Friday: a beautiful day, bright and clear. Went into Aiguillon for final party shopping, then in the opposite direction to Agen to pick up the refrigerator handle. Sarah and I cooked all afternoon, then we grilled some Basque sausage from the market and had that with leftovers and fresh peas and salad for dinner. We really hope tomorrow is like today.
Saturday: Well, it wasn’t. The morning started out bright, but we moved everything indoors in the early afternoon. By three it was pouring. The skies opened up and we thought we might float away. Oh well. Everyone showed up except the Hanfords (who have a chambers d’hote and had guests expected, and the two French husbands. There were fourteen, and I believe everyone had a good time. There was lots of food and interesting conversations. The last people left about nine. We cleaned up and went to bed.
Some birds: Black Redstart, Red-legged Partridge, Eurasian Jay
House-hunters in France have a new flight of fancy by buying and restoring pigeon towers. Pigeon towers can be the most elegant of farm buildings, often more appealing than the houses to which they belong. Wide interest is now taken in the pigeon houses themselves despite the fact that they were in reality only part of farming properties.
We headed for Beaumont, but it began to rain and we had had enough bastide towns for the day, so went on to Lac du Brayssou: The lake was built in 1988 with a dam to release water into the Dropt to maintain a steady flow and meet the irrigation needs of farmers. We expected birds, but saw only a pair of mallards so pointed the TomTom for Prayssas.
Went next to Cadouin: Founded in 1115, Cadouin Abbey was affiliated with the Fontevrault Abbey (where the remains of the main figures of the Plantagenet dynasty, Dyke-King Henry II of England, Eleanor of Aquitaine, their son Richard Lionheart, and their grandson Raimond VIII, Count of Toulouse are found). Inside the cloister, the stone traceries of the vaulted ceiling are a veritable panorama of the Gothic and Renaissance sculptor’s art. These, however, were built in the late 15th century. The abbey was founded three centuries before under the simple, austere rule of the Cistercians. The flat arcades of the west front and the unitary design of the interior were features dear to the heart of St. Bernard. Pilgrims flocked here to venerate the Holy Shroud, brought back from Antioch, right up until 1930, when experts showed the cloth to date from the 12th century.
Thursday: Another changeable day--going from brilliant sunshine to rain. I am really ready for summer. We set off for Monpazier, a simply stunning town, founded in 1284 by Edward I of England. Its medieval centre is preserved almost completely intact, and it is one of the best of all the bastide towns to visit to recapture life 600 years ago. Its plan is perfectly rectangular and develops around the village square, the Place des Cornières, which is itself surrounded by houses built between 1200 and 1600. In no other single place can one see more clearly the andrones (narrow spaces between two adjacent houses to allow drainage and prevent fires from spreading), the cornieres (estensions of a building or buildings over public space), the covered arcades, including the Market Halle (complete with weighing and measuring apparatus) and the carreyrous (pedestrian streets that intersect for access to the rear of houses)—all of them details specific to the bastides. But the attraction of this little town lies also in the architecture itself. Once under the arcades you are plunged into the 13th century. The Gothic houses meet each other at the corners, making the square like a single room open to the sky, an antechamber to the Middle Ages that has somehow miraculously survived into the 20th century. One interesting story about Monpazier relates that during the Hundred Years War the Monpazier population set off to plunder the nearby town of Villefranche-du-Perigord. Finding the town quiet they plundered the town and returned to Monpazier. Unfortunately, the reason Villefranche was quiet was that the villagers had chosen that very same night to plunder Monpazier. When the sorry facts emerged, the residents of both Monpazier and Villefranche returned the things that they had taken from each other. In 1594 and 1637 the town of Monpazier was the centre of peasant insurgence, triggered by the terrible conditions following the end of the Wars of Religion. On both occasions the rebellions were violently suppressed. We had hoped to find mushrooms here, but were unsuccessful. In fact, there seemed to be more “stuff” than local products. We did, however, find the new purple garlic I had been reading about, and some purple heirloom tomatoes.
