Ger's Trip Report: A Long Weekend in the Dordogne
May 10th, 2004, 04:00 PM
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Hello Beatchick 
I am often tempted to post as Bridget, but that report was pulled. However, I can guarantee you a "Bridget" moment during this trip - only a minor one, thank the Gods!
Have you been to Ireland yet?
best regards ...Ger
I am often tempted to post as Bridget, but that report was pulled. However, I can guarantee you a "Bridget" moment during this trip - only a minor one, thank the Gods!
Have you been to Ireland yet?
best regards ...Ger
May 10th, 2004, 04:31 PM
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Nope, nope, we've postponed it until Christmas. But I do still have the info on "Dublin with Kids" you sent to us - THANK YOU so very, very much. That was very kind of you.
I'll e-mail you our plans in Dublin - I don't wish to highjack your lovely thread!
I'll e-mail you our plans in Dublin - I don't wish to highjack your lovely thread!
May 12th, 2004, 07:07 AM
#23
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Domme
Here are my pictures of Domme. If the link does not work, please send me a note and I will forward an invitation to view ([email protected])
http://www.ofoto.com/BrowsePhotos.js...mttlf&Ux=0
When I visit these picturesque hill-towns (Bastides), with their wisteria-draped dwellings, their winding streets, twee tourist shops and spectacular, panoramic vistas, it is often difficult to come to terms with the rather awful circumstances that necessitated them to be built. It is tempting to imagine that a consortium of 13th century property developers picked the site for its extraordinary natural beauty and then built an exclusive gated community for the well-heeled medieval merchant class so they could live far above the stinking peasants down below in the valley. Of course, we all know that this was not true THEN, but there is some truth in it NOW. If you doubt my word, just have a look in the windows of the Real- Estate offices in the town and count the number of BMWs and Mercedes.
Domme was founded in the late 13th century and played a pivotal role in both the 100 years war and the wars of religion. Those ramparts, that now afford a breathtaking view across the valley, provided a strategic advantage to control the region. Those gates that now welcome visitors from all over the world, once withstood the sustained attacks of the enemy.
Meandering through this little jewel, I was reminded of how harsh the life in these medieval walled towns and amused at how they have been transformed. How I wish I had seen Domme before the "beautification". How I wish I could have visited Domme at the turn of the century, or even the inter-war years, when there was still some degree of authenticity. I only want a small degree of authenticity, of course: I would not be interested in visiting a hill-town so authentic that I would have to suffer the smells of open sewers and unwashed bodies, or step over the plague-ridden bloated corpses and would have to use the potties under the bed.
Don't get the impression that Domme is a dark walled city; it is quite the opposite. With the exception of the church, most buildings are only two stories high, which means that even in the gloomiest weather there is an enormous amount of light. There are two large, open squares. This is a small village, but never it feels like a prison, you never feel contained by the ramparts.
I really loved the town and would recommend it as an almost perfect base to explore the Dordogne. I say "almost", as I was there in late April when there were few tourists. I imagine that it must be crowded and very hot during the summer months.
That first evening, it rained quite heavily and I had only a short time to explore. Over the following days, however, I had ample time to enjoy it in the early morning, when it was empty, and the late afternoon when the late Spring sun turned the yellow stone of the houses to a light gold.
There are so many colours! They say that the English are the best gardeners, but I think the French are Masters at container gardening: They can grow the most spectacularly colourful and exotic arrangements out of a tiny piece of clay. In front of every house there was a cacophony of colour and texture arranged so well that you would almost think that it had been shipped in fresh from the florist that morning, yet so wonderfully naturalistic that you knew it had been there for decades. The moss was thick, dark green and embedded on the walls yet from the small crevices between the stones, other strange, unfamiliar plants fought for supremacy and added their own personality to the walls.
Against the backdrop of the golden stone and the lush greens of moss and trees, shades of mauves, purples, reds, yellows and pinks fought for recognition. Wisteria draped the houses and grew wild in vacant lots. The pattern of planting appears to be random, some plants have been there a long time and some are new. Some are native and some are exotic. It is an inspiration for the impressionist painter and a Missoni sweater.
And then there were the smells! The heavy rains had unleashed the powerful aroma of the earth and the plants. The town was filled with the sickly sweet cloying smell of wisteria in bloom ? I love the plant but hate the smell. The earth smelt rich but subtle, quite unlike the deep, black, peaty smell of the Irish soil. Every house had its own particular selection of plants and its own unique perfume. A blind drunken man could probably find his way home after a night of carousing just by following his nose.
The architectural textures in Domme, and in all the towns I visited in the Dordogne, are captivating. There is, of course, little in the way of intricate architectural detail in Domme. It is a fortress, not a pleasure palace. It was built for defense and not delight. But there is so much texture in the rough-hewn yellow stone and the oddly curved roofs with their undulating, irregular tiles of burnt sienna. The doorways fascinated me. If you can view the pictures you will see how the builders made the doorways a feature, carefully framing the door in a formal style that is at odds with the confusion of irregular stone that surrounds it. To me this says that outside, confusion and chaos may reign, but enter this doorway and you will find order, peace and tranquility.
