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A long time ago, in the faint light of a primitive lamp, a man took a handful of ground-up mineral mixed with animal fat and rubbed it on the ceiling of his cave with his fingers, rendering the rough shape in the chalk surface into the reddish image of a bison on the run. Some years later, the entrance to this cave became covered over, a lush new landscape grew up in the river valley above it, and the man’s drawing was hidden, and soon forgotten. During the next 15 or 20 millennia, the man’s descendants settled and farmed the peaceful river valley. At some point, the Romans arrived and named this land Gallia (Gaul), building new roads and settlements as they moved through. A millennium passed and another road, the Route of Santiago de Compostela crossed this valley, bringing pilgrims from distant places through here to a miraculous destination further south. There were wars and inquisitions, crusades and industrial revolutions. Princes came and went. The land was called Périgord and then Aquitaine and Dordogne. There were more wars and more centuries passed until the entrance to the cave at Lascaux was once again revealed to daylight, and the mystery of the ancient animal drawing was brought to life once again. We have not visited the French countryside in four years, and it feels like it has been a long time, but, for some reason, it does not matter in the greater scale of things. Four years is closer to a heartbeat than to the prehistoric artist. But the intervening years seem to melt away, for we get a sense of familiarity and home as we enter France once again. We think only of the present as we prepare to head to the Périgord region of France and the Dordogne Valley, a new frontier for us.
We arrive at Paris Airport. Jet lag has robbed us of all sense of time; however, we have a few hours before we take our connection to Clermont-Ferrand. We do not need to rush to the regional counter at the other end of the sprawling airport. The Air France agent asks why Canadians would want to go to Clermont-Ferrand anyway. After all, Clermont-Ferrand is an industrial city, an urban yellow blob on the map, somewhere in the centre of France, and is known by many to be largely owned by the Michelin company. Barry replies with one word -- “Sarlat”. The agent says “of course, I understand”. This is one of the closest airports to medieval Sarlat and the Périgord. Our short flight nevertheless affords us both a few minutes of shuteye. We wake as the pilot begins his descent into Clermont-Ferrand, in the Auvergne region, part of France’s Massif Central. We see pristine countryside, once an ancient volcanic plateau, now covered with an irregular patchwork of green and beige, gleaming pastures and harvested corn fields, surrounded by mountains on all sides. In the distance looms the Puy-de-Dôme, the tallest summit in this, Europe’s largest, volcanic range. We touch ground and park next to a large Ryanair jet, reminding us of the large presence of British expatriates and tourists in the southwest of France. We pick up our car and follow the instructions to our hotel (left out of the airport, right under the viaduct, left and then straight into the city centre to our hotel. Except there are no straight roads in this city, nor virtually anywhere in France, as it happens. Roads turn and fork in all directions following historic paths, however after several kilometers of nondescript cityscape and a few wrong turns, we arrive at our hotel. The hotel is situated at the edge of the Place de Jaude, a large public square covering several blocks in the centre of the old city. The Place is lined with Renaissance and earlier buildings housing many shops and bar-terrasses. At one end is a carousel. It is mid-afternoon and we decide to explore the area. Up the hill behind the Place are many cafés full of young people on the terrasses and younger people skateboarding on the pavement. We assume there is a university nearby (there is – Université Blaise Pascal is a block away from us). We stop in to a mobile store to get our French SIM card for our phone. It feels a bit odd discussing WiFi (pronounced in France “wee fee”, rhyming with Fifi) bringing to mind little dogs with pink ribbons in their hair every time Barry says the word. We continue our walk. We would like to see what is being offered by the restaurants but everything is closed in mid-afternoon. Restaurants do not open until 7 PM, so we have time to freshen up at the hotel before supper. We head out in early evening, but it is not yet 7 o’clock and most restaurants are dark. We find one place that is opening up and the owner welcomes us and ushers us around the back into a basement kitchen surrounded by restaurant tables. We are his first customers and his menu, the blackboard only, is typically Auvergne. We begin with les fines claires de Marenne (oysters), salty sweet, redolent of the sea. Thick slices of pain de champagne accompany this and every dish. Barry has the truffade – a topping, actually, as our host explains, made from thinly sliced potatoes, garlic and tomme cheese stirred together and served with cured ham and salad. Denise opts for the veal liver. She is surprised to see slabs of liver, well over ½” thick, arrive on her plate. However it is cooked evenly and tender to the fork and every bite is delicious. She tells the owner of the restaurant that Canadians are accustomed to veal liver sliced thinly. He responds that when it is thin, you do not know what you are getting. We do not argue. The liver is cooked to the proper colour and tenderness and is a real taste treat, even if a bit big on the plate. The owner offers us a glass of Chardonnay, Viré Cressé. We are a little hesitant about the Chardonnay, generally associating them with the heavily oak-aged varieties typical in North America, but he assures us this is not the case. The wine is delicious – crisp and fruity - and provides a nice complement to the rich country food. As we complete our meals, we notice that this little basement restaurant has filled up. (Le Caveau 9 rue Philippe Marcombes, Clermont-Ferrand) We head back to the hotel. It is about 9PM and the narrow streets are now alive with people and restaurant terrasses have opened up at almost every turn. We arrive back at the Place de Jaude to see the entire square lit up and people strolling in every direction. A mobile DJ has set himself up in a Land Rover at the Brasserie across from our hotel and is blaring dance music. However, when we had checked in we explained our jet lag and the hotel clerk gave us a quiet room in the back. Good thing, since the music was alive outside. The room was quiet, indeed and fully live up to its four-star rating. (Hotel Mercure Jaude, Clermont-Ferrand).
