Friday October 10
Villages of Périgord and Quercy
Rocamadour, La Roque-Gageac and Beynac-et-Cazenac
We left Sarlat by 9am and headed up the meandering Dordogne toward the ancient
town of Rocamadour. A darling of the French tourist industry, Rocamadour was our
first and primary destination of this day.
As we followed the river, I was surprised by the similarities between the
natural setting of the Dordogne Valley and that of the Ozarks. Both landscapes
evolved from the erosive action of rivers crosscutting extensive limestone-dominated
plateaus (referred to as causses in French), which are riddled with caves
whose entrances are hidden in steep narrow valleys and surrounded by deep dark woods.
The occasional canoe and, on this morning, the thick fog made the resemblance even
more notable. In addition to the natural beauty, the towns of the Dordogne, many of
them clinging to the steep undercut cliffs along the river, boast some of the most
immaculately preserved pre-Revolutionary architecture in France. The Dordogne valley
is believed to be the oldest populated region of France.
Périgord Noir
Although English-language guidebooks refer to this area as the Dordogne Valley, the
French are more fond of its ancient name, the Périgord Noir, or "Black
Périgord." The word Périgord is derived from the name of a pre-Roman tribe
indigenous to the region. "Black" refers to the dark woods of oak, pine and chestnut.
This part of France is divided into four colorfully-named lands. In addition to
Périgord Noir, there is Périgord Blanc (White Périgord),
Périgord Vert (Green Périgord), and Périgord Pourpre
(Purple Périgord).
Périgord is a land that represents many things to many people. To devotees of
romanticist literature, Périgord is the land of Cyrano de Bergerac. The
town of Bergerac is the capital of Périgord Pourpre. To those with a
fascination of history, Périgord is bastide country. During the Hundred
Years Wars, this area was the contested "frontier" between France and England.
Numerous hastily-constructed fortified settlements, known as bastides, were
established, some of which survived the conflict and evolved into "picture-perfect"
villages. Following the conclusion of the Hundred Years War, life in
Périgord was disrupted by the conflict known as the Wars of Religion,
which although intermittent, was equally destructive and also lasted for
approximately a century. Later on this day, we would pass beneath Domme, one of
the finest surviving bastide towns.
This is also the land of black truffles and Foie Gras. The former are the
mushroom-like fungi that grow near the roots of the dark oak trees of Périgord
Noir. They are regarded as one of the greatest delicacies of France. Foie
Gras is an extremely high-calorie food (a remarkable 900 calories per gram) made
from the enlarged liver of a force-fed goose. Flocks of domesticated gray "Toulouse"
geese are a common sight along the Dordogne River.
Périgord's greatest claim to fame is not as a literary setting, or a source of
great French delicacies, or even as the home to one of the best-preserved
concentrations of authentic and picturesque 14th century towns.
Périgord is most renowned for prehistoric cave art. In 1940, one of the greatest
archeological discoveries of the 20th century was made by four boys
searching for a lost dog. Their search led them into a cave where they became the
first modern humans to view an astonishing gallery of paleolithic wildlife painted by
hunters that lived on a European continent profoundly different that that which
exists today. The 17,000 year-old paintings literally predate the English Channel.
Their creators could have walked between the sites of present-day London and Paris.
Soon additional prehistoric art was discovered in nearby French grotte, as
well as caves in Spain and Portugal, but the caves of Lascaux remain the standard by
which other paleolithic art is appraised. Unfortunately, the original caves have long
been closed to the public, although modern reproductions have been painstakingly
developed. I am obsessive about authentic, so we decided to skip the caves and focus
on the towns, which are both real and photogenic.
Up The Dordogne
As with so many other driving trips in rural Europe, we did not make impressive time
on the road to Rocamadour because we repeatedly (or should I say obsessively) stopped
for photo opportunities. These included nearly a dozen shots where the road crossed
the river on a single-lane bridge near the Château de la Treyne, a mansion
destroyed during the Wars of Religion and reconstructed in the 17th
century.