On that first afternoon, with its overcast skies and the rain pelting down, I just had to go shopping. I bought an umbrella and a hat. The choice of an umbrella took about 30 seconds, but the hat purchase took over 30 minutes. I was considered a Basque beret, but I thought I looked too much like an Irish terrorist in it, so I eventually decided on a man's " India Jones" type hat in cotton.
I then visited one of several food shops in the town and spent a delightful 30 minutes listening to the stories behind my purchases, only half of which I could understand, as it was all conducted in French. I bought bottle of truffle oil and vinegar, plain honey and honey with walnuts, a bottle of walnut oil and two bottles of Cahors wine that were destined never to see the shores of Canada as I consumed them even before I left Domme.
Back to the hotel for a bath and to rearrange my insane itinerary for the next few days
Next: A delightful dinner in L'Esplanade and a breathtaking meander along the Dordogne
Here are my pictures of Domme. If the link does not work, please send me a note and I will forward an invitation to view ([email protected])
http://www.ofoto.com/BrowsePhotos.js...mttlf&Ux=0
When I visit these picturesque hill-towns (Bastides), with their wisteria-draped dwellings, their winding streets, twee tourist shops and spectacular, panoramic vistas, it is often difficult to come to terms with the rather awful circumstances that necessitated them to be built. It is tempting to imagine that a consortium of 13th century property developers picked the site for its extraordinary natural beauty and then built an exclusive gated community for the well-heeled medieval merchant class so they could live far above the stinking peasants down below in the valley. Of course, we all know that this was not true THEN, but there is some truth in it NOW. If you doubt my word, just have a look in the windows of the Real- Estate offices in the town and count the number of BMWs and Mercedes.
Domme was founded in the late 13th century and played a pivotal role in both the 100 years war and the wars of religion. Those ramparts, that now afford a breathtaking view across the valley, provided a strategic advantage to control the region. Those gates that now welcome visitors from all over the world, once withstood the sustained attacks of the enemy.
Meandering through this little jewel, I was reminded of how harsh the life in these medieval walled towns and amused at how they have been transformed. How I wish I had seen Domme before the "beautification". How I wish I could have visited Domme at the turn of the century, or even the inter-war years, when there was still some degree of authenticity. I only want a small degree of authenticity, of course: I would not be interested in visiting a hill-town so authentic that I would have to suffer the smells of open sewers and unwashed bodies, or step over the plague-ridden bloated corpses and would have to use the potties under the bed.
Don't get the impression that Domme is a dark walled city; it is quite the opposite. With the exception of the church, most buildings are only two stories high, which means that even in the gloomiest weather there is an enormous amount of light. There are two large, open squares. This is a small village, but never it feels like a prison, you never feel contained by the ramparts.
I really loved the town and would recommend it as an almost perfect base to explore the Dordogne. I say "almost", as I was there in late April when there were few tourists. I imagine that it must be crowded and very hot during the summer months.
That first evening, it rained quite heavily and I had only a short time to explore. Over the following days, however, I had ample time to enjoy it in the early morning, when it was empty, and the late afternoon when the late Spring sun turned the yellow stone of the houses to a light gold.
There are so many colours! They say that the English are the best gardeners, but I think the French are Masters at container gardening: They can grow the most spectacularly colourful and exotic arrangements out of a tiny piece of clay. In front of every house there was a cacophony of colour and texture arranged so well that you would almost think that it had been shipped in fresh from the florist that morning, yet so wonderfully naturalistic that you knew it had been there for decades. The moss was thick, dark green and embedded on the walls yet from the small crevices between the stones, other strange, unfamiliar plants fought for supremacy and added their own personality to the walls.
Against the backdrop of the golden stone and the lush greens of moss and trees, shades of mauves, purples, reds, yellows and pinks fought for recognition. Wisteria draped the houses and grew wild in vacant lots. The pattern of planting appears to be random, some plants have been there a long time and some are new. Some are native and some are exotic. It is an inspiration for the impressionist painter and a Missoni sweater.
And then there were the smells! The heavy rains had unleashed the powerful aroma of the earth and the plants. The town was filled with the sickly sweet cloying smell of wisteria in bloom ? I love the plant but hate the smell. The earth smelt rich but subtle, quite unlike the deep, black, peaty smell of the Irish soil. Every house had its own particular selection of plants and its own unique perfume. A blind drunken man could probably find his way home after a night of carousing just by following his nose.
The architectural textures in Domme, and in all the towns I visited in the Dordogne, are captivating. There is, of course, little in the way of intricate architectural detail in Domme. It is a fortress, not a pleasure palace. It was built for defense and not delight. But there is so much texture in the rough-hewn yellow stone and the oddly curved roofs with their undulating, irregular tiles of burnt sienna. The doorways fascinated me. If you can view the pictures you will see how the builders made the doorways a feature, carefully framing the door in a formal style that is at odds with the confusion of irregular stone that surrounds it. To me this says that outside, confusion and chaos may reign, but enter this doorway and you will find order, peace and tranquility.