Wednesday: Spoke too soon. It poured rain all day, so we put off our first bastide outing and went instead to the large town of Albi. Best known as the departmental capital of the Tarn department (I must try to understand the geo-political structure of France), this bustling medieval city dates back to pre-roman times and it is steeped in history. The massive, fortress-like Gothic cathedral dwarfing the rest of town is an unmistakable reminder of Albi’s violent religious past. The town was at the heart of the so-called Albigensian heresy, the Cathars (whom I find fascinating), of the 12th and 13th centuries and the bloody crusade that crushed it. Almost all of central Albi, including the cathedral, is built from unusual reddish brick clay, so different from the massive stone of Lot-et-Garonne, dug from the river Tarn that meanders through the town. We headed for the town center. A large car park drops down below impressive railway arches. If you park up top you have to pay, so we continued down to where the parking is free and you can stay all day. Walking back up the brick steps, we came out right next to the Cathedral in the heart of the city.
We headed to the Tourist Office to the left of the Cathedral Square, next to the Toulouse Lautrec Museum and picked up the Albi Pass (on sale for 9 euros) which gives you free entry into the Toulouse Lautrec Museum and into the Cathedral nave. Unfortunately, it was now 12:30 and everything closed till 2, so we went over to La Tartine and had a good and warming (in the downpour) cassoulet. Our Albi Pass entitled us to a coffee and a sweet rum raisin drink for dessert.
After lunch we visited the Palais de la Berbie, the vast, fortress-like 13th to 15th century archbishop’s palace, home to the Musee Toulouse-Lautrec, the absolute best thing I’ve seen since we’ve been here, The museum boasts over 500 examples of the artist’s work, giving both an excellent idea of his development as an artist and the way individual works evolved—everything from simple pencil sketches and rough pastel drafts to the final works such as his celebrated Parisian brothel scenes. There were some unusual oils on cardboard, where the cardboard had absorbed the oil, leaving only the pigment on a fragile, but vibrant background I’ve never seen before. We had rented the English audio guide, which was well worth the price.
Next came the Cathedral Sainte Cecile, rearing its head above the old quarter. As much fortress as church, the cathedral was begun in 1282, not long after the Cathar movement was crushed. Built to impress ad subdue, it took over a hundred years to complete. Attractive isn’t the word—what strikes you most is its sheer mass rising over the town like some Tolkienesque dark lord’s tower rather than a place of Christian worship. When you step inside, however, the contrast with that brutal exterior is total. No surface was left untouched by the Italian artists, who, in the early 16th century, painted their way, chapel by chapel, the length of its vast nave. Albi hit its golden age as a result of the “bleu du Cocagne” a beautiful blue pastel color made from a local plant – this brought great wealth to the pastel merchants who in turn invested this wealth into the city. An intricately carved, lacy rood screen, many of its statues smashed n the Revolution, spans the sanctuary. The stained glass windows in the apse and choir date from the 14th to 16th centuries. The grand choir is filled with beautiful frescoes, chapels and 30 biblical polychromatic figures, finely carved in stone. At the western end, behind today’s main altar, is Le Jugement Dernier, a particularly vivid Doomsday horror-show of the damned being boiled in oil, beheaded or tortured by demons and monsters.
Drove home through the pouring rain. Zulu was glad to see us, but had to be urged outside in spite of his long day indoors. Went to bed very satisfied with our outing.
Tuesday Went to Colyrac to get our hair cut in the morning. While I was in the chair, Jerry, on his own, went into Agen to the electronics store and ordered the handle. I’m very proud of him as no one there spoke any English. Picked Sarah up at the train station in Aiguillon. The day was beautiful, just as she promised.
Friday, May 10: Woke up to a beautiful morning and went to the Aiguillon market. Came home a long way around, stopping at Chateaux Madaillan for a quick view. We tied up the huge old rosebush in the corner and now the flowers underneath have more room and more sun. Jerry mowed some more and wheel-barrowed stones up to fill some pot holes in the driveway. I cleaned the upstairs. Hassania came to do the first floor. We cooked chicken and fresh asparagus for dinner. It appears that peas have now come in, so we will be eating a lot of them also.
Saturday: Worked around Le Pecile all morning, then went into Prayssas and Le Bastide. Had another excellent meal. Jerry started with the Regional Salad I had had at the last visit, and I “just” had a slice of foie gras on toast to start, then he had pork tenderloin in Roquefort sauce, and I had leg of lamb au jus. Home to finish laundry and plan for the week ahead. Jerry decided he didn’t want to be inside, so he climbed the palm trees and gave them all a haircut. I held the ladder. It felt as if we were back on Cayo Costa, except that there were three trees, not 120.