After a hearty breakfast, we depart for Sarlat. We ask the hotel clerk the quickest route out of the city. He shows us the road south to Toulouse. Barry pulls out his country map and the clerk is surprised to find out that Sarlat is to the west, not the south. We are surprised that a local person does not know his local geography. France appears to be full of surprises. Sarlat is less than a few hours’ drive away. Except that the roads out of Clermont-Ferrand take us along a winding path through the suburbs and then an industrial area only to find that the entrance to the Autoroute is blocked and we have to follow detours for another dozen kilometres, already 45 minutes from our hotel. The Autoroute climbs the mountains easily and we leave the Auvergne, pass through Limousin (with Limousin cattle grazing alongside the Autoroute) and enter the Périgord. Arriving at Sarlat, we discover that our route is blocked because of the weekly market. Of course we do not have a town map and our little Google maps itinerary is no longer valid. However, we know the house we have rented is on the border of the medieval village, so we simply have to circle around the old centre until we reach our street. (Barry had previously looked at the route on Google street view and recognizes the corner when we reach it – a timely way to approach a medieval village). The house is a small outbuilding set in behind a much larger main house, now a building of medical offices. From the front, it looks like any ordinary two-storey house, but we realize that the rear is actually nestled into a grotto in the mountainside, a modern adaptation of a cave dwelling. Inside, there is a fully equipped kitchen and laundry area (including an amusing robot garbage can that opens its lid when you bring something near it or when you bend down to unload the clothes washer), living room with satellite TV, powder room, and two bedrooms and full bathroom upstairs. Outside is a large terrasse with dining table and an expansive garden with grass and trees, a magnet for birds. The house is nicely furnished, very modern as is typical in these French houses, and becomes our nest for the next week. Two blocks away is Boulevard Gambetta, with its boulangerie, fromagerie, poissonnerie, charcuterie, boucherie, and many other small shops, as well as a small grocery store. We do not need to look far for our essentials. The buildings across the street mark the beginning of the historic section of Sarlat. We settle in quickly and head out across the street into medieval Sarlat, its well preserved buildings lining narrow streets and a few open squares. It is already past two in the afternoon and most restaurants have stopped serving. However, we find a brasserie that serves continually and enjoy our requisite salade tiède de gésiers (warm giblet salad – our now-traditional first meal in France), this time made with goose giblets. The tender pieces of goose, salty and sweet and bursting with a gamey flavor, marry well with the fresh salad and rosé wine. As a major tourist destination, medieval Sarlat contains a large number of tourist restaurants and shops selling local products. At times it seems nearly every store window features some form of duck or foie gras product. However, it is pleasant to explore because the area is mostly car-free so we can wander freely almost anywhere. Like virtually all old European towns, Sarlat`s streets do not seem to have any sense of order, and the buildings that line them follow suit. It is particularly pleasing to see the golden sandstone townscape glow in the late afternoon sunlight, with new patterns of light and shadow revealed as we turn each corner. On our first full day in Sarlat, we discover the annual grande brocante d’automne (large autumn antique market) so we are up early and begin our favourite pastime in earnest. A hundred or so vendors fill the Place de la grande rigaudie offering a full variety of old French decorative items and household items. We are surprised to see banana trees growing around the market area, but old Sarlat is located in a hollow which is protected from the elements. One morning the doorbell rings. It is an elderly man looking for a dermatologist. Barry tells him to go to the building in front. A few minutes later we are leaving and see him leaving too. “Bonjour m’sieur.” The man smiles and explains that the dermatologist died a few years ago. He puts his hands on the air and said “That’s Sarlat”. We do not have to look far for dining out in Sarlat. There are dozens of restaurants throughout the city offering typical Périgord cuisine: duck or goose – confit or grilled, foie gras in all its forms, entrecote (steak), pommes de terre sarladais (thinly sliced potatoes sautéed and seasoned with garlic and parsley), all served with hearty slices of pain de campagne, and the ubiquitous walnut cake for dessert. However, because of the large number of tourists that visit year-round, some restaurants get away with a lesser quality in their preparation of the food. This may be reflected in bargain prices, for example, three-course meals in the €12-€14 range, however, price is no guarantee (we both send our main course from the €30 menu at the Le Présidial back to the kitchen uneaten). The challenge is that there are few restaurants not offering Périgord menus so variety is actually a little more difficult to find. For quality and choice, we enjoyed Restaurant La Rapière, Place du Peyrou, and the Brasserie on Place de la Liberté.