On that first afternoon, with its overcast skies and the rain pelting down, I just had to go shopping. I bought an umbrella and a hat. The choice of an umbrella took about 30 seconds, but the hat purchase took over 30 minutes. I was considered a Basque beret, but I thought I looked too much like an Irish terrorist in it, so I eventually decided on a man's " India Jones" type hat in cotton.
I then visited one of several food shops in the town and spent a delightful 30 minutes listening to the stories behind my purchases, only half of which I could understand, as it was all conducted in French. I bought bottle of truffle oil and vinegar, plain honey and honey with walnuts, a bottle of walnut oil and two bottles of Cahors wine that were destined never to see the shores of Canada as I consumed them even before I left Domme.
Back to the hotel for a bath and to rearrange my insane itinerary for the next few days
Next: A delightful dinner in L'Esplanade and a breathtaking meander along the Dordogne
May 12th, 2004, 08:35 AM
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As a long ago English major, I love your descriptions. Now I'm looking forward to seeing the gardens and blooming containers. Do I understand you are from Ireland? After 2 weeks in Ireland we were to fly out 9/12/01 and ended up with another week in Dublin. The Irish people were absolutely wonderful. I was glad to hear you say there weren't crowds of tourists at the end of April as that's when I'm planning my trip.
May 12th, 2004, 09:04 AM
#25
Ger, you've inspired me to visit, if time allows, Domme, dubbed the Acropolis of the Dordogne, on the way to Poitiers.
Henry Miller wrote that in Domme he'd found the closest thing to an earthly paradise.
Henry Miller wrote that in Domme he'd found the closest thing to an earthly paradise.
May 12th, 2004, 12:45 PM
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Mimi: I am so happy for you. Will you say in the area or just visit for the day? I agree with Mr. Miller
Hopingtotravel: Yes, I am originally form Ireland and now live in Canada. If I remember, you are in Alaska? You will definately understand how my heart leaps at the sight of green things growing. When I left Toronto, my garden was only beginning to wake after the longest, hardest winter I can remember.
regards ... Ger
Hopingtotravel: Yes, I am originally form Ireland and now live in Canada. If I remember, you are in Alaska? You will definately understand how my heart leaps at the sight of green things growing. When I left Toronto, my garden was only beginning to wake after the longest, hardest winter I can remember.
regards ... Ger
May 12th, 2004, 06:08 PM
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Ger your descriptions combined with St. Cirq's info are inspiring me to add the Dordogne somehow to my trip plans. Yes, south central AK. 2 wks ago got our spring garden fix by visiting Victoria. Husband had Canadian relatives so it was an easy place to get him to visit even though they're gone.
May 13th, 2004, 04:49 AM
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Dinner at L'Esplanade
I got back to the hotel and poured myself a long glass of '96 Cahors. I opened the window and moved the table up to it, so I could enjoy the view and listen to the rain. I had asked for help, on the Fodor's and Francophile board, to re-arrange my insane driving itinerary and you came through for me. Many thanks to all that offered advice. I dialed into the 'net and picked up the suggestions, so I could consider them over dinner.
The dining room in L'Esplanade is very pretty and not too formal. Even if I had been dining in a shed, it would still have been a pleasant experience because the large windows look out over the valley. The skies had cleared and there was still enough light to enjoy the vista.
I started with a coupe de Champagne, as usual J The fixed price menus are from 40 to 47 Euros for a starter, main course of meat or fish, desert or cheese and a coffee. I ordered the Foie Gras to start, followed by the lamb chops and a Grand Marnier Soufflé. I asked the Maitre D'b to choose a half-bottle of Cahors (25 Euros) and it was excellent.
I have to admit that I have never REALLY tasted foie gras before; I certainly have never ordered it because of the usual objection to the method of production. I had taken little samples, when others had ordered it, but swallowed quickly and willed myself to dislike it. But I was in the Perigord, how could I NOT try foie gras!. As that first sliver melted on my tongue, releasing its subtle and divine flavour, I was in ecstasy. I closed my eyes to relish the taste and sighed with pleasure. Opps, sorry, I don?t want this thread pulled due to pornographic content. When I opened my eyes, there was the Maitre D' standing in front of me, sporting a broad grin. "Its wonderful, isn't it?" he said. I couldn't speak, I just nodded in affirmation. I briefly considered canceling all the other courses and devouring foie gras for the remainder of the evening.
While waiting for the main course, I surveyed the other diners. There were only four other tables occupied: three by French and one by an English couple. I had changed for dinner but my fellow-diners had not. They were dressed very casually indeed. The men were dressed as my husband dresses for a day of golfing and the women were dressed to walk the dogs. I was a bit miffed. Personally, I think that if the chef makes an effort to produce good food and the serving staff provide excellent service then it is only a mark of respect, for the diners to dress appropriately. Just as well I had not packed the O'Reilly tiara. J
The lamb was perfectly cooked, but not wonderful. This was the fourth time I had ordered lamb in France and been under-whelmed, and all I can say is that this may be one area in the culinary arena where the Irish have an advantage over the French. Lord, even saying that I am afraid that I might be black-listed by the French government and never allowed back in. The best lamb I have ever tasted was Irish spring lamb in early April; I grew up on it. It has a sweetness and saltiness that is divine. Coupled with a plate of new, baby potatoes, the size of large marbles, there is no finer culinary delight. Second best is a lamb from Quebec, Canada, that is reared on the northern shores, by the sea. Third place goes to Catalonia. The only reason I don?t rate New Zealand lamb as number one (apologies to NZ, it is probably your rightful place) is that I have never had the opportunity to taste it new and fresh. Anyway, I was not disappointed, as I was compensated by an overwhelming feeling of national pride on behalf of both my birth and adopted nations. I was also relieved that I did not feel compelled to be very rude and take the chops into my hands and suck every piece of meat off the bones. Mammy would have been appalled!