Sunday, May 12: I forgot it was Mother’s Day until I heard from the kids. I’m surprised they don’t celebrate it here. It would be another excuse for a bank holiday. Jerry is still mowing. I hope the growing things will slow down soon. This evening I was reading on the couch in the TV room when Zulu decided to climb up and join me. I told him he was too big to be a lap dog.
Monday: Went into Agen to try to get a replacement refrigerator door handle. Found the electronics shop but it was closed as are many things here on Monday mornings. Went to the big supercenter where appliances are sold, but they just gave us an email address to contact. We’ll try again in Agen, maybe tomorrow before we meet Sarah. Shopped at the big Intermarche there for the picnic. Went into Port Sainte Marie for our second French lesson and learned a lot, including the fact that next Monday is a bank holiday (!!) (it is very strange to us that the French people we have met are very proud of being a “secular” country, with little place for religion. The children are not allowed to wear crosses outside their clothing in school, and we all know about the kerfuffle about Muslim head scarves. But they have no compunction about taking off work for Ascension Day or Pentecost. Very odd.) and so we won’t have class again till next Tuesday. Came home and Jerry mowed for an hour and a half then grilled a pork tenderloin which we enjoyed with asparagus and peas.
Thursday, Ascension Day: Met Carol and Alex at Saint-Medard for 10:30 mass at the church right across from her house with the blue-green shutters. The church looked beautiful. Carol and another lady had filled it with flowers yesterday and it just glowed. This was a Catholic mass; they seem to be quite ecumenical here; and the church was standing room only. The ladies said only on Christmas Eve has it ever been so full. The service was very similar to ours, only in French, of course. We told Alex that our granddaughter, Meagan, would be coming with her brother Dawson for the ten days we will stay at her Gite later this summer. There are only two bedrooms, but the second floor is a loft with two twin beds, so they should be fine. We had coffee afterwards and then came home. It started to rain (again!!) and then to pour. It was quite a storm.
We were getting hungry, but most places had closed as it is a bank holiday. We found a place in town where the owner offered to cook us a pizza. It was fine. Then off to Château de Bonaguil,one of the best looking, best located, castles in France. It is found near Fumel, in northern Lot-et-Garonne, where it has been classified as a historic monument since 1862. The castle was originally constructed in the 13th century, and then extended substantially in the late 15th and early 16th centuries - just as other castles in the region were falling to ruin or being converted to renaissance mansions. The owner, Bérenger de Roquefeuil, felt compelled to build an extensive castle using all the most modern defenses to protect against an enemy that was not expected and never did arrive. As a result the castle never saw action, but is one of the best examples of military engineering that can be seen in the region. He also had a widespread reputation for sheer unpleasantness. After he died his family squandered his money and the castle fell into a state of disrepair, changing hands during the Wars of Religion when the two grandsons of Berenger fought on different sides in the war. Over the following centuries the castle had its ups and downs until the second half of the 19th century when the local council took ownership of the Chateau. Between then and now the castle has undergone various periods of renovation and is now one of the most visited castles in the region. We enjoyed our visit and tried to stay ahead of or behind the very large group of French tourists being guided through the site. It began to sprinkle and we left. Before we had departed the parking lot, the skies opened and we were in the midst of a tropical downpour. Got home and went to bed very early.
Chateau de Biron is located near the southern border of the Dordogne region with the Lot-et-Garonne. Construction of the Château began in the 12th century. It became especially important during the Cathar Wars of the 13th century. (Catharism was a Christian dualist movement that thrived in some areas of Southern Europe, particularly northern Italy and southern France, between the twelfth and fourteenth centuries. The Cathars were a direct challenge to the Catholic Church, renouncing Catholic practices and dismissing the Church outright as the Church of Satan). The castle then underwent various periods of improvement that continued until the 18th century, during which it was owned by the Gontaut-Biron family. With the revolution in France, the castle again fell into disrepair. They retained ownership until 1978 when they sold it to the state, after 24 generations of family ownership.The castle is now renovated and open to the public. We had been told all the information was in French, but they now have an excellent audio guide in English. The castle is sort of an architectural primer of styles from the medieval keep through Flamboyant Gothic and Renaissance to an 18th century loggia in the style of Versailles. In the older sections, the walls are four feet thick. Several portions of the chateau ware under renovation, and, I suspect, will be for some time to come. As well as the imposing towers and walls, the rooms include the kitchens, bedrooms, and an ancient bakery. There is a pair of beautiful rooms entirely paneled in walnut. Most interesting perhaps, is a fascinating 16th century chapel, on two levels--the lower chapel was for the villagers, and the higher chapel for the lords, who believed they should be a little bit closer to heaven at prayer time. The village itself developed around the castle and is very picturesque. From its raised vantage point it surveys miles of countryside
On the way to Biron, we took a stroll around the small village of Saint-Avit with its very old church.