If the food in the Périgord region is distinctive, it is the history that leaves the biggest impression on us. The Périgord is often called the “cradle of mankind” for the wealth of pre-historic relics in his area. Its many rivers were carved out at the end of the last Ice Age, and these were the primary form of travel for early man. Riverside, we see cliffs alongside the valleys with grottos and caves carved into them at every turn. We begin our trip through time at the Cabanes de Breuil, stone huts using stacked stone building techniques without cement or mortar, a technique dating from ancient history. This village of small huts was the home to Benedictine monks who farmed the area centuries ago, several kilometres from the river, in quiet solitude. After the monks left in the 15th century, the area became popular with craftsmen who established workshops on the property. Today, this is a working goose farm and vineyard, and the owners welcome visitors to see the old round huts, built from stone quarried on the property. Some are in original condition and some have been repaired using stone quarried from the property. We see the two colours of stone in the quarry-- the grey slate (lauze) that forms the roof and the golden sandstone underneath used to build the walls. The stone walls are built by stacking stones without mortar, often corbelling outward to give a characteristic uniform look to these buildings. Over these walls, the slate is set in to form the bell shaped roof, also without the aid of binding agents. Built on a sloping ground, some of the roof eaves nearly touch the ground on one edge. These buildings are often known as lauzères for their slate roofs. We wander through the buildings and admire the clever construction and the exhibits of antique farm machinery and enjoy watching the geese in the surrounding fields. But we must move on. We continue and reach the Vézère River, with a disproportionate number of historical relics lining its path from the mountains to the Dordogne. Every turn along the highway treats us with a vista of an old castle or neat farm, but dominating the landscape are the valley cliffs carved with small grottos that were home to the ancient troglodytes (cave dwellers) of the area. These troglodyte dwellings were both practical and economical, since the major home structural elements were already provided for in the rock, leaving the home-owner to divide the spaces and build wooden fronts, sometimes overhanging the rocky surface. We visit the remains of a troglodyte village called “La Madeleine”, whose name derives from the Magdalenian prehistoric period. Semi-nomadic hunter-gatherers settled here at least 17,000 years ago in grottos half-way up the cliff. These grottos provided natural protection against the elements in a secure location, high above the Vezère waterway, the main passageway through the area. We see the remains of manmade stone walls which turned the grottos into a series of dwellings. The ruins date from many eras, and include parts of a chateau and chapel dating from the Middle Ages, indicating continual and significant use of this site over the years. In the 12th century the Hundred Years War led to further fortifications of the village. Above the troglodyte village, on the surface above the cliff, are the remains of a small chateau, some parts dating from the 14th century. The site was abandoned a century ago but the remains give us a bit of insight into the early communities typical to this region in the. We will see many of these grottos cut into the cliffs on our drives alongside the Vezère and Dordogne Rivers and can only imagine the thriving population of cave dwellers who lived here millennia ago. We stop in St-Leon-sur-Vézère, a small village picturesquely situated alongside the river, and noted as one of the prettiest villages in France. We visit an old church built in the yellow-gold stone of the Périgord and then continue round the bend to the river where we stop for lunch at Déjeuner sur l’Herbe, a takeout counter. Here we choose from a menu of fine salads and sandwiches, which we then take to the picnic benches alongside the river. A man arrives on horseback and ties his horse to the fence while he has his lunch. Boaters move leisurely in rowboats in the calm waters of the rivers. We can easily forget which century we are in in this spot. As for being the prettiest village in France, well, it certainly ranks as one with many others we have seen on our different trips throughout the countryside. We continue to Montignac, famous for the nearby cave at Lascaux, which was uncovered many millennia after it was hidden when a tree fell over on the mountainside. It was in the early 1940s, and the tree’s roots came out of the ground, revealing a small opening. Four boys followed their dog who had run into the opening, and stumbled across the largest collection of prehistoric cave painting known to man. The sensation around the discovery turned this into a prime tourist attraction, however, the carbon dioxide emanating from the constant flow of visitors began to deteriorate the painted surfaces and the cave was closed to the public in 1963. Twenty years later, and after many years of painstaking work, a replica called Lascaux II was opened 200 metres away, faithfully recreating a three-dimensional version of the original accurate, to the centimetre.
