After four hectic, busy, incredibly amazing famous-art-viewing days in Paris I arrived in the Dordogne Valley via train – an easy, comfortable ride of about 5.5 hours southwest. My friend, Piu, who (whom? Gaah. I never remember which is correct!) I met in Pokhara, Nepal, met me at the station and brought me to his self-built cozy log and stone cabin in Simeyrol, a tiny “hamlet” (according to maps.me app) in the Perigord Valley and the Aquitaine region of the Dordogne Valley, home to about 260 lucky residents who enjoy lush fields of green, rolling hills, clear skies at night and overall peace and quiet.
As a paraglide pilot running his own tandem flight company for the past 22 years in this beautiful valley, Piu had cautioned me that he would be crazy busy working while I was visiting. This time of year was the busiest of all for him, as pretty much the entire country of France goes on “holiday”, many of them Parisians that flock to this area for the beauty and quiet it offers. He promised to take off a couple of days during my stay so that he could spend time with me but expected me to be self-sufficient and enjoy myself.
He created a list for me of things to do and places to go (a list of stuff to do – oh be still, my beating heart! I love lists!!!), handed me his car keys and a key for the front door, and sent me out to go/do/be in the Dordogne. (PS – he never mentioned the car was a stick-shift. Guess everyone in Europe drives ‘em, and thankfully, my first car was a manual. It took me a minute or ten, but I got the hang of it again. Like riding a bicycle…I’ve always said, you need to know how to drive a stick and you need to know how to swim, even if you never plan to do either.)
My first item on the list was to visit the famous caves of Lascaux. Discovered in 1940 by 4 teenage boys and their trusty dog, Robot, they were hiking in the woods in Montignac looking for treasure. They found an incredible treasure (probably not the one they set out to find) when Robot found a hole in the ground left by an uprooted tree which led underground to a series of caves. The most incredible part of this discovery was that the ceilings of these caves were covered with artwork dating back over 17,000 years and offered an incredible display of over 600 paintings and nearly 1500 engravings decorating the interior walls. One of the drawings, that of a black bull, is thought to be the largest single image found in any prehistoric cave worldwide. The caves were opened to the public in 1948, but due to changes in the cave’s atmosphere from the influx of people which led to damage to the artwork, Lascaux was closed in 1963. A replica of the cave was opened in 1983 to allow visitors to experience the beauty and majesty of the original caves, and the caves themselves were declared a World Heritage Site by UNESCO in 1979. The attraction I visited was not the original cave (as it is still closed) but a multi-media rendition of the caves with interactive 3-D movie, an art exhibit that is inspired by the cave and its drawings, and a computer tablet driven tour that allows you to discover so much about the caves as you move about.
After such an enormously interesting and historical afternoon, I headed to the tiny village of Saint-Geniès. Featuring a lovely stone church, Notre Dame de l’Assumption built in the 12th century, and a castle, these and the homes surrounding them in this valley have traditional layered stone roofs called “luaze” and are built with a golden sandstone, giving them all a soft warm glow. A lavender bush was flowering nearby, and I helped myself to a few stems of the fragrant pale purple flowers. I wandered around the streets that curled and climbed around the beautiful ancient homes, stopping in at the church, climbing up to another chapel that was perched on a hillside, and found my way to Boulangerie Margot, a pleasant bakery selling tarts, breads, and pastries. I chose a pâtisserie aux pommes (apple pastry) and a loaf of crusty French bread to bring back for dinner, and found a bench on the sidewalk outside to eat my flaky treat.
After a bit more wandering about, I headed back to the car to return to Simeyrol. But before pulling into the driveway, I looked for the field of sunflowers that Piu and I had passed on his motorcycle the night before on our way to the village for dinner. That night, the sunflowers with their uplifted faces were crowned by hot air balloons floating above. I parked my car in a driveway nearest this meadow blooming with hundreds, no – thousands – of cheerful, sturdy sunflowers. Why would someone take the trouble to plant sunflowers? I’m guessing they can be sold in sunny bouquets at local markets or the seeds can be sown and sold and there’s sunflower oil to be had… but mostly, I’m hoping the owner of the meadow is an optimistic person that enjoys making people smile.