Chateau de Gavaudin is found in the beautiful and quiet Gavaudun Valley on the River Lede. It is the setting and the donjon (keep) that is the highlight of a visit to Gavaudun. Perched astonishingly on a jutting out rocky outcrop, the castle at Gavaudun towers over the village below, and over the valley which it was built to guard over.The castle was built in the 11th century, in a highly strategic location - the Gavaudun Valley was the main communication route between the Perigord and Agenais regions. Hence the Chateau de Gavaudun played an important role in the region. The original castle was destroyed in the 12th century and rebuilt in the 13th, and it subsequently played a key role in the victory against the English occupation of France. Apart from its military history, Gavaudun has been occupied since early prehistoric times, and for many centuries had a tradition of iron ore mining and treatment, then later (from about the 17th century) in the manufacture of paper - both industries dependent on the river passing through the valley. In the middle ages Gavaudun Valley was also a place where lepers got sent - the 'lepers cave' is near the village. There isn't a great deal to see inside the castle, but a visit is still recommended. Even entering the castle is not for the feint-hearted, as you climb up a dark, poor condition stairwell hacked into the rock. There are good views down the valley from the top of the 70 meter-high donjon, if your nerve holds out! The village which developed around the castle is also picturesque, with the quiet river Lède passing through the centre of the village and some ancient houses to admire - there are two substantial houses right on the river in Gavaudun: one opposite the castle entrance and the other a little downstream at the exit of the village. The small Church of Laurenque dates from the same period. There is also a cafe here with a lovely wisteria-shaded terrace that makes consistently good food.
Monflanquin, another of the “most beautiful villages of France”, is 15 kilometres north of Villeneuve-sur-Lot and about 25km south east of Bergerac in the northern part of Lot-et-Garonne. It is a French bastide town - i.e. it was founded by the French, at a time when the English ruled much of this part of France, in the 13th century. Set on a hilltop, it is very well preserved, and is generally agreed to be one the most historically intact examples of a medieval bastide town. We had come for the Foire de 8 Mai and to sample the vins, fromages and produits regionaux. It was a bit early for the vin, but we enjoyed the market very much. The central, the tree-shaded Place des Arcades, has beautifully preserved arcades around the square. Perhaps most noteworthy and most impressive is the Gothic 'House of the Black Prince', at the top-right of the square.
Edward of Woodstock, Prince of Wales, was the eldest son of King Edward III of England and his wife Philippa of Hainault as well as father to King Richard II of England. He was popularly known as the Black Prince. He was an exceptional military leader, and his victories over the French at the Battles of Crécy and Poitiers made him very popular during his lifetime. In 1348 he became the first Knight of the Garter, of whose Order he was one of the founders. Edward died one year before his father, becoming the first English Prince of Wales not to become King of England. The throne passed instead to his son Richard II, a minor, upon the death of Edward III.
Next to his house was the tourist office above which was a fascinating Musee des Bastides, which was signposted in English as well as French. It was the story of the English and French bastide towns, their raisons d’etre, the way people lived in them and their subsequent history. Just outside the square is a fine 15th century church with an attractive stone entrance. We explored the alleys and narrow side streets around the center where many of the most authentic medieval buildings and architecture, including several traditional half-timbered houses, can be found.
Wednesday, May 8, Victory Day here (they have a lot of bank holidays) to celebrate victory over the Germans in 1944. We had planned a long day of touring and set off about 9 for Monflanquin.
