I see London, I see France... Nikki's trip report
Jul 25th, 2005, 01:00 AM
#22
Original Poster
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 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.
Jul 25th, 2005, 05:50 AM
#27
Original Poster
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.
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.
Jul 25th, 2005, 12:21 PM
#30
Original Poster
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.
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.
Jul 25th, 2005, 12:33 PM
#32
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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!
Jul 25th, 2005, 12:58 PM
#33
Original Poster
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.
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.
Jul 25th, 2005, 01:00 PM
#34
Original Poster
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.
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.
Jul 25th, 2005, 06:28 PM
#35
Original Poster
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.
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.
Jul 25th, 2005, 06:59 PM
#36
Original Poster
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.
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.
Jul 25th, 2005, 07:22 PM
#37
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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.
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.
Jul 26th, 2005, 02:40 AM
#38
Original Poster
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.
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.
Jul 26th, 2005, 02:40 AM
#39
Original Poster
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.
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.