The waiter asked me if I was sure I didn't want the cheese course. The chair groaned beneath me, pleading with me to refuse, which I did.
The Grand Marnier soufflé was as light as a feather and served with a thimble-full of the nectar itself. I had a café, because I needed it. I had had a large glass of wine in the room before dinner, a glass of champagne, a half bottle of Cahors (not finished) and a taste of Grand Marnier. I needed the café just to remember my room number.
I was stuffed to the gills and just a tiny bit inebriated. I swayed out of the restaurant like the stuffed goose I had devoured. I could not continue eating like this for the remainder of the weekend!
Just before falling into bed, I stood at the window to enjoy a great lightening storm. The flashes lit up the valley in negative and the rain poured straight down. I left the windows open and fell asleep to the sounds of torrential ran and the smell of rich earth. I was comatose within minutes.
Next: A drive around the Dordogne
Regards Ger
I got back to the hotel and poured myself a long glass of '96 Cahors. I opened the window and moved the table up to it, so I could enjoy the view and listen to the rain. I had asked for help, on the Fodor's and Francophile board, to re-arrange my insane driving itinerary and you came through for me. Many thanks to all that offered advice. I dialed into the 'net and picked up the suggestions, so I could consider them over dinner.
The dining room in L'Esplanade is very pretty and not too formal. Even if I had been dining in a shed, it would still have been a pleasant experience because the large windows look out over the valley. The skies had cleared and there was still enough light to enjoy the vista.
I started with a coupe de Champagne, as usual J The fixed price menus are from 40 to 47 Euros for a starter, main course of meat or fish, desert or cheese and a coffee. I ordered the Foie Gras to start, followed by the lamb chops and a Grand Marnier Soufflé. I asked the Maitre D'b to choose a half-bottle of Cahors (25 Euros) and it was excellent.
I have to admit that I have never REALLY tasted foie gras before; I certainly have never ordered it because of the usual objection to the method of production. I had taken little samples, when others had ordered it, but swallowed quickly and willed myself to dislike it. But I was in the Perigord, how could I NOT try foie gras!. As that first sliver melted on my tongue, releasing its subtle and divine flavour, I was in ecstasy. I closed my eyes to relish the taste and sighed with pleasure. Opps, sorry, I don?t want this thread pulled due to pornographic content. When I opened my eyes, there was the Maitre D' standing in front of me, sporting a broad grin. "Its wonderful, isn't it?" he said. I couldn't speak, I just nodded in affirmation. I briefly considered canceling all the other courses and devouring foie gras for the remainder of the evening.
While waiting for the main course, I surveyed the other diners. There were only four other tables occupied: three by French and one by an English couple. I had changed for dinner but my fellow-diners had not. They were dressed very casually indeed. The men were dressed as my husband dresses for a day of golfing and the women were dressed to walk the dogs. I was a bit miffed. Personally, I think that if the chef makes an effort to produce good food and the serving staff provide excellent service then it is only a mark of respect, for the diners to dress appropriately. Just as well I had not packed the O'Reilly tiara. J
The lamb was perfectly cooked, but not wonderful. This was the fourth time I had ordered lamb in France and been under-whelmed, and all I can say is that this may be one area in the culinary arena where the Irish have an advantage over the French. Lord, even saying that I am afraid that I might be black-listed by the French government and never allowed back in. The best lamb I have ever tasted was Irish spring lamb in early April; I grew up on it. It has a sweetness and saltiness that is divine. Coupled with a plate of new, baby potatoes, the size of large marbles, there is no finer culinary delight. Second best is a lamb from Quebec, Canada, that is reared on the northern shores, by the sea. Third place goes to Catalonia. The only reason I don?t rate New Zealand lamb as number one (apologies to NZ, it is probably your rightful place) is that I have never had the opportunity to taste it new and fresh. Anyway, I was not disappointed, as I was compensated by an overwhelming feeling of national pride on behalf of both my birth and adopted nations. I was also relieved that I did not feel compelled to be very rude and take the chops into my hands and suck every piece of meat off the bones. Mammy would have been appalled!
The waiter asked me if I was sure I didn't want the cheese course. The chair groaned beneath me, pleading with me to refuse, which I did.
The Grand Marnier soufflé was as light as a feather and served with a thimble-full of the nectar itself. I had a café, because I needed it. I had had a large glass of wine in the room before dinner, a glass of champagne, a half bottle of Cahors (not finished) and a taste of Grand Marnier. I needed the café just to remember my room number.