Follow the Dordogne upstream to its source and you will find yourself in the Massif
Central, a mountainous region that we would drive through the following day on our
way to Burgundy. On this day, however, we would leave the Dordogne Valley just a few
miles upriver and begin our climb toward Rocamadour.
Shortly before reaching the town of Lacave, we stopped to check the map and were
treated to an unexpected, and outstanding, view of the medieval fortress of Belcastel
perched high above the valley on an isolated outcrop sculpted by the confluence of
the Dordogne and Ouysse rivers. The impact was heightened by the fact that we were
unaware that such an architectural treasure existed in this area. We later learned
that this castle had fallen into ruin, but was stabilized and extensively restored
in the late 20th century.
Near the town of Lacave, named for a series of nearby tourist caves, the road
passed through a goose farm. Dozens of Toulouse Geese, one of the most common types
of domesticated geese in France, were wandering in a field near a small stone
structure with no windows and an enormous pitched roof, which I assumed was a
storage shed for feed. With their bright orange bills and feet, and contrasting
monotone feathers ranging from white to black, including almost every intervening
shade of grey, these birds were too photogenic to ignore. As if that weren't enough
motivation, the lush green backdrop, softened by the light fog, offered the perfect
setting for a portrait of the geese of Lacave. I had to stop— again. Rocamadour
could wait a few minutes longer.
As I approached with my camera, the geese reacted by excitedly running about—
first one way, then another. Always in near-perfect unison. A random movement by one
member of the goose community would get them started in an arbitrary direction.
Eventually, they would stop until another random movement by a different member would
trigger a collective panic in a new direction. Presumably, this is standard goose
behavior whenever a camera-toting tourist drops by. During the brief motionless
moments between their terror-driven stampedes, I got some decent shots with my Nikon.
A few more stops, a few more pictures— this time of farms and horses— and we
were soon near Rocamadour.
Rocamadour
Despite the resemblance of the Dordogne Valley and the Missouri Ozarks, there is
nothing in Missouri that is remotely like Rocamadour. Our first glimpse of this
ancient town was from the neighboring village of L'Hospitalet, named for an
11th century hospital that provided aid to medieval pilgrims visiting
the religiously-significant site of Rocamadour. All the guidebooks concurred that
the most impressive views of Rocamadour were from the overlook at L'Hospitalet.
Unfortunately, the only view we had was of the fog. We waited patiently for the
damp autumn mist to dissipate and were rewarded with one of the most spectacular
sights of the trip. Across the steep narrow Alzou valley, securely attached to
the face of a 500 ft cliff, was the village that we had seen so many pictures of
while planning this trip. Rocamadour appears more vertical than horizontal.
This small compact town receives over one million visitors a year, many of whom are
religious pilgrims. Traffic is severely restricted, effectively transforming the
entire town into a pedestrian zone. Although no part of the town is completely devoid
of interest, Rocamadour's primary attractions are clustered at three levels. The
lowest level is the Rue de la Couronnerie, the only street of any significance, which
is lined with religious-oriented souvenir shops. The Cité Religieuse, a
collection of churches and chapels approximately halfway up the escarpment, is the
ecclesiastical heart of the town. The highest level is the plateau, which is
dominated by the Château de Rocamadour, a private palace owned by the
Catholic Church.
With the exception of the Rue de la Couronnerie, an exploration of Rocamadour
is not possible without significant changes in elevation. There are three options for
ascending (or descending) through the town— by stairs, by wooded pathway, or by
elevator. We decided to take the elevator halfway to the top (€ 2 apiece) and
follow the winding Le Calvaire (Calvary), a dirt path featuring the Stations
of the Cross, for the remainder of the ascent. The path abruptly ends at the foot of
a huge cross imported from the Holy Land by medieval pilgrims. A series of ramparts,
remnants of ancient fortifications, line the uppermost terrace of Rocamadour.
Without question, the most interesting segment of our excursion was the steep descent
along the Grand-Escalier (Great Stairway), which consists of countless stone
steps smoothed and reshaped by centuries of travelers. Along the way we passed the
seven churches built into the cliff. The stairs are an indispensible part of any
visit to Rocamadour. Neither the elevator nor the wooded path along which we ascended
offer an up-close view of the town. We did not visit the interiors of any of the
buildings, prefering to focus on the town itself.
After Mont St Michel and Lourdes, Rocamadour is the most popular Christian pilgrimage
destination in France. Some of the greatest figures of the Middle Ages climbed the
Grand-Escalier on their knees seeking forgiveness or, occasionally, divine
intervention in the form of a miracle cure.
The religious significance of Rocamadour derives from St Amadour, a Christian
hermit whose undecayed body was allegedly discovered in 1166. In an age before
modern forensics, the corpse was simply assumed to belong to the long dead saint
and the miraculous state of preservation was accepted as evidence that the location
was sacred. The legend spread and soon Rocamadour was a routine stop on the
pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela in Spain.
Only by traversing the town via the Grand-Escalier is it possible to
appreciate the individual structures of Rocamadour. When viewed from a distance,
the distinctiveness of the buildings is obscured by the dramatic appearance of
the town as a whole. Without question, the most impressive section of Rocamadour
is the assortment of religious structures, the Cité Religieuse, tightly
clustered halfway up the rock wall. Here the cliff face is absolutely vertical,
and the height of the closely spaced buildings creates the impression of being in
a cave. The Parvis, as the space between the buildings is called, is so
confined by these vertical elements that a strong sense of vertigo is unavoidable
when looking upward. Portions of the structures literally extend inside the rock
face and are created from stone that was removed to create the necessary space.
The buildings seem to merge seamlessly into the cliff from which they were
constructed.
Because the large number of pilgrims represented a significant source of wealth for
Rocamadour, the town became a source of substantial contention between the two abbeys
that controlled this part of France. The town was repeatedly pillaged during both the
Hundred Years War and the Wars of Religion. The French Revolution, which placed a
strong emphasis on the secular, dealt a final mortal blow to Rocamadour and the town
remained essentially dormant until resurrected by 20th century tourism.
The most fascinating aspect of Rocamadour is simply the fact that our medieval
ancestors would not only contemplate, but successfully build, a city in a location
that any modern architect or civil engineer would be regarded as insane, or at best
incompetent, for even considering. With or without the divine miracles that have
allegedly occurred here, the site of Rocamadour is nothing short of extraordinary.
Returning to the lowest level along the Rue de la Couronnerie, we bought
lunch, which consisted of two Cokes from a vending machine and a large bag of
Crouquant aux Noix, a popular Dordogne snack whose name translates as
"crispy walnuts." A couple of refrigerator magnets, to prove that we were here,
and we were on our way.
La Roque-Gageac
Leaving Rocamadour, we promptly headed in the wrong direction, but soon realized our
mistake and were on the correct route toward Sarlat in no time. We were not yet ready
to return to our hotel, however. It was early afternoon and we still had plenty of
time to explore. Our objective for the remainder of the day was an area that is
allegedly the most beautiful segment of the Dordogne. South of Sarlat, along a
contorted ten-mile stretch of the river, is a cluster of medieval castles and quiet
villages that are about as close to an immaculate image of idyllic French countryside
as one can imagine.
The only disappointing aspect of this area was that it was packed with sites of
interest that we didn't have time to investigate. We regretfully passed, or paused
only briefly, in a at least a half-dozen places that could have occupied an entire
day. Two of the more memorable ten-minute stops were the small isolated Church of
Carsac (Eglise de Carsac), a Romanesque structure built entirely of the golden
stone so common throughout the Dordogne, and the often beseiged and thrice destroyed
Château de Montfort, a picturesque and privately owned castle.