We stopped first at Pujols, “one of the most beautiful villages in France” and walked around. This was the first place on our stay where we saw tourists, but it was early and most things were still closed. I’m sure it’s a zoo in the summer. We entered by the impressive archway at the north of the town, the St Nicholas belltower - part of the church that is built into the original walls of the village, into the main square, with the church to one side, a 19th century market hall, a bar and the tourist office, and a couple of small galleries. Although Pujols is a small village, little more than one street, a parallel alley, and two churches, it is extremely picturesque. The medieval houses crowd in on the street, and numerous pretty gardens add to the charm. Pujols is a walled village, and has fine views north over Villeneuve-sur-Lot and the Lot River, and south over open countryside.
Sunday: Lazy sort of morning, with a trip to the major fair day in “our” town of Prayssas. Met up with Jan and Ian and Deirdre and Keith, whom we had met at Ferme en Ferme, bought a few essentials (strawberries, asparagus and cheese), and came home. The picture of the bus stop shows the new name “Le Senat” given to it by the mayor, as it is the place where the older ladies from town sit to make important decisions.
Monday: Jerry strimmed most of the day and I entertained the sewing group. There were only five of us, but it was very pleasant out on the covered porch, and they seemed to enjoy the faux key-lime pie I had made with Golden Graham cereal (as they don’t have graham crackers here) and Persian limes. The chicken finally laid an egg. We had been closing up the coop each night, but for the last couple of days, we only closed the bottom half of the Dutch door, and now apparently she knows spring is here and winter is gone and has resume laying. We’ll see.
Tuesday: It was raining, so we decided to go to the Intermarche in Aiguillon instead of the regular market. Got a pretty yellow chicken for supper. In the afternoon, I picked up Marie Helene and we went to Helen’s for coffee and a French lesson. She is a great teacher, but I was a bit weary when I got home about six. We had deep discussions about the different requirements for advanced degrees in the US, UK, and France and I don’t think there was any real agreement on that subject. We both learned how to say the word “grenouille” (frog). While we were there, Jerry mowed all day until he got absolutely drenched in a sudden downpour.
Saturday: Had some really good news today: Jerry’s twenty-five year old asparagus bed has survived Sandy and is producing well. He was depressed over the loss of the garden, but losing the asparagus was the biggest blow. Foggiest morning we’ve seen. We delayed our venture to Celebrations Nerac for a bit, but it didn’t burn off, so we left about 10 and made it safely. Nerac is a castle town of south-western France, thirty kilometers across high, rolling hills southwest of Agen. The town is bisected by the Baise and is bordered to the west by the Gélise. These rivers merge here and Baise flows into the Garonne about ten kilometers to the north. It’s hard to believe that this drowsy backwater, seat of the d’Albret family, once matched the Parisian court in its splendor and extravagance, and that here the bitter rivalries between Protestant and Catholic were played out during the Wars of Religion.
The d’Albrets came to Nerac around 1150 and over the next three centuries grew to become one of Aquitaine’s most powerful dynasties—largely through a talent for marrying well. First they gained the Pyrenean kingdom of Navarre by marriage and then, in 1527, Henri II d’Albret wed Marguerite d’Angouleme, sister of King Francois I of France. Intelligent and cultured, she surrounded her court with scholars and proponents of the new Protestant faith, including Jean Chauvin (know to us as John Calvin) who stayed here briefly in 1534. Neither Henri nor Marguerite converted, but their determined and ambitious daughter, Jeanne d’Albret did in 1560, thus making Nerac an important Protestant stronghold. Her Protestant son, also Henri, married the young, beautiful, and Catholic Marguerite de Valois, sister of the King of France and his queen Catherine de Medici in 1572. This wedding has come to be known as the “Blood Wedding”, as it was immediately followed by the St. Bartholomew's Day Massacre, one of the most terrible days in the history of France. Traditionally believed to have been instigated by Catherine de' Medici, the massacre took place four days after the wedding. This marriage had been an occasion for many of the most wealthy and prominent Huguenots to gather in largely Catholic Paris. The massacre began on 23 August 1572 (the eve of the feast of Bartholomew the Apostle). The king ordered the killing of a group of Huguenot leaders, and the slaughter spread throughout Paris. Lasting several weeks, the massacre expanded outward to other urban centers and the countryside. Modern estimates for the number of dead vary widely, from 5,000 to 30,000. The massacre also marked a turning point in the French Wars of Religion. The Huguenot political movement was crippled by the loss of many of its prominent aristocratic leaders, as well as many re-conversions by the rank and file, and those who remained were increasingly radicalized (does this ring a bell in today’s world?). Throughout Europe, it "printed on Protestant minds the indelible conviction that Catholicism was a bloody and treacherous religion".