I was stuffed to the gills and just a tiny bit inebriated. I swayed out of the restaurant like the stuffed goose I had devoured. I could not continue eating like this for the remainder of the weekend!
Just before falling into bed, I stood at the window to enjoy a great lightening storm. The flashes lit up the valley in negative and the rain poured straight down. I left the windows open and fell asleep to the sounds of torrential ran and the smell of rich earth. I was comatose within minutes.
Next: A drive around the Dordogne
Regards Ger
May 14th, 2004, 06:49 AM
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Driving through the Dordogne
I woke at 5am and looked out the window. The fog was thick as pea-soup and the valley completely obliterated. This would not be a good day to tour the area, I thought. I got onto the web and the weather forecast site declared that it would be sunny today. I was a little worried, but what could I do? There are great rewards in traveling in Spring and there are also risks! If you visit a city, you can have alternate plans for rainy, overcast days; museums, art galleries, shopping. If you are in the country, you work with what you have.
I woke again at 7:30, by which time some of the mist had cleared and I could at least make out the outline of the landscape. I left the hotel at 8:30 and explored the town again. It was market day in Domme and the stall-holders were setting out their wares. There was a wide variety of goods on offer. There were the food purveyors ? cheese, wine, oils, pates; and the sellers of tourist trinkets ? jewelry, souvenirs, rocks. Oddly, there was a guy selling mattresses; who in the world would drive all the way to Domme on a rainy day to buy a mattress?
I am quite sure that if I visited Domme in the height of the tourist season, its charm would be a little compromised by busloads of tourists in search of trinkets and locals in search of the perfect orthopedic mattress. However, on this rainy Thursday morning in April, it was delightful and charming. I should have driven off, but I could not resist wandering around the town for an hour. The wisteria draped the porticos of the houses and the bunches hung heavy with the rain from the night before, in shades from the lightest mauve to darkest purple. The tiny gardens in front of the houses, in containers and pots, with their variety of plants from the tropical to the temperate climes, were lustrous. The village is beautiful, even without the added greenery. Each little house is a treasure. The warmth of the rough yellow stone and the artistry of the roof structures border on the twee, until you remember that this village was built over 600 years ago. This IS a tourist town, and the number of souvenir shops, selling baubles, far exceed the number of shops selling consumer goods prove that. But it is beautiful.
I finally dragged myself away and drove to La Roque-Gageac. It is very easy to find your way around this area. Signposting is immaculate. Discard your maps, as they will only confuse you ? just follow the signs. As in Ireland, you can't get lost for long and getting lost is a pleasant adventure.
La Roque-Gageac
Photos:
http://www.ofoto.com/BrowsePhotos.js...dtrue&Ux=0
It was an enjoyable 15 minute drive to La Rocque, along very good roads. The main road runs between the village and the river and the parking lot is on your left. La Roque is hardly large enough to be called a village, it?s a group of buildings climbing up a cliff, like a cardboard cut-out. There was no room to grow out, so it grew up along the rock-face instead. It was more wonderful than I expected. The stone houses are enough to draw you there, but it has an added surprise. Lining the tiny winding, climbing passageways, there are exotic tropical plants, bamboos, flowering climbers and tall grasses, from a far warmer climate.
As I ascended through the steep passageways, the sun made a brief appearance and the steam rose up from the ground. The warm, humid air was filled with a heady scent of strongly perfumed flowers and tropical vegetation. It triggered some memory in my senses and it took me several minutes to remember where I had smelt that aroma before. Then it suddenly came to me. It was in Singapore, many years ago, when I had taken a terrifying overhead funicular to visit the tropical gardens. The memories came flooding back to me and I remembered so clearly that strange and exotic smell of the tropics. Isn't it wonderful when a smell awakes a forgotten memory? Here I was in the Dordogne, a decade and continents away from Singapore, and yet the smells brought back memories far stronger than a picture ever could.
I had considered staying at the Belle Etoile, but was now glad I had not. In addition to being completely satisfied with L'Esplanade, the Belle Etoile is right on the main road. Even on that day in late April, there were quite a few large tour busses thundering through. Also, I loved Domme and La Roque was too tiny to suit me.
Next: On to Castelnaud
Regards Ger
I woke at 5am and looked out the window. The fog was thick as pea-soup and the valley completely obliterated. This would not be a good day to tour the area, I thought. I got onto the web and the weather forecast site declared that it would be sunny today. I was a little worried, but what could I do? There are great rewards in traveling in Spring and there are also risks! If you visit a city, you can have alternate plans for rainy, overcast days; museums, art galleries, shopping. If you are in the country, you work with what you have.
I woke again at 7:30, by which time some of the mist had cleared and I could at least make out the outline of the landscape. I left the hotel at 8:30 and explored the town again. It was market day in Domme and the stall-holders were setting out their wares. There was a wide variety of goods on offer. There were the food purveyors ? cheese, wine, oils, pates; and the sellers of tourist trinkets ? jewelry, souvenirs, rocks. Oddly, there was a guy selling mattresses; who in the world would drive all the way to Domme on a rainy day to buy a mattress?