But history marched on and there is so much more to visit in the Dordogne valley, often referred to as the land of a thousand and one châteaux. Another day, we head out to the Dordogne River south of Sarlat. After a particularly steep drive up a hill, we reach the city of Domme. Perched atop a rocky outcrop overlooking the river valley, this walled medieval city, once the site of a 14th century prison for the Knights Templar, gives us our first glimpse of the Dordogne River. Many shops and restaurants line the open squares in the centre with streets all going downhill to the medieval walls, the old fortifications of the hilltop city. It is a particularly quiet day in town but the shops are open so we enjoy a bit of souvenir shopping at an unhurried pace. But the star here is the river view. From an esplanade at the edge of downtown, we see the Dordogne meandering across the broad landscape, its valley several kilometers wide, green and lush, delimited by cliffs rising on both sides, speckled with black holes -- the openings to the many grottos. In the distance we can see villages in the valley and châteaux on the plateaus above. One village in particular, La Roque-Gageac, appears to be climbing up the sheer rock face. This is our next destination. Between cliff and river, La Roque-Gageac is one of France's most beautiful villages, stunningly located on the north bank of the Dordogne River. Its century old houses, many of them now housing shops and restaurants, line the river bank nestled into the rock and staircases lead to others that seem to cling to the rock faces above. On the river we see pleasure boats drifting by slowly, curving in toward the town and then curving away from it at the other end, as the Dordogne seems particularly still, looking like it is not even flowing here. On the upper level above the street, we see a 12th century troglodyte fort, fine houses, and a church linked by natural paths along the edge of the cliff. This gave La Roque-Gageac a strong defensive position in the Middle Ages. A tropical garden of palms and bananas attest to the pleasant micro-climate, sheltered from the north by the rock face and warmed by the southern exposure to the sun. La Roque-Gageac is quiet today, but there are many tour boat operators located at the centre beside the river and we imagine it is thronged with tourists in the summer season. We continue to the village of Beynac whose castle perched high on a cliff we see from afar. We find Beynac a picturesque village, learning later on that it served as a location for the film “Chocolat” in 2000. The castle is at the edge of a sheer cliff rising above the town, and we need to drive several kilometers with many switchback curves to reach it. With its double moats, almost windowless exterior and crenellated towers, the castle is an excellent example of feudal defensive architecture. Construction began in the 12th century for the Barony of Périgord, and Richard the Lionheart was one of the early occupants. We enter the square Romanesque keep and can visit the various rooms of the castle, many restored to look as they did at the time they were used. We climb a narrow spiral staircase to the rooftop terrace, giving us a magnificent vista of the Dordogne valley and, particularly, the Château de Castelnaud, nearby, across the river. During the Hundred Years' War, the Dordogne was the border between France and England and the scene of many battles, with Beynac in French hands and Castelnaud held by the English. This area has remained French since the end of the Hundred Years War in the 15th century Another day, we head out to visit Rocamadour, a medieval village hanging dramatically off the edge of a cliffside and an important stop on the pilgrimage path to Santiago de Campostela since the 12th century. We leave the small city of Payrac, 23 kilometres from our destination and find ourselves in rugged, rocky terrain, with few trees and low shrubbery. The road twists and turns as it descends into what appears to be a gorge and then turns to rise again, bringing us into yet more barren landscape. The short drive seems endless as each turn reveals more of the same. At one point, there is a sign (Rocamadour, 6 km). We soon arrive at the town of L'Hospitalet, at the top of the cliff with stunning views over the valley and the village of Rocamadour, its three levels built up into the side of a cliff, overhanging a gorge. The village is essentially one paved street, lined with medieval houses, with stone gates at either end. Halfway up the cliff (216 steps) is the Chapelle Notre Dame (home to the Black Madonna) as well as a basilica, a Bishops’ Palace, and a subterranean church of St Amadour (1166) which houses relics of St Amadour. At the summit is the castle built to defend the sanctuaries. A long, climbing walk leads to the castle past the 12 Stations of the Cross. Thankfully, there is an elevator service linking the three levels. We go back through l’Hospitalet which has a good choice of shops and restaurants and enjoy lunch on a terrasse in the warm autumn sunshine, overlooking the historic valley. Our trip through history in the Périgord has barely scratched the surface – there is so much more that can be seen. Grottos with cave paintings. Troglodyte sites. Medieval castles. But the history is a part of the present, too, and it shows up in the small talk of the Périgord. Standing in line to get into an antique auction, we overhear a man discussing the building of his new house. He unearthed Paleolithic arrowheads when excavating. Another says he hopes not to discover anything because it may be a grotto that he falls into and disappears. The past is an everyday thing here.
The Périgord is renowned for two delicacies: truffles and foie gras. Foie gras in particular is omnipresent in the shops and restaurants in Sarlat, and we decide to visit one of the many goose farms to see the process for ourselves. We are greeted by the owner of the Ferme Le Vignal, in Marquay, and she obliges us with a tour that begins in the fields where the fledgling geese run free-range until fully grown at three months. Then they are brought into pens where they are trained to eat a rich corn mixture through tubes. This is a process that has been questioned by many detractors. We learn, however, that it is based on a natural habit observed since antiquity. Geese and ducks would force feed themselves, to the point of regurgitation, in preparation for annual migration across the Mediterranean. The ancient Egyptians realized that these animals, and especially their fat livers (foie gras), were particularly flavourful. The French have turned this into an industry. Our tour ends at the processing area and kitchens where the geese, having been force-fed for a few weeks and doubled in size, and then slaughtered , are converted into a variety of products, beginning with feathers for down blankets, and then various food products such as foie gras, confit, rillettes, and so on. We enjoy a few samples of the farm’s award-winning products (many trophies adorn the shelves attest to this) and discover as well the delicious pairing of foie gras and the slightly sweet Bergerac Moelleux wine.
Our week in Sarlat seems to fly by and it is time to move on to our next destination -- La Rochelle on the Atlantic Coast. We head out early Saturday, and there is little traffic as we head toward the Autoroute. The Périgord is largely forested and we note that fall has begun to settle in here, although the colours of autumn are not quite as brilliant as they were in Canada. We estimate that the fall colours season is about four weeks later than in Canada. Our drive takes us around the Bordeaux wine region as we do not want to get caught up in the busy commercial area around the city. We stop for lunch in a little café in Floriac, a tiny village near the Gironde River. The small Saturday market in the centre of town has just closed up, and there is a little café across the street from it. The dining room is plain, perhaps a dozen tables, with the daily offerings on a blackboard. A large retriever wanders through, but no one seems to mind the dog. So far, it all seems right. A simple salad, nicely decorated with pear juliennes and thin slices of magret, a steak cooked properly fork-tender with crisp home fries, delicious poached pear, cutlery changed between courses, all the elements were in place to remind us why we enjoy travelling the French countryside so much. At one point, the road reaches the Bay of Biscay, the large gulf of the Atlantic Ocean that is bordered by the coasts of western France and northern Spain and we are in the Poitou-Charente region of France. Rain and fog obscure a lot of the scenery; however, we see beaches and oyster beds as we get closer to La Rochelle, our next destination. La Rochelle is a natural harbor with the Ile d’Oléron to the south and the Ile de Ré to the north. Towers dating from the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries guard the entrance to the harbour making it once one of the best-fortified ports in France. It was the centre of maritime commerce and trade with Spain, Netherlands, and England, and later on, exploration and trade with the New World. Once a Protestant stronghold, La Rochelle played a major role in the Huguenot rebellions and the 16th century War of Religion. Now a popular destination for pleasure boats and cruise ships, La Rochelle is teeming with French tourists on the Saturday we arrive (this last week in October being a school holiday), it is reminiscent of St-Tropez although somewhat more middle-class and with few foreigners. The old port is lined with cafés, bars and restaurants. The old streets leading into the city centre are paved with cobblestones from Canada, originally used as ballast in the empty ships returning from the New World. There are many restaurants offering a wide variety of French cuisine with many options for seafood – the oysters, bulots (whelks) and mussels we enjoy so much. It is refreshing to see this variety after our week of cuisine Périgord. The next morning, we drive to the Ile de Ré, one of the islands protecting the natural harbour of La Rochelle. The early morning fog envelopes the bridge to the island – a reminder that we are now at the coast. The island is long and has many tourist resorts, but we are looking for an antique market in the town of St-Martin-de-Ré. After a few false turns, we finally find St-Martin, and the market, after circling around the city several times and doubling back from one-way streets in the centre. We end our afternoon at the waterside in St-Martin where there are many cafés and boutiques to please the many tourists who visit here, by car and by boat. As busy as the restaurants were on Saturday night, when we venture out for supper on Sunday, most are closed, even past the normal opening time of 7PM. We finally find one on the harbour-side offering the usual assortment of seafood that has set up for the evening. We ask the waiter if we can sit, and looking at his watch, he says we can but they do not open for another 30 minutes. We all laugh when we realize that we had missed the daylight saving time transition and it was still only 6:30! Within an hour, the restaurants are full and as busy as they had been the night before. We visit the Musée du Nouveau Monde, which documents the discovery and exploration of the Americas. As we expect, this gives the French perspective of the exploration and conquest of the French Caribbean and Canada, much of which involved ships sailing out of La Rochelle. (Samuel de Champlain’s birthplace is just a few kilometres south of here.) We learn about the important role the French played in the slave trade using the triangle route (Africa to Haiti to Nantes, La Rochelle, and Bordeaux). Paintings depict the exploration and settlement of Canada and the French fascination with our native tribes; however, this was not always accurately portrayed through the European artists. Admittedly, we know the story too well and the paintings are in the style of Renaissance-era France with its particular clothing and decoration, not likely to be the case in the frontier. The story ended abruptly when Montcalm lost to Wolfe in Quebec City -- we assume it was no longer the “New World” once the British took over as far as the French are concerned. Nevertheless, we are pleased to see our history playing an important role in this city’s heritage as we walk back over the Canadian cobblestones to the waterfront, the cityscape looking much as it did when the wooden ships were being loaded with supplies for New France. Our hotel, the St-Nicolas, is nicely situated a short walk from the busy harbour area in a quiet but not isolated corner and with easy access to the roads out of town. The rooms are clean if a bit Spartan, and the beds comfortable, with indoor parking and wifi. We would stay there again. Hôtel St-Nicolas, 13, rue de la Sardinière, 17000 La Rochelle
Our stay in La Rochelle is over and we will be returning to Paris. When planning the trip, we had wanted a midway point to stay overnight. This would take us somewhere in the Loire Valley. We started going through the towns listed in our travel guide and stumble on Beaugency. A sudden realization – this is more than just a town name to us … It starts with a song performed by David Crosby (from Crosby, Stills, and Nash fame) called “Orléans” which, sounding much like a medieval chant, sang some French town names in California-accented French. One of our favourite early 1970s songs, we hear Vendôme and Orléans in the words – the others are unclear. We see Beaugency in the travel guide, and we realize it fills in three syllables in Crosby’s song! A bit of quick research, and we find Notre-Dame de Cléry, the other missing link, and then the old children’s song – Le Carillon de Vendôme – and the story behind this very old and important French song. These were the cities left to the Dauphin Charles after the signing of the Treaty of Troyes near the end of the Hundred Years' War: Orléans, Beaugency, Cléry, Vendôme, and Bourges. Its bridge an important crossing of the Loire throughout history, Beaugency is quickly chosen as our next destination.
