Not heaven, but you can see it from here!

On Thursday, I wrote about practicalities, because it was a rainy day and there was nothing else to write about. Thursday night, the clouds drifted off to the east and a full moon appeared, illuminating the late night countryside. In the morning, the sun took its cue from the moon, bringing brilliant blue skies. Out came our smiles and our bicycles.


We were up and out early to capture the day. (Well, it was before noon.) On this day, we pointed our bicycles towards Les Milandes, the fabulous chateau that was once the home of the fabulous Josephine Baker.

The day promised near perfection, and we were not disappointed. The air was warm; and the sky, crystal clear. As always here in the valley of La Dordogne, the journey was the destination. Every spot along the road was where we were supposed to be.

There was, of course, La Dordogne itself.


Sometimes we cycled beside its banks.


Sometimes we were high above it. Today, even the climb out of the valley was gentle; we found ourselves high above the river, although we had hardly broken a sweat. Though the river was not in sight, we felt its allure.

Everywhere we looked we found beauty. Perhaps Monet's dreams looked like this.

We stopped near a farm for a drink of water and a map check. The farm dogs bounded out to check us out and to remind us that this was their place. An old man ambled out to see what all the fuss was, and Carol told him we were on our way to Les Milandes. He pointed across the fields to where in the distance we could see the chateau's towers. We wished him a bonne journée and set off again.

Not too much later we cycled up to the entrance gate, where we paid our sixteen euros and entered the grounds of this stunning chateau. We sat on a low wall overlooking the Dordogne far below us and ate our croissandwiches. Then we took the tour. Here's a taste of what we saw.






I took lots of photos of the gargoyles. I like gargoyles.

The tour is fascinating. Josephine Baker was quite an interesting woman, with a flamboyant style, to say the least. The chateau is furnished and decorated the way it was during the time she lived there in the mid-twentieth century. The walls are filled with photos of her life and posters of her as an entertainer. She was a striking personality and a beautiful woman. I was so caught up in the photos and the documentary of her life (good practice in reading French!) that I often had to remind myself to pay attention the building itself, a masterpiece of medieval architecture and grandeur.

Photos inside the chateau are not allowed. This is my forbidden photo. Carol set me straight, and I behaved from this point on. (I confess that I was tempted to cheat a little even though I knew better, but there were other people around!)

We had toured this site in 2006 when we were on our bike tour, but it was every bit as exciting and beautiful the second time around. And if we're ever lucky enough to be in this part of the world again, we'll come back for more.

Oops! How did he get in here? Okay. No more gargoyles. I promise. (Believe me, I have lots more I could show.)

Soon it was time to get on the bikes and head for home. We had a dinner reservation at La Plume d'Oie (Goose Feather) later on, and a little down time after the bike ride sounded real good.

There was a magical moment in store for each of us on our way home. Carol's was different from mine; but, well, I'll just show you.

As we neared Saint Cyprien, we cycled a lovely stretch along the Dordogne. We were alone on the gravel path, and I came to a spot that completely captivated me. I told Carol that I needed to stop. She rode on, and I got off my bike and sat by the bank of the river.

This was what I saw. This is not the most beautiful photo of our trip by any means. But this is the one that will mean the most to me months from now when I remember the day. I sat there and absorbed the silence, the sun shimmering on the water, the soft breeze brushing across my face, the current slipping by on its journey. The Dordogne holds me in its grasp, for a reason I can't explain. So, for that too brief a time, I allowed the river to keep me there and work its magic.

I could have stayed there for a long long time, but I knew it was time to go. I got on my bike and set out to catch up to Carol. I didn't pedal far before I saw Carol also sitting by the side of the road. Her back was to the river.

Her attention had been captured by this view of Saint Cyprien. As I approached, she said, "This is it. This is the place I want my home." I knew exactly what she meant. It may never happen, but it's a dream we have, the two of us. I'm glad to have shared it with you.

Un des Plus Beaux Villages de France

That's what it says on the sign that greets you as you enter the town of Saint Léon-sur-Vézère. It lives up to the sign's claim; it is, without any doubt, one of the most beautiful villages in France.

As you cross the Vézère, you get this look at the town. We were happy to get off our bikes, which are not the most comfortable contraptions we ever rested our derrieres on. We sat on a stone wall and ate a picnic lunch as we watched the river flow by. Then, drawn by the town's allure (and looking for a reason to not get back on the bikes for a while), we wandered the narrow streets.

We took in the twelfth century church. In the summer, Jean Pierre told us, the church hosts classical musical concerts. Talented musicians from all over France perform here. Today, we just got to absorb its beauty in silence.

It seemed that nearly every door and window demanded a photograph.

We saw beauty on a grand scale...

... and on a humble one. (These flowers were so bright that at first I thought they had to be plastic! If I said such a thing out loud, the French would be appalled.)

We had wandered the entire town and were running out of reasons to stay; even I had to admit I had taken more than enough photos. Then we found an excuse to postpone getting back on the bikes!


Nourishment! Of course!

We had started the day with a vague idea of heading toward Saint Léon, but to our wanderers' souls Saint Léon was mostly just a direction to point the bicycles. The ride, with beauty everywhere you looked, was the reward. At one point, I looked ahead on a stretch of road that was made a tunnel by trees lining both sides of the road. Carol was ahead of me, and I watched as she moved under leaves falling from above like fat yellow snowflakes. I thought to myself that we had absolutely nowhere to go and that every spot along our route was the place we were supposed to be. Turn left at the intersection. Or right. Or go tout droit - straight - it doesn't matter at all.

A minor catastrophe - Carol hit a pothole and took a fall - brought us to a stop in the little town of Tursac. She was bruised but unhurt; the bike needed its chain put back. We sat on the narrow sidewalk, leaned our backs against a building and looked at our map. We heard the sound of schoolchildren at play behind a wall, unexpected music on an autumn day.

We glided over rolling hills surrounded by fertile fields.

We climbed hills in low gear and then flew down them, all the while taking in the sights.

P.S. Stepford Seniors!
St. Léon was a sleepy village - few locals about, little to no activity. (Well, yes, all the towns are like that, now that you ask.) The only significant activity was the appearance every few minutes of wandering couples taking in the beauty of the town before speeding off in their rental cars. All these couples moved slowly, looking around, speaking softly. Some held hands. Some held cameras. All were gray-haired. Arghhhhhh! It was us! Eerie! Scary! Suddenly I was very pleased about returning to my bicycle and pedaling out of town under my own power.

Random Thoughts While Perched on a Bicycle Seat

Autumn comes softly here in la Dordogne, at least this year. In Minnesota, it is winter that will not let go, prolonging itself with a vengeance long into the spring. Here, summer seems reluctant to depart. There is color in the trees, but only sporadic - a dot here, a splash over there. The fields of corn, much still unharvested, have turned yellow. It is enough to change the light; the days have that brilliance that autumn brings. We've had some chilly evenings, enough for a fire in the wood-burning stove some nights; but we shut it off when Ellen and Ben left with Wes. The climate reminds me, surprisingly, of the desert. We lie on a chaise lounge in the sun, and it is easy to drift off to sleep; but in the shade, one reaches for a jacket. Each day demands that one be outdoors. Get on a bicycle and explore. Take a walk. Visit Saint Cyprien and wander the narrow back streets. Or sit and read until your eyes close. Just be outdoors.

Early mornings are stunning as the mists rise from the river valley.

The days are so bright; the air, so clear.

Have I written about the silence? It is as close to absolute as one would want. When outdoors, I often find myself stopping to listen, to see if I can discern sounds. Then they gradually appear - birdsongs, a soft wind in the trees, a distant tractor, occasionally a human voice so far away that the words are indistinguishable but the human presence is felt, the mooing of a cow, a barking dog. And at night! Well, let me just say that Carol and I sleep like we haven't in a long time.

And speaking of dogs, it seems as if every occupied house has one (or two or three). Carol and I have provided countless Sparkies and Bowsers and Rovers (or whatever they might be named in French) with moments of delight. They lie about all day, waiting for something to happen. Two cyclists or walkers passing by is high adventure. They are up and barking at our approach. If they are lucky enough to be unrestricted by a wall or fence, they run into the road. When we saw the first ninety-pound canine bounding across a field toward us, it was a little unnerving. But it's all just a game. They get to DO something! They run. They bark. If we let them, some will sniff. Most don't even want to get that close. They just want to check us out, to greet us. We move on; they return to their laying about.

I like the scale of things here, the pace of life. The other day, Carol and I were walking through an isolated forest when we were surprised to see a man and a woman bent over in the woods. They were looking for mushrooms. We called out, "Bonjour, MonsieurMadam," They returned our greeting with a smile and went about their searching.

It's the same with walnut harvesters. We've seen many of them. They are always either alone, or a pair. There are no machines. They bend and gather them by hand. I spoke to one man the other day who was working alone, filling his wheelbarrow. He was at it for hours. Most have large sacks, and all work patiently.

These are some of the people we encounter at the markets. It's why I loved the market from the first day I shopped. At the market you are face to face with the people who have harvested the vegetables or made the cheese. It is commerce at a personal level.

Every interaction begins and ends with a politeness. Whether you bargain with a vendor at the market or ask directions on the street, pay the attendant at the gas station or enter a quaint shop, one always begins with a friendly "bonjour" or "bonsoir." And always you say good-bye and wish a person well. Always. It's hard for an American to remember, but it is immensely satisfying when you get the knack of it. It's about living life on a manageable human scale. It's about finding a civilized pace at which one can navigate through life.

Next post, I'll set aside the philosophy and talk about some practicalities of life here - like money, language and food.

Everyone Here Speaks French!

On Saturday morning, Ben deposited us at the train station in Maastricht in time for us to catch the 6:12 a.m. train to Liege, Belgium. Eight hours and four trains later (five, if you include the Paris metro), we stepped into the warm sunshine in Brive, got our zippy little five-speed Peugeot and headed for our home for the next month. The journey was comfortable on the speedy European trains. The only tense part was rushing from Gare du Nord to Gare d'Austerlitz in Paris in forty minutes to catch our last train. We worked up a sweat doing that, and caught a brief glimpse of the Seine, Notre Dame and the Eiffel Tower from the metro - a view of what's in store for us at the end of our adventure.

We arrived at our gite (cottage) around four in the afternoon and were greeted by our very friendly hosts, Jean-Pierre and Danielle. We are in the country, four miles from the lovely town St. Cyprien. Let me tell you, it feels like forty miles! It is quiet here, and little else except for a few scattered houses.

Our first twenty-four hours have been a sensual experience - from the delicious dinner and wines that Jean-Pierre fixed for us last night, to the astounding darkness and silence when we went to bed, to the smell of farmers' wood fires as we cycled through the countryside, to the sights and smells and sounds of the morning market in Saint Cyprien. Ah! The market! I couldn't get enough of it.

The main street was packed with vendors and shoppers. We arrived early and strolled the length of it while stands were still being set up and the region just awaking. After an espresso at a café in the sun, we went to work stocking our kitchen.

There was so much to choose from! Local vegetables, fruits, meats, fish, wines, mussels, nuts, cheeses (not to mention clothing, knives, and a Frenchie kitchen wonder tool - It slices! It dices! - that was being demonstrated).

We found one of the local patisseries and scored our first of many baguettes (and some luscious treats). The line stretched almost out the door as we left, with good reason. We didn't want to leave, but you can only buy so many tomatoes (really!). Our last stop was at a stand where they prepared ready-made dinners to go. We bought our first lunch - paella - and headed for home. There are markets every day of the week in different local towns. Jean-Pierre and Danielle have clued us in on which ones are the best.

We had our paella on the patio, looking up at the swimming pool (which we've used twice). Yum! Next week, we're getting the cassoulet. So, we earned a rest by this time. For Carol, it was a brief nap. For me, it was finishing up my last blog so I could get to this one. (A writer's work is never done!) Then...

...it was time to try out the bicycles! We spent the better part of the afternoon cycling through the countryside, passing through tiny villages. We visited Les Eyzies, where we commenced our '06 bicycle tour. I had forgotten the hills of the Dordogne, but the memories returned as we glided down, wind in our face, for a couple of kilometers. Of course, other memories returned as we cycled up those same hills.

Along the way, however, scenes like this delighted us at every turn.

Ellen, Ben and Wes begin a weeklong visit this Wednesday. It will be our turn to return their wonderful hospitality during our visit to Eygelshoven. Ellen has become quite a master in the kitchen, and we'll have to work to equal the great meals she fixed for us. At least, the market has provided us with the raw materials.