I am quite sure that if I visited Domme in the height of the tourist season, its charm would be a little compromised by busloads of tourists in search of trinkets and locals in search of the perfect orthopedic mattress. However, on this rainy Thursday morning in April, it was delightful and charming. I should have driven off, but I could not resist wandering around the town for an hour. The wisteria draped the porticos of the houses and the bunches hung heavy with the rain from the night before, in shades from the lightest mauve to darkest purple. The tiny gardens in front of the houses, in containers and pots, with their variety of plants from the tropical to the temperate climes, were lustrous. The village is beautiful, even without the added greenery. Each little house is a treasure. The warmth of the rough yellow stone and the artistry of the roof structures border on the twee, until you remember that this village was built over 600 years ago. This IS a tourist town, and the number of souvenir shops, selling baubles, far exceed the number of shops selling consumer goods prove that. But it is beautiful.
I finally dragged myself away and drove to La Roque-Gageac. It is very easy to find your way around this area. Signposting is immaculate. Discard your maps, as they will only confuse you ? just follow the signs. As in Ireland, you can't get lost for long and getting lost is a pleasant adventure.
La Roque-Gageac
Photos:
http://www.ofoto.com/BrowsePhotos.js...dtrue&Ux=0
It was an enjoyable 15 minute drive to La Rocque, along very good roads. The main road runs between the village and the river and the parking lot is on your left. La Roque is hardly large enough to be called a village, it?s a group of buildings climbing up a cliff, like a cardboard cut-out. There was no room to grow out, so it grew up along the rock-face instead. It was more wonderful than I expected. The stone houses are enough to draw you there, but it has an added surprise. Lining the tiny winding, climbing passageways, there are exotic tropical plants, bamboos, flowering climbers and tall grasses, from a far warmer climate.
As I ascended through the steep passageways, the sun made a brief appearance and the steam rose up from the ground. The warm, humid air was filled with a heady scent of strongly perfumed flowers and tropical vegetation. It triggered some memory in my senses and it took me several minutes to remember where I had smelt that aroma before. Then it suddenly came to me. It was in Singapore, many years ago, when I had taken a terrifying overhead funicular to visit the tropical gardens. The memories came flooding back to me and I remembered so clearly that strange and exotic smell of the tropics. Isn't it wonderful when a smell awakes a forgotten memory? Here I was in the Dordogne, a decade and continents away from Singapore, and yet the smells brought back memories far stronger than a picture ever could.
I had considered staying at the Belle Etoile, but was now glad I had not. In addition to being completely satisfied with L'Esplanade, the Belle Etoile is right on the main road. Even on that day in late April, there were quite a few large tour busses thundering through. Also, I loved Domme and La Roque was too tiny to suit me.
Next: On to Castelnaud
Regards Ger
May 24th, 2004, 11:16 AM
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Ger - I'm dying for the next installment of your report. My wife and 3 girls are heading from Toronto to France for a month including a week in the Dordogne starting the end of June. I am in the process of doing thread searches and was enjoying your narrative.
Cheers,
Geoff
Cheers,
Geoff
May 31st, 2004, 10:19 AM
#36
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Sorry for the delay. here is the next installment.
regards ...Ger
**************************************
Castelnaud
http://www.ofoto.com/BrowsePhotos.js...spog6&Ux=0
It is impossible to miss Catelnaud. It stands proudly and aggressively on top of one of the highest points in the region. This brooding mass of stone and slate suffered centuries of warfare and changed hands between the Cathars and the Crown, the English and the French and was finally abandoned after the Revolution and reconstructed in the 1960s. It has lost none of its menace over the centuries.
The village is surprisingly pretty with the ever-present planter boxes and wisteria. The castle itself is disturbing. On entering the castle, you proceed up the narrowest of stone spiral staircase, through the turret. I don?t know about you, but I have a morbid terror of these spiral staircases. My overactive imagination sensed an evil, as if the stones themselves still harbor the violence and hatred of old.
The castle houses a siege warfare museum, complete with armor, weaponry and giant sling-shots. This is a most perfect destination for those of you with young boys (have them watch "Timeline" before they go ? dreadful movie, but I believe this or Beynac was the castle featured). The day I was there, young French boys were shouting abuse and raining arrows down from the parapets, on the imaginary English battalions below. For the adults, there is a superb panoramic view from parapets.
Beynac et Cazenec
http://www.ofoto.com/BrowsePhotos.js...jcg3m&Ux=0
Another Dordogne jewel! The village is larger and prettier than its rival across the river. The best features of this town are the steeply pitched roofs and the interplay of the sharp angles of the buildings, with the curving streets. The winding streets are quite steep and I suggest you take every opportunity to stop and admire the views as you try to catch your breath and give your aching legs time to recover. I encourage you to climb all the way up to the castle, where you will find a restaurant with an outside terrace that would be a pleasant place to stop for a drink. There is a prehistoric museum and archeological site in the town and of course, the castle itself. I decided to forgo all three and move on.
I had originally intended to continue along the Dordogne, but received excellent advice, from St. Cirq, to drive south to Monpazier and Cadouin.
I drove toward Belves and then took the D53 to Monpazier. The drive brings you into the deep countryside and, although it had started to rain, it was a very pleasant drive through forests and pastures. I passed barely a soul on the road.
