Fodor's Travel Talk Forums - Live from St-Cirq

7/28/04

Roosters, streaming sunlight, and being off-schedule wake me at sunrise. There's a bit of mist in the valley, but already a flawless day is dawning in the Perigord. I wander downstairs and sit on the front steps and watch the pink tinge turn to bright orange and a flaming globe of sun float up over the horizon while an almost-full moon still hangs high in the sky. It's chilly, and sometime during the night I must have woken and put another blanket on the bed. Now I go to Taylor's room and put another on him, then I go back to sleep until 9:30, when I wake feeling fairly human.
We need to make another stab at the Intermarche, so we tool into town, noting that there is a new sign for some artist who apparently resides in St-Cirq now, plus a new store offering " produits du terroir" and degustations on the way into Le Bugue. The corn is high - at least 6 feet - so high that the little brick toolshed our neighbors have in the middle of one of the fields is covered up to its roof. It looks surreal - a floating roof in a sea of corn. The tobacco crop is suffering this year from the drought; there's been little rain since May except for several damaging storms. The farmers are looking haggard and resigned.
The Intermarche is still intensely crowded, but unlike a lot of people there, we know pretty much where everything is, so we can leave the cart stationed in the middle of the store and make forays to collect what we need - carrottes rappees, cornichons, ham, butter, garlic, tomatoes, mozarella, cabecous, and two bottles of Pecharmant (at 2,95 euros apiece). At the cash register we are informed that we must purchase bags now - no more freebies. I guess that went right over our heads last night when we were so jet-lagged. We just gathered our few items and threw them in my bag. We pay 33 cents apiece for 3 bags and now have to remember to have them in the car whenever we shop. We also now have a carte de fidelite, a store card that gets us "discounts" that non-cardholders aren't entitled to. Just like in America.
Back home we rinse the lettuce, spin it, and chill it while we melt the cabecou for a classic Perigourdin salad. We slice tomatoes and mozarella, pile on a few cornichons and some carrottes rappees, and a few slices of saucisson pur porc and a big dollop of mustard. Taylor has taken a bucket of soapy water and washed down the picnic table, which we haul out under the linden tree. We bring our goodies out to the table and have a delightful lunch listening to insects humming and birds fluttering and singing in the lush surrounds. Taylor is fascinated by what the French kids "borrow" from American culture. For some reason he is appalled by the fact that they are listening to "our" music and wearing t-shirts with "our" slogans and watching "our" tv shows. He is absolutely fixated on this topic and goes on and on - he just saw a boy wearing a t-shirt that said " Les Simpsons." He wants to know how they pronounce it - the American or the French way? He wants to know why they don't advertise their own shows. He wants to know why they adopt so many of our brand names like Mars Bars and Twix and M&Ms and so on, and why, even if they do, they pronounce them the way we do in America.
It's a rich topic and one I enjoy discussing. He thinks France should be French - I tell him that's essentially Jean-Marie Le Pen's platform, and why that's not necessarily a good thing. His perspective is interesting, though - he says he doesn't want to come all the way to France and see what he sees in America every day, and I have to agree. "They should outlaw MacDonalds in France," he says, and I tell him about Jose Bove. He concludes that blowing up MacDos is not the answer, but that the French should not be so swayed by American culture when they've got such a rich culture of their own. "They just think it's cool to borrow our ideas," he says, " just like you think it's cool to borrow French ideas." Sometimes 14-year-olds can really cut to the quick.
It's sizzling outside, not a cloud in the sky, and we jump in the pool and splash for awhile. Then, looking at the pathetic remains of our plastic pool furniture, we decide we need to throw all the broken chaises away ( how do renters smash up pool furniture like this?) and get new ones. So it's into town again.
In the past year, three new stores have opened in Le Bugue - an ALDI, a LIDL, and a nameless Dollar-Store-type place. All sell things at discount prices and generally want you to buy in bulk. We already had a Leader Price store, which was a discount bulk store, which historically has had very few customers compared to the Intermarche, which, while its prices are higher, has a better selection (and now with the carte de fidelite, customers may think they actually are getting some bargains there). I fail to see how these new stores are going to last. Even in high season- now - there are no more than a handful of cars in the parking lots. Yes, there are bargains, but you'd have to travel among the stores to know which had the best deal, and no one's got the time for that. Consequently, almost everyone ends up at the Intermarche, paying the higher prices.
Nonetheless, at the nameless Dollar-Store-type place, we find some neat fold-up chaises-longues, kind of like the chairs soccer moms pull out of bags and set up on the fieldsides, only bigger and sleeker. They're only 18 euros apiece, and they are incredibly comfortable.We buy two, thinking maybe we'll come back and buy another couple before we leave.
Then we meander over to Castelnaud, stopping at the little open-air shop right before the bridge to buy some chocolate-dusted walnuts and have a degustation of Pecharmant. We wander down to the beach at Castelnaud and skip stones and watch the bathers in the river, then go to Le Tournepique, which used to be one of my favorite restaurants in the area. It's changed hands in recent years, and we're curious to see if it's still as good. It's not. They have a "buffet" now, so when you order, for example, an assiette de crudites, you are directed to a stale-looking buffet with celeri remoulade and beets and cucumbers that all look wilted and old. My filet de rouget was oily and fishy-tasting, and the dessert was again from the "buffet," a crusty flan that was apparently a few days old. At 40 euros for the two of us for a simple dinner, it was not a bargain. Plus, service was slow and fairly incompetent, though I did note that the poor waitress had to deal with British, Dutch, and German customers who made zero attempt to speak French and yet all demanded explanations of the menu in their own languages, and she did a pretty admirable job of responding to those demands. Still, we won't be going back to the Tournepique anytime soon.
Back home by 9:30 p.m. (still light out). Get out the telescope but can't find all the pieces. The moon is almost full. Taylor swims under its light, I read, and by 10:30 when darkness falls and the cuckoos are calling, we trek upstairs and collapse for the night.