We lunch in a little tabac in the market square. It is not market day, so the street is very quiet. We take a little walk through the city centre, which has the usual array of clothing and other shops. It feels less frenetic than what we have been experiencing but the general absence of tourists (compared to where we have come from) is a possible explanation. We stop in at the abbey church, and admire its ornate medieval interior and its soaring gothic nave, but are eager to get back on the road. It is mid-afternoon, and we drive the short distance to our next destination, the Grand Hôtel de l’Abbaye in Beaugency. L’Abbaye Notre-Dame de Beaugency was begun in 1108 and has a rich and varied history. A few royal events were performed here, the most notable being the divorce of Eleanor of Aquitaine and Louis VII in 1154, freeing her to marry Henry II of England shortly afterward. This led to the Hundred Years’ War as their children disputed the ownership of his land for France or for England. The abbey was important because of its location on one of the few strategic crossings of the Loire. The 23-arch bridge dates to the 14th century, the only crossing between Blois and Orléans for many years. Among other events, Beaugency was liberated during the Hundred Years’ War by Joan of Arc in 1429 and the city was bombarded during WWII, destroying part of the bridge. However, the abbey, and its attached church and castle were safe and the bridge restored, now open to traffic. In 1930 the abbey became a hotel. We are directed to our room through two low arched doorways to the stairway. Chants in the hallways recall the monastic use of the abbey building as we begin the climb. The storeys are quite high (36 steps between floors) and we have to go two floors up to the room. Our room is an old monk’s cell, and it quite narrow and dark, a bit of a letdown after the long climb so we ask for a room on the lower floor. The hotel obliges and gives us a large bright room only one floor up. It looks like the room may have been carved out of an older, large sitting room overlooking the Loire and the bridge but it is brighter and has a full modern bathroom, wifi and satellite TV. If the beds are not the most comfortable we have slept in, the possibility that Eleanor or Henry sat in this room and changed history more than compensates. Beside the abbey is the 12th century Cathédrale Notre-Dame, open for us to visit. The 15th century bell tower, St-Firmin, stands guard a short distance away. Across the street is the Dunois castle. Together, these have stood guard for centuries over the bridge and the Loire River, which flows rather rapidly below. The main part of the town rises above the riverside in a series of narrow cobblestoned streets lined with modest stone and cement houses that could be any number of centuries old, the streets climbing in every direction, ultimately leading to a centre with shops and restaurants. We are not sure exactly in which direction we are headed as we wander; however, every street and every shop we encounter along the way is a bit of serendipitous delight. Nevertheless, it will be easy to find our way back as our hotel is downhill from us and alongside the river and the bridge below. A few kilometres east is the town of Cléry-Saint-André where we visit the historic Cathedral of Notre Dame de Cléry. Started in 1300 on a site where miracles were attributed to a statue of the Virgin Mary, the church was destroyed in the Hundred Years’ War and then rebuilt by Louis XI, who was buried there in 1483. The cathedral seems oddly crammed in a block behind the main road over the diminutive two-story buildings of the town, dominating the view from every angle, but without the grand open space in front. Inside, the church is pure gothic, with its pointed arches and buttresses, and a nave soaring several storeys high. There is little adornment although a plaque describes the song Carillon de Vendôme and gives the names of the bells, all women’ names: Marie, Doile, Ernestine, Marie-Gabrielle, and Jeanne-Marie-Andrée.
Our visit to the eastern end of the Loire Valley is coming to an end and it is our last night before returning to Paris. We walk the quiet Rue de la Cordonnerie which slopes up from the abbey to the restaurant area of Beaugency. It is just after 7 in the evening, and the only sound is that of our footsteps on the cobblestones, echoing against the houses in the darkness. And then, without warning, there is music. The song! The bells of St Firmin begin to chime the song they have been ringing thrice daily (at 7:04 AM, 12:04PM, and 7:04 PM) for six hundred years:
Mes amis, que reste-t-il ? À ce Dauphin si gentil ? Orléans, Beaugency, Notre-Dame de Cléry, Vendôme, Vendôme.
For a minute, the present is frozen, and the history we have crossed takes front stage. We are immersed in the world of Eleanor and Henry, or Joan of Arc, or Richard the Lion Heart, or, maybe, even Lascaux. History trumps modern. Beaugency, its bells, and its song, reverberating on the stones and the houses and through our heads, all transcend time. We can almost hear the song ringing in the distance in Orléans, Cléry, and Vendôme, just minutes apart, singing to each other in sequence, marking the Dauphin’s domain in a permanent chain of music. The chiming melody, often sung by children in round for many centuries now, will remain with us for many days after, or, as it happens, much longer than that, difficult to shake out, but always uplifting. Whether or not the Dauphin appreciated the beauty and grandeur of his possessions, we understand what inspired David Crosby to write his chant-like interpretation of this very old song. The bells have stopped chiming and we remain, transfixed, until the reverberations have faded to quiet. It seems to take a very long time. We start walking again, the only sounds our footsteps, but the song remains with us. We make our way to L’Idée, a modern but cosy restaurant in the centre of the city, where we enjoy a delightful supper before the last leg of our trip. (Restaurant L’Idée, 3, Place du Petit Marché, 45190 Beaugency)
It is always thrilling to arrive in Paris, where old world charm teems with new world bustle. We start in the frenzy of Place d’Italie where we need to return our rental car, just as the Europcar office is closing for lunch, and we have to find a parking spot to the subterranean bowels of the massive shopping complex nearby amidst the many lanes of continual traffic. It all works out and a quick taxi ride takes us back to St-Germain des Prés, one of our favourite parts of the city centre. Our hotel, the Best Western Left Bank St-Germain, is situated on rue de l’Ancienne Comédie, with many restaurants and boutiques at our doorstep. Our room is in the garret of the old six-storey structure and overlooks the roofs of St-Germain with the towers of Notre-Dame Cathedral behind them, all framed in window-boxes of bright red geraniums. Cosy, with comfortable beds, all the modern amenities and a view, we feel right at home here. It is easy to find good restaurants in Paris, and there are many options a few steps from our hotel. Several restaurants deserve mention. Brasserie l’Atlas, close to our hotel, where we enjoy seafood from their raw bar. Denise leaves her scarf in l’Atlas and we return the next day. The maitre d’ recognizes us from the night before, pointing to the table where we sat, and takes us to the lost and found cupboard where Denise retrieves her scarf. Golfe de Naples for the finest pizza and pasta we have had since visiting Napoli several years ago (5, rue Montfaucon, 75006 Paris). Restaurant Siamin, where we enjoy fine Thai cuisine with Barry’s work colleague, Claude (19, rue Bayard, 75008 Paris). Although not Parisian by origin, Claude is passionate about Paris and takes us on a tour of his adopted city at night where we see many of the sights in a totally different light from what we have seen before. At Claude’s suggestion, we visit the Sainte-Chapelle, a monumental achievement of Gothic architecture and part of the oldest palace of the French kings. Built in the early 13th century by Louis IX, the Sainte-Chapelle houses some of the finest stained glass and important relics of Christianity. We enter through the lower chapel, the place of worship for the palace staff. We pass the statue of the Virgin Mary, and find ourselves in massive space with low vaulted ceilings painted to resemble star-filled heavens and held up by fine columns in azure and coral, decorated with fleurs de lys and towers of Castile (in homage to Blanche of Castile, Louis' mother). We climb the stairs to the upper chapel (the main entrance being reserved for royalty) and are dazzled by an interior dominated by the soaring stained glass windows whose slender piers richly coloured stone walls serve as a delicate framework to hold the glass. Fifteen huge mid-13th-century windows fill the nave and apse, while a large rose window with Flamboyant tracery dominates the western wall. The Sainte-Chapelle has been under restoration since the late 1970s -- air pollution, the elements and the large number of visitors were causing damage to the stained glass windows. Small sections of the upper chapel are hidden behind scaffolding. Nevertheless, the effect of the large number of stained glass panels filling the room with light and colour and the details of the medieval decorations below linger with us for long after. Our visit to Paris is short, four nights, with visits to our favourite antique markets (St-Ouen and Porte de Vanves) and casual strolls past the bouquiniste stalls which stretch along the Seine throughout the city centre, and many other walks. Just because … Before we know it, it is time to return.
We arrive back in Canada. The entry system has been upgraded at Montreal’s Pierre-Elliott Trudeau Airport, so we just self-scan our passports and declaration card and are through customs and immigration. It is all very quick. Except, of course, little can be done to shorten the wait at the luggage carousel, especially when our bags are among the last to arrive. A bit tired, and ready to head home, we leave the airport and pass under the Autoroute 20 interchange, noticing the overpass’ crumbling cement surface, exposed rebar, all discoloured by crystallized road salt, patched here and there to keep it all up. Denise says “I thought this was the New World …” |