It was a good first day in the Valley – lavender, a fascinating cave, French pastries, a loaf of crusty bread, and a beautiful, magical and smile-making field of flowers, all tilting their faces to follow the sun as the day came to an end.
The next few days I spent visiting castles and gardens – and depending on what your Google research shows, there are 1000 or maybe just over 600 castles (chateaux) in this stunning valley. These imposing, beautiful and fortified castles are perched high above on the hillsides all around the Dordogne River, ready to prevent invasions by enemies. Many of these castles are crumbling ruins, but some, like Castelnaud and Fenelon, are able to be visited for 8 or 10 euros.
Although Castelnaud had more to offer – weapons room, a fully equipped kitchen, chapel, furnished bedrooms and dining hall, a number of gift shops, ice cream, etc – it was jam packed with tourists visiting the site. Fenelon was much more enjoyable, as there were barely any people there. I nearly had the place to myself! And it was spotless – not a speck of dust, dirt or debris to be found inside or out. Really an interesting place to spend a few hours. The printed guide was very helpful and explained the different rooms and sections of the castle.
One afternoon, Piu and I visited the nearby Carlux train station, which was now an exhibit space for the some of the works of Robert Doisneau, a famous French photographer from the 1930s.
His works are beautiful shots of the simple life – workers, couples, children, people in the subway, or on the streets of Paris. Similar to Henri Cartier-Bresson, his mainly black and white portraits and slices of life are charming and poignant in their simplicity. This photo of the couple kissing is a famous photo of his, known the world over.
And then there was Rocamadour. And…Rocamadou. Two separate places. Yeah. Miles and miles apart…One afternoon, Piu took me there. To Rocamadour. It’s a beautiful village with lovely houses, a couple of gorgeous churches with soaring bell towers, frescoes and incredible pipe organs, and a famous legend of the body of Saint Zacchaeus (or some claim it’s St. Amadour) being found perfectly intact in a nook in a cliff nearby in the year 1166. Even though he had died nearly 1000 years before and nowhere near France, the village became a stopover (and a World Heritage Site) for those pilgrims walking on the Camino Santiago de Compostela – the journey that leads to the place where St. James’ bones are said to be buried in Spain. For over 800 years, pilgrims have crawled up the 200 steps of the Grand Stairway in Rocamadour on their knees, doing penance and asking for forgiveness, and passing the Stations of the Cross in the grottoes and nooks in the steep walls surrounding the church. You can see the seashell, the symbol for the Camino trail in the stone steps at the door to the church. These photos below show a fresco on the exterior of the church, one of the stations of the cross, Saint James, and a great shot of the town of Racamadour.
There’s also another legend – that of a sword in the stone. A sword, supposedly belonging to Roland, the nephew of Charlemagne, protrudes from the cliffs above the church where it was flung by Roland as he was about to die in battle.
And there’s a bell in the church that is said to ring on its own every time a sailor from the area is rescued at sea…and a Black Madonna that is the source of a handful of miracles as well. A small town with more than its share of miracles! I enjoyed our quick visit, and I decided to come back on my own to explore further and to hike part of the trail that is part of the Camino and runs below the village that runs along the dry river.
And that, my friends, is how I ended up in Rocamadou. My maps.me app showed me the “wrong” Roc and I didn’t know any better and so I headed out one morning ready to hike and enjoy…but after about 30 minutes of driving realized I was not going where I had thought I was going. Annoyed, frustrated and annoyed (yes, twice), I was ready to call it a bad day…when I realized it really didn’t matter which Roc I was near at the moment. So I took a deep breath, and found a cute town nearby to explore, had lunch and strolled along the quiet streets, enjoying the village of Le Bugue.
I did eventually make it back to the Right Rocamadour, where I hiked along a peaceful river trail with old mills (moulin) along the route, running into only 2 other people on this lovely wooded path.
