'll need for our kayak trip - a small soft cooler, bottles of water filled down the lane at the spring, sunglasses, sunblock, water shoes, towels. We make a trip up the hill to the dump to get rid of the garbage, get the latest gossip from Madame L, and take off for Beynac just before noon. There is so much traffic here in August compared to the times when I'm usually here that it's maddening, and time to sit in traffic or crawl along in first gear must be factored into each outing.
We have to park in the main parking lot in Beynac, because that's where our bus will pick us up to take us downriver to Cenac, where our trip will begin. I sit in the parking lot for a full 20 minutes before a space opens up, and as soon as it's vacated a car zooms around me and attempts to take it. Appalled, I maneuver forward to block the cretin and roll down the window and point out to the driver that I've been sitting here patiently waiting for a space for more than 20 minutes. Hands are thrown up, BEHs!! are cast all around, along with a lot of muttering and more hand motions, and the car grudgingly moves forward a few inches, enough to allow me to get in the space with a lot of completely unnecessary back and forthing. But park we do, and head to a favorite shop for a sandwich poulet crudites and cold drink before returning to a small shady spot at the end of the parking lot to wait for the bus.
It arrives precisely at 1:55 and loads us and another American family, then proceeds through traffic-clogged Beynac to the Capeyrou campground, where another 30 or so people board. Then down the river to Cenac, just below Domme, which is our port of departure. We are issued three standard kayaks as promised and a container to keep our stuff dry in, which is strapped onto M's kayak, three double paddles, and we're off! But the river is like an aquatic autoroute, with all lanes full, plus there are bathers and snorkelers everywhere. I've been canoeing and kayaking on this river for more than a decade, but never have I seen such a mass of humanity in the river all at once. Maneuvering around it all, even if you're comfortable in a kayak, as we are, is treacherous, particularly with the snorkelers, who submerge themselves in the middle of the river and are invisible until you feel them underneath your kayak pushing you away from them - you have no idea if it's a human or some huge water beast you've encountered. And then there are the (invariably German) tourists in canoes whose only aim is to bash into each other and tip the boats over, or at least have a huge water fight in the middle of the river. I'm broadsided three times in the first hour by such groups, and though it's not dangerous, it's decidedly irritating.
Other than the crowds on the river, our trip to Castelnaud is relatively uneventful. We always dock at Castelnaud and go sit in the cafe by the river and have a cold drink and an ice cream, and this we do, resting our tired arms for about a half-hour. The " beach" there is crowded, too, not only with canoers and kayakers, but also with locals who come down there on hot days to sunbathe and swim.
After our respite, we take off from Castelnaud and almost immediately hit low water and have to portage the kayaks about forty meters over stones. M gets through first and gets back in her kayak and takes off, with T just behind her and me just behind him. He gets over the rocks and into the kayak but is stuck, so I give him a push and he starts sidling sideways, not a problem, but there is deep water and a strong current to our left. I get my kayak into deep enough water to take off, but as soon as I'm going I see T behind me to my left wobbling in the deep water, and before I can say anything to him his kayak capsizes and he's under water. I panic because although I'm fine steering a kayak on an essentially lazy river, I'm not really good in general at water sports and have a couple of ugly near-drowning experiences in my distant past. T pops out of the water within seconds, fortunately, but I realize we're now both headed into treacherous water and neither of us has a life vest on (note to self: they give you these for a reason; wear them and forget about your tan!).
I yell to T to put on his vest, and he does, but he's struggling with a very strong current and a kayak that's quickly filling up with water and becoming hard to handle. I paddle upstream furiously to reach him and grab the kayak and his paddle while he gets his vest on, and then I stay with him for a bit trying to formulate a plan to get us out of this predicament. Over on the left bank I spot a boat landing, and I tell T to stay with the kayak while I take his paddle and my own kayak over to the landing and come back to help him. Amazingly, dozens and dozens of canoes and kayaks have by now passed us without so much as acknowledging that we're having something of a problem, nevertheless offered to help. So I leave T in the deep water with the strong current holding on for dear life to a very heavy waterlogged, quickly sinking kayak and race upstream to the boat landing, jump out and drag my kayak up to a safe spot on it, and jump back in the water and swim out to T. As soon as I reach him and grab the kayak I realize how hard it has been for him to even stay where he is in the river, because the boat is incredibly heavy and the current is incredibly strong right here. I look around and decide we just have to get to the bank of the river - about 15 meters away, even though it's not really a bank, just a foot or so of stone with sheer cliff rising up above them.
Together we get the kayak over to the river bank, but it's not wide enough there to empty it, so once there we have to inch our way along the bank back toward the boat landing. It's amazing how heavy this kayak is, or maybe we are just fatigued beyond belief by now. The stones underfoot in the river are incredibly slippery even though I have my rubber French garden shoes on and T has miraculously retrieved his rubber sports sandals from the kayak. As we inch our way toward the landing, through the clear water I spot an adder sitting on the river bottom, about six inches below me. I don't know if adders normally hang around under water, and I don't even know if this one is alive or dead, but I do know that we've had them in our pool before and they seemed very much alive under water and very much dangerous when pulled out. It's only a foot or so long, but I know their bite can be deadly, so I tell T to stop, we must go out to deeper water for a bit and then get back in toward shore again. So we sidestep the adder, which barely moves at all, and eventually make it to the boat landing, where we collapse, get a bottle of spring water out of my kayak, drain it, and contemplate our next move. We're safe, though every muscle of my body is aching.
It takes four or five flips of T's kayak to drain all the water out, and when we do, we're eager to complete the journey. I ease him down the boat ramp and into the water and follow closely behind. It's smooth sailing from here to Beynac, with only a ripple or two caused by the passage of the gabarres carrying tourists. We keep our life vests on this time, and proceed slowly and cautiously, avoiding other boats or anything that could upset the kayaks' equilibrium. We arrive at Beynac about a half-hour later. M is sunbathing on the banks, asking " What the heck happened to you?" We ask her the same and she says "I never looked back." We know that.
Driving out of the parking lot in Beynac, we notice several people pointing at the front of our car and gesticulating. I assume they're seeing the flimsy bumper I've patched back together that doesn't yet look quite perfect and smile and say "Je sais - c'est bien!" but when we get back to Les Eyzies and are caught in another traffic jam a half-hour later, the car behind me keeps flashing its lights and the woman at the wheel keeps gesticulating to me until, caught in a traffic standstill, she comes racing to my window and says in broken French that I seem to be dragging something at the front of my car. I pull over and M gets out and looks under and tells me there's a big flap of plastic hanging under the front of the car. At the same time a gaggle of Dutch tourists across the street start pointing at my car and yelling at me and themselves " De shnokker ist befrokt, o ist de helmke? Nay, nay, ist de freeper hot bumpde?" in that fractured English that Dutch sounds like. Maybe I haven't, after all, fixed the bumper problem. M rummages around under the car for a few minutes and then hops back in and says " It's fixed. Just like Leggos. No problem." And off we go back to St-Cirq, having conquered both the river and the bumper.
Aug 15th, 2005, 08:08 AM
#59
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>>>If we wished to do yor river trip by canoe, who do we call<<
Ira
I'm going to pull an "Ira" on you here - when will you be visiting Beynac????
A rental place St Cirq recommended to me several years ago, closed by the third week of Sept - when we were there. Others were open, however.
Stu Dudley
Ira
I'm going to pull an "Ira" on you here - when will you be visiting Beynac????
A rental place St Cirq recommended to me several years ago, closed by the third week of Sept - when we were there. Others were open, however.
Stu Dudley