Monpazier
http://www.ofoto.com/BrowsePhotos.js...1f4jb&Ux=0
I often find I disagree with the guide books on priorities (the MUST SEEs) and this was no exception. Michelin rates Monpazier as a one star attraction (their definition is: "interesting", but don?t go out of your way). Luckily, St. Cirq had steered me to it and she was absolutely right. Monpazier, in my estimation, is a "must see" in this area. It is also an interesting contrast to the confined, winding street pattern of Le Roque, Domme, Beynac and it was refreshing to see it on the same day. It is another bastide town, like Domme, but laid out in a grid pattern; lovers of Aigue-Mort will adore it and I think it is even slightly better. It has a large, central town square, flanked by arched porticos, that offer shade and trade, occupied by pretty craft shops and restaurants. I was dizzy with delight at the abundance of architectural periods and details J
Cadouin
http://www.ofoto.com/BrowsePhotos.js...9ibx4&Ux=0
On to the last stop on my journey, the abbey at Cadouin, a short drive from Monpazier. Cadouin itself is a rather ordinary village and the austere exterior of the church offers no hint of the delights inside. The exterior is stunning, powerful and wonderfully symmetrical but there is nothing pretty or pleasing about the façade; it is serviceable and strong and very Cistercian. The interior cloisters, however, are Flamboyantly Gothic (I did not realize that was a Style, apparently it is; just think Gothic on speed!) The cloisters are worth the trip to Cadouin. I won't try to describe it, see the pictures. Better, see the original!
At this point, I had to end my very long day in the Dordogne. I had been a glutton, and I was so full of information and experiences that I felt every one of my senses was exhausted and over-stretched. I had started the day in Domme, had seen La Roque-Gageac, Castelnaud, Beynac et Cazenec, Monpazier, Cadouin. I was overdosed on history, architecture and nature. I could not accommodate one more smidgen of loveliness. I was completely and utterly satiated. I was gorged, like a foie gras goose.
I made my way back to L'Esplanade, but decide not to dine in the restaurant, just because I wanted to sample the fare in another restaurant. I wandered around the town for 15 minutes, looking for a restaurant, and soon discovered that on a Thursday night, in off season, most restaurants in Domme only open for lunch. The driving rain, that soon became a thunderstorm, drove me into the only restaurant that was open, beside the Town Hall.
It was a simple, but pleasant, restaurant. The menu I chose was 25 Euros, the half bottle of Cahors 9 Euros. The food was good, not great, the only problem being that I had wrongly-translated the starter. I thought I ordered a pate. As I sipped my wine, I smelt the starter as it made its way to my table, and it was NOT pate. Holy Mother, it was fried duck livers! My stomach heaved. I love all types of food from all corners of the earth, but there are some flavors, textures and smells that I can't abide. Escargots are garden slugs, and I can't get beyond that image. Fried chicken/duck livers are treats that I serve my doggies, I can't get beyond that image either. The smiling waitress presented me with a doggie treat. I suppose I could have just shoved it aside, but that would have been rude. Given the choice between being rude and eating fried duck livers, I had to eat the livers. Fried duck livers taste far better than they smell, but not so good that I will ever want to eat them again. Also, I told myself, as I was pushing them down, according to homeopathic principles, you should eat what ails you. Given the amount of wine I had already consumed, and the amount I intended to consume, the consumption of duck livers was a tonic for my own liver. I ate exactly ? of the liver, just enough to be polite. The main course of duck breast, was quite good. It was not a great meal, it was sustenance, that?s all. I would have done better to eat at L'Esplanade.
Next: Font de Gaume and Sarlet
regards ...Ger
**************************************
Castelnaud
http://www.ofoto.com/BrowsePhotos.js...spog6&Ux=0
It is impossible to miss Catelnaud. It stands proudly and aggressively on top of one of the highest points in the region. This brooding mass of stone and slate suffered centuries of warfare and changed hands between the Cathars and the Crown, the English and the French and was finally abandoned after the Revolution and reconstructed in the 1960s. It has lost none of its menace over the centuries.
The village is surprisingly pretty with the ever-present planter boxes and wisteria. The castle itself is disturbing. On entering the castle, you proceed up the narrowest of stone spiral staircase, through the turret. I don?t know about you, but I have a morbid terror of these spiral staircases. My overactive imagination sensed an evil, as if the stones themselves still harbor the violence and hatred of old.
The castle houses a siege warfare museum, complete with armor, weaponry and giant sling-shots. This is a most perfect destination for those of you with young boys (have them watch "Timeline" before they go ? dreadful movie, but I believe this or Beynac was the castle featured). The day I was there, young French boys were shouting abuse and raining arrows down from the parapets, on the imaginary English battalions below. For the adults, there is a superb panoramic view from parapets.
Beynac et Cazenec
http://www.ofoto.com/BrowsePhotos.js...jcg3m&Ux=0
Another Dordogne jewel! The village is larger and prettier than its rival across the river. The best features of this town are the steeply pitched roofs and the interplay of the sharp angles of the buildings, with the curving streets. The winding streets are quite steep and I suggest you take every opportunity to stop and admire the views as you try to catch your breath and give your aching legs time to recover. I encourage you to climb all the way up to the castle, where you will find a restaurant with an outside terrace that would be a pleasant place to stop for a drink. There is a prehistoric museum and archeological site in the town and of course, the castle itself. I decided to forgo all three and move on.
I had originally intended to continue along the Dordogne, but received excellent advice, from St. Cirq, to drive south to Monpazier and Cadouin.
I drove toward Belves and then took the D53 to Monpazier. The drive brings you into the deep countryside and, although it had started to rain, it was a very pleasant drive through forests and pastures. I passed barely a soul on the road.
Monpazier
http://www.ofoto.com/BrowsePhotos.js...1f4jb&Ux=0
I often find I disagree with the guide books on priorities (the MUST SEEs) and this was no exception. Michelin rates Monpazier as a one star attraction (their definition is: "interesting", but don?t go out of your way). Luckily, St. Cirq had steered me to it and she was absolutely right. Monpazier, in my estimation, is a "must see" in this area. It is also an interesting contrast to the confined, winding street pattern of Le Roque, Domme, Beynac and it was refreshing to see it on the same day. It is another bastide town, like Domme, but laid out in a grid pattern; lovers of Aigue-Mort will adore it and I think it is even slightly better. It has a large, central town square, flanked by arched porticos, that offer shade and trade, occupied by pretty craft shops and restaurants. I was dizzy with delight at the abundance of architectural periods and details J
Cadouin
http://www.ofoto.com/BrowsePhotos.js...9ibx4&Ux=0
On to the last stop on my journey, the abbey at Cadouin, a short drive from Monpazier. Cadouin itself is a rather ordinary village and the austere exterior of the church offers no hint of the delights inside. The exterior is stunning, powerful and wonderfully symmetrical but there is nothing pretty or pleasing about the façade; it is serviceable and strong and very Cistercian. The interior cloisters, however, are Flamboyantly Gothic (I did not realize that was a Style, apparently it is; just think Gothic on speed!) The cloisters are worth the trip to Cadouin. I won't try to describe it, see the pictures. Better, see the original!
At this point, I had to end my very long day in the Dordogne. I had been a glutton, and I was so full of information and experiences that I felt every one of my senses was exhausted and over-stretched. I had started the day in Domme, had seen La Roque-Gageac, Castelnaud, Beynac et Cazenec, Monpazier, Cadouin. I was overdosed on history, architecture and nature. I could not accommodate one more smidgen of loveliness. I was completely and utterly satiated. I was gorged, like a foie gras goose.
I made my way back to L'Esplanade, but decide not to dine in the restaurant, just because I wanted to sample the fare in another restaurant. I wandered around the town for 15 minutes, looking for a restaurant, and soon discovered that on a Thursday night, in off season, most restaurants in Domme only open for lunch. The driving rain, that soon became a thunderstorm, drove me into the only restaurant that was open, beside the Town Hall.
It was a simple, but pleasant, restaurant. The menu I chose was 25 Euros, the half bottle of Cahors 9 Euros. The food was good, not great, the only problem being that I had wrongly-translated the starter. I thought I ordered a pate. As I sipped my wine, I smelt the starter as it made its way to my table, and it was NOT pate. Holy Mother, it was fried duck livers! My stomach heaved. I love all types of food from all corners of the earth, but there are some flavors, textures and smells that I can't abide. Escargots are garden slugs, and I can't get beyond that image. Fried chicken/duck livers are treats that I serve my doggies, I can't get beyond that image either. The smiling waitress presented me with a doggie treat. I suppose I could have just shoved it aside, but that would have been rude. Given the choice between being rude and eating fried duck livers, I had to eat the livers. Fried duck livers taste far better than they smell, but not so good that I will ever want to eat them again. Also, I told myself, as I was pushing them down, according to homeopathic principles, you should eat what ails you. Given the amount of wine I had already consumed, and the amount I intended to consume, the consumption of duck livers was a tonic for my own liver. I ate exactly ? of the liver, just enough to be polite. The main course of duck breast, was quite good. It was not a great meal, it was sustenance, that?s all. I would have done better to eat at L'Esplanade.
Next: Font de Gaume and Sarlet
May 31st, 2004, 11:47 AM
#37
while J. watches baseball on TV, I'm chuckling at your food responses. I do prefer the food of Provence but enjoyed trying evrything there, especially the walnuts coated with chocolate and the walnut wine.
May 31st, 2004, 12:09 PM
#38
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Hi Ger, I really appreciate you taking time to write such a great report. We will be in Beynac in a month, so this is great to read. Your report is helping me get a better idea of what to see and do. I know we will definitely patronize L'Esplanade!
May 31st, 2004, 03:31 PM
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Mimi: there are very few foods I won't eat, but I really do consider fried livers to be dog food
Wren: I am sure you will love the area. Have you picked up the Cadogan guide to Dordogne and Lot? Its an excellent guide book. L'Esplanade will not disappoint you.
regards Ger
Wren: I am sure you will love the area. Have you picked up the Cadogan guide to Dordogne and Lot? Its an excellent guide book. L'Esplanade will not disappoint you.
regards Ger