The Gardens at Eyrignac were another beautiful example of the royalty of the past living the high life, set on the grounds of a 17th century manor house. The topiary gardens span acres and acres of lush and manicured land, with gorgeous boxelder, hedges and bushes sculpted into geometric shapes, swirls and formal designs fit for a king. After exploring the beautiful gardens, I enjoyed a passionfruit sorbet in the little café at the Gardens before riding back to Piu’s on his electric bike he had suggested I use.
I spent an evening at The Overhanging Gardens of Marqueyssac, an elegant park of 54 acres atop a high point (called “The Belvedere”) overlooking the Dordogne River. The gardens contain over 150,000 hand-trimmed boxwoods, in mazes, curliques and pathways. But what made it special was that it was Thursday night – when over 2000 candles were placed throughout the paths to add beauty and romance to the already gorgeous setting.
A saxophone quartet, a piano player and a jazz group were to be found amongst the natural beauty, and France’s version of mokojumbies, lit-up fairies on stilts, performed a dance that the children found mesmerizing. (Me, not so much!)
Piu and I visited another amazing cave, Padirac, located near Gramat. This cave was discovered in 1889 and the boat ride along the Riviere Souterraine was both beautiful and surreal. An underground lake, stalactites, stalagmites, an enormous formation called the Grande Pendeloque (Great Chandelier) and the Salle de Grand Dome (Hall of the Great Dome) offer a majestic viewpoint with its over 300 foot (94 meter) high ceiling.
We also spent some time in the beautiful and tourist filled town of Sarlat-la-Caneda. The town is chock full of charming shops selling foie gras (duck liver pate, which is ridiculously good!) as well as wines, cheeses, walnuts, jams, breads and other locally sourced goodies. A little too touristy for the two of us but certainly worth a visit to see the gorgeous honey-colored sandstone homes, fortresses and castles. Brilliantly colored flowers spilled out of the flower boxes, restaurants with inviting tables and umbrellas provided shade from the never-ending heat, and street musicians added to the draw of this medieval town.
But the highlight of my trip was our last day together, filled with fun and adventure. We began the day at the Boulangerie B.A. in Souillac, Piu’s favorite bakery (who doesn’t love a good bakery!) and chose some delicious sandwiches for our picnic lunch – sun-dried tomatoes, prosciutto, corniches (tiny little pickles!) and cheese on fresh crusty baguettes, along with a few custard tarts reminiscent of the pasteis de nata from Portugal I had enjoyed in Lisbon, and then headed out for the first part of our day of adventures: canoeing on the Dordogne. We rented a canoe, wore dorky hats (well, MINE wasn’t dorky – just a regular baseball cap; just saying…) to protect ourselves from the intense sun (it had been in the high 90s/high 30s for the past 2 weeks) and tossed into the canoe our sandwiches and enough water to last the day and headed downriver. This was no “rent the canoe for an hour and take some nice pictures to post on Instagram” kind of excursion…Piu is into extreme everything – mountain biking, rock climbing, paragliding…so this was a 6 hour expedition floating down the Dordogne past stately and royal castles perched high atop the ridges above the river, charming medieval villages, and towering limestone cliffs. In the water were strands upon strands of water flowers, teeny tiny white flowers sparkling atop the clear calm waters of the river.
We began our paddle near Gluges bridge, in a village called Copeyre. Floating alongside the tiny villages of Montvalent, Creysse, Meyronne, and the castles of La Treyne and Belcastel we looked up in awe and wonder at the beautiful ancient, medieval strongholds above. We even stopped to explore a cave (not sure what it is with me and caves lately!). After a few hours we disembarked alongside the river on a sandy stretch to enjoy our lunch and take a break before completing our paddle, ending in the lovely hamlet of Souillac – a total of 28 kilometers, or over 17 miles.
For most people, this in and of itself would be an end to a perfect day – with a delicious pique-nique, gorgeous scenery, a good workout and wonderful company. Most people would grab a beer and head home for dinner. Us? Nope. We headed to Floirac in the Gironde, to a takeoff spot high above the rest of the village and waited for the winds to be just right for us to fly.
My first paraglide flight in Pokhara, Nepal, had given me a bit of a queasy stomach (like when you’re on a roller coaster) so this time, I was prepared. Earlier that week I had stopped into a pharmacy and using charades and my stellar acting skills, the pharmacist and I were able to find motion-sickness tablets (like Dramamine) that I could use.
Even though it was after 5 pm, it was still extremely hot – I popped my Camelbak water reservoir into the tandem harness that I would be wearing so that we would have water on our flight. I wore the harness, which looks somewhat like a big backpack and we waited for the right conditions. There were 4 or 5 other pilots and their customers waiting as well, and we all stood around, crowded under the shade of the 2 or 3 small trees to get a bit of relief from the rays of the sun. While waiting, I felt something wet running down my shorts…a trickle, then a good strong leak – the other customers around me looked startled and embarrassed for me, thinking I had become so frightened I had lost control of myself. I started laughing (of course) and saying “It’s not me! It’s not me!” and trying to figure out where the leak was coming from but couldn’t reach around the harness. Finally, one of the other passengers waiting with me fumbled around in the pocket of my harness and found the Camelbak – the source of the leak, as I hadn’t screwed on the cap tightly. We all laughed about this (although now we had barely any water for our flight!) and suddenly, it was my turn to fly.
Piu spread out his beautiful parachute on the ground behind us, then attached my harness to his with carabiners and buckles. He instructed me on how this was going to go – I was to look straight ahead, down into the valley below us. When he said “go”, I was to take a few steps forward, and then the parachute would begin to rise and forcefully pull me back a few steps – so I was to brace myself. Then he would say “ok, run!” and I was to run forward, looking straight ahead and run off the edge of the cliff. Yup. Sure. Is this an exercise in trust or what? So, I did what I was told…and like a cartoon character that runs off a cliff and continues to pedal his feet and run while in mid-air, we were airborne.
Magically. Peacefully. Gracefully. And beautifully. We floated effortlessly above the valley, above the farms, the rolled up bales of hay, the walnut trees, the earth below us. He spotted some birds circling lazily in the sky to our left, and headed over to join them in the thermal. An electronic sensor beep-beep-beeped as we climbed in altitude, letting Piu know that we were rising. He has been doing this for over 20 years and he’s an expert at catching the thermals and staying afloat for as long as possible and has stayed in the air for hours and hours. “My home is the sky”, he told me the day we met in Nepal.
There were 6 other paragliders in the air, floating effortlessly to our right, our left and above and below us. After about 23 minutes, we were ready to land – I was actually more concerned about the landing rather than take-off, but Piu told me we would just touch down gently and I’d be standing (but don’t sit down/fall down/tip over, he said.) And a perfect landing was had! Until he turned to help me with my harness, bumped into me and I toppled over. So much for grace and beauty.
A ride into town for a nice dinner and a couple of well deserved ice cold beers, then back to his house for a good night’s sleep…but first, Piu grabbed a couple of blankets and we found a spot in the grass to lay back and view the night sky, watching for shooting stars – the Perseid meteor shower was happening. A perfect ending to an amazing day.
In the morning, I’d be taking a train to Toulouse so that I could fly from the airport there to Pisa to begin my villa-sitting assignment in Tuscany. So very difficult (tres difficile!) to leave the town of Semiroyl. The Dordogne/ Perigord department. The Aquitane region. Southern France. And… this lovely man. He plans to drive his motorcycle to Italy at the end of September to meet me at the villa. So, there’s that to look forward to!
On to Tuscany, where I’ll begin my two month stay at Villa di Corliano as a caretaker of sorts…
Life is either a daring adventure or nothing at all.
Helen Keller
Awesome Cindy. Looks like you’re having a fabulous time. I really like the pictures of the caves! You should be an author!