The marriage also ushered in Nerac’s golden era. The court of Marguerite and Henri glittered with eminent writers, diplomats and nobles, poets and musicians, while Henri indulged in the innumerable amorous conquests that earned him the nickname, Le Vert Galant. Queen Margot, as she was called, was no shrinking violet either, and the marriage was eventually annulled in 1599, by which time Henri had become Henry IV of France and removed his court to Paris. “When the doors opened for Henri in Paris, those of Fame were shut for Nerac”. It is, however, the chateau of Nerac which we wanted to visit. However, it was shut for this day of festivities, and we could only view the outside. Only the north wing with a round tower and an arcaded balcony with decorative columns running along the first floor level still exist, the other three towers having been partially destroyed in 1621 and finished off during the Revolution. The castle now houses a museum tracing the history of the region, and in particular of the d’Albrets. We will try and return on another day. Today it was surrounded by “amusements” ranging from carousels to modern “drop-from-the-top” rides for children and teenagers. Before heading back across the river to the “real” market, we had a special treat.
To the north of the chateau stands the Eglise St-Nicolas, which was built in the mid-eighteenth century on the site of an eleventh century priory, with the straight lines, use of decorations from antique architecture and sobriety of details that make it a neo-classical jewel. The really magnificent 19th c stained glass windows depicting scenes from the Old and New Testaments were breath-taking. There are also bright murals, including “The Father’s Compassion”, both stately and tragic, representing the tragedy of Salvation, the Son sacrificed to save mankind, and a pelican medallion in the vault recalling the same theme. From the terrace, we had good views of the triple-arched Pont-Vieux and the ancient roofs of the area known as Petit-Nerac on the opposite side of the river. We wandered over the bridge and turned right into the rue Sederie, where there is a wonderful collection of colombage (half-timbered) buildings of the old tanneries.
We shopped a bit for strawberries and asparagus and some crudities for the picnic, then set off for lunch. We didn’t want to eat in Nerac, as it was impossibly crowded, and we had heard about a country inn in Francescas. By now the sun was shining brightly and it was a pretty drive to this tiny town. Le Relais de la Hire, an 18th century house with its own herb garden, appeared a bit more formal than we had expected. We were seated in a very pleasant room with high ceilings and lots of moldings and paintings of stairs everywhere(??). We started with an outstanding appetizer, hearts of artichoke into which a soufflé of mushrooms had been cooked and topped with sautéed foie gras. Then we ordered the special lunch menu, lamb ribs (tough but full of flavor) with buttered noodles and a dessert of strawberries (naturelment), ice cream, and a little cake, all topped with chocolate sauce.On the way home, we found another treasure. Down in a valley we saw a very unusual, sort of Tuscan, church tower. In the town of Nomdieu, we found the church and an immaculate town center with flowers and a huge sundial. We didn’t see one single person anywhere. We inspected the church and a wonderfully restore wash house and set off. I looked on the internet and it appears that this was originally, about 1160, one of the hospitals of the Knights Hospitaller, also known as The Sovereign Military Hospitaller Order of St. John of Jerusalem of Rhodes and of Malta, among the most famous of the Western Christian military orders during the Middle Ages. Thus it seems this tiny hamlet was also caught up in the French kings vs. nobility conflict we saw earlier in St. Sardos. A local lord granted to The Hospital the right to appeal to him and his descendants in return for a commitment never to conclude treaties with any other lords (presumably including the King). In the 13th century, Nomdieu included a community of brothers and a hospital. According to a report from the 17th century, the house had five levels connected by a spiral staircase. It was restored in the late 17th century, when it was sold to the Revolution. In the mid-nineteenth century, it was further restored.
France~Aquitaine Part 2
Wednesday: Woke up to yet another day of deep fog, rain and cold. But we decided to press on and left for Cahors. The rain stopped and the sun came out just as we got to the city and there was an immediate improvement in all of our spirits.
Cahors There is something unmistakably Mediterranean about this laