Careening through the Dordogne Valley and stopping off to smell the wisteria

Driving fast on narrow, curvy roads through lush pastures and fields of golden flowers without encountering another car for miles. Exploring a village built into a cliff. Wandering through narrow medieval lanes filled with lovely homes built from honey-colored stone and draped with wisteria. If you find any of these images appealing, you may want to consider a trip to southern France. I spent several days last week visiting with good friends in the Dordogne River Valley, and I have to admit that were it not for the language (which I just can’t manage to speak without applying a German accent and with amusing results), I would be dangerously close to becoming a francophile. Since I am married to a historian who still seems to take the Anglo-French rivalries of the early modern period seriously, well, I find myself at an important crossroads.

Not to sound trite, but the Dordogne Valley offers the kinds of landscapes and picturesque villages that have inspired artists. Throughout the trip, I found myself continually giving thanks to God for the beauty of His creation. We passed many of the narrow trees lining the roads that apparently were a favorite subject of Picasso’s during his time at a French asylum. Extra points go to the reader who will remind me of the name of these strangely tall, narrow trees dotting the French countryside based on this vague description. The houses in the area are built almost entirely of a honey-colored stone mined from quarries in the region. We passed a few of these quarries on our drives. And we visited a couple of lovely cathedrals that were influenced by the Romanesque rather than the Gothic style. That generally dates them to the early medieval period. A cathedral in the lovely town of Sarlat displayed a mix of both the Romanesque and Gothic styles, which gave rise to a bit of debate with Elisa. But in the end, we were both right and wandered happily over to a creperie.

We stayed at a small rural resort with simple cottages in Gavaudon, a couple hours southeast of Bordeaux, and so had the chance to eat some meals or read outside in a lovely field behind our cottage or take long walks through the surrounding pastures and woods. We started every day with a chocolate croissant (called a chocolatine in this area). The epitome of luxury, no?

One of the more evocative moments on the trip was when we climbed up the very steep stairs to the ramparts and then to the top of the keep of Gavaudon castle, now mostly in ruins. I had to feel my way through the dark for part of this climb. We were off the usual tourist track and alone at the castle and could fully experience the excitement and peril of exploring something really old.

Among the highlights of our trip was a visit to Rocomadour, a town dating from the 12th century and built into high cliffs for protection. It was a popular pilgrimage site, and some pilgrims would climb the hill on their knees, following the stages of the cross in the hopes of healing. We did this trek as well, though not on our knees, to reach the top of the cliff and walked out onto the defensive ramparts of the town for a spectacular view. Another highlight was our visit to the town of St. Emilion en route back to Bordeaux. The town is named for a saint who lived a hermitic life of prayer and meditation in one of the limestone caves in the town. The truly spectacular site awaiting a visitor to St. Emilion is the monolithic church that was literally carved out of the limestone by monks starting in the 9th century when the area was attacked by Saracens. It was completed over the next several centuries. It was astounding to stand in this beautiful church, entirely carved, not built, which because of some fear of collapse, was closed for ten years until it could be properly reinforced in 2005. I could go on. So many of the towns we visited (most of them medieval fortified towns called bastides) deserve lengthy description. Hopefully I can add some photographs soon.

Adding to the adventure of it all was the enthusiastic but deft driving of Edward. I almost wanted to use the word ‘crazy’ back there, but Edward insisted that he was not even close to pushing the reasonable limits of driving on narrow country lanes that barely have room for two vehicles. I’m such a girl, right? Imagining all the perils rather than all the fun obstacles to be overcome. Anyway, at times, it was pretty exhilarating, motoring along in our little Nissan micro, affectionately named “The Wart,” passing through fields, vineyards and villages and listening to the GPS gadget pronounce the names of French street names in an almost defiant British accent. This only added to the above-mentioned linguistic confusion I experienced.

Now I’m back in Kew, and it’s lush and pretty here too, if a bit rainier. Our downstairs neighbor has planted lots of bluebells and a little blue flower called glory of the snow in the back garden. A fat yellow tabby cat is hunting birds, rather unimaginatively I think, by sitting directly beneath the bird feeder. My parents will arrive in a couple days for a visit, and I find myself feeling very blessed indeed.

-HDE