La Roque is yet another Dordogne river village of honey-colored stone, like Sarlat,
but much smaller and situated against a more scenic backdrop. Similar, but never
identical, houses are imprecisely wedged into a small strip of land between the cliff
and the river. A recent survey conducted by the tourist industry concluded that
La Roque is the "most beautiful village in France." The view of the town would have
been even more striking if we had been there during the late-afternoon or early-evening
sun when the yellow buildings would have been presented in the most flattering light.
This spot on the Dordogne has been occupied since prehistoric times as indicated
by stone age artifacts, as well as numerous "troglodyte forts." The latter appear
more medieval than prehistoric because they were fortified in the 12th
century for military purposes. One reason that a town exists here is that the
south-facing cliffs produce a microclimate that is noticeably warmer than typical
Dordogne averages. The limited approaches to the town also made this site highly
defensible, at least until the advent of modern warfare. Many of the houses in
La Roque were built during periods of conflict, particularly the Hundred Years War
and the Wars of Religion. The town also boasts a small number of manor-type homes
constructed during the Renaissance.
Although La Roque may have been defensible with a warm climate, towns built
directly beneath steep cliffs are faced with a unique set of dangers. During the
middle of one night in 1957, several large boulders fell onto the town, destroying
numerous houses and causing several fatalities.
Road separates the river from the town. Packed with tour buses in the
summer, it was fairly empty at the time of our visit.
River traffic was heavy in past. Flat-bottom boats called gabares,
used to transport cargo, now ferry tourists up and down the scenic river.
It is possible to take a boat to an island in the river.
Beynac-et-Cazenac
A bit further down the river from La Roque, closer by land than water due to the
inefficient meanders of the Dordogne, the tiny village of Beynac-et-Cazenac is
dominated by a formidable castle solidly perched several hundred feet above the
river. Once a possession of King Richard I (Lionhearted) of England, who seized it
in battle, this fortress later played a crucial role in the Hundred Years War. From
this secure vantage point, French soldiers mostly taunted, but occasionally
physically harassed, an English garrison that occupied a similar stronghold across
the river. Today, the English invaders have returned in air-conditioned tour buses.
We found a free, and nearly empty, parking lot next to an old school just outside of
town. Despite the intense promotion of Beynac as a "must-see" tourist destination, it
was evident that we were almost the only visitors on this day. Several elderly men
were fishing near the edge of town, their solitude disrupted only by the nearby
traffic. One of them smiled and nodded politely as we walked down to the water to get
some pictures with the town reflected in the still water. The illustrations in
several of our guidebooks suggested that this was the classic image of Beynac.
Beynac has become increasingly popular in recent years due to greater awareness
and marketing by the tourist industry, and due to fifteen minutes of fame associated
with the film Chocolat, portions of which were filmed here. It is apparent
that the residents have had some difficulty adapting to the increased attention in a
timely manner. The tourism infrastructure seems inadequate to accommodate hordes of
daytrippers. The number of restaurants, hotels and parking spaces were limited,
although admittedly mostly empty on this off-season October day. I suspect that the
size of this tiny town, prevented from expanding by the physical constraints of
terrain and river, will impose an unyielding limit on the number of visitors that
can be endured.
Although I haven't seen all of the Dordogne, I would not be surprised if I the most
beautiful views of the river were from this town. Nearby, the course of the water
meanders in the shape of horseshoes, and many of the surrounding hilltops are crowned
with ancient stone castles. The town itself resembles a miniature Sarlat, with ornate
pre-Renaissance buildings constructed from the ubiquitous golden stone.
After spending just over an hour in Beynac, we filled up with gas at a small petrol
station just outside of town. The drive from Beynac to Sarlat took less than 20
minutes, and there was still an hour of daylight when we arrived at our hotel. We
couldn't resist another walk through the old town and re-explored some of the
familiar sights from the previous evening. Just about dusk, we ventured a short
distance beyond the old town for a glimpse of modern Sarlat. As we suspected, the
old town is much more impressive. We had dinner, once again, at the Pizzeria
Ramone, which was a very short distance from our hotel.
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<br>Sarlat-la-Canéda,%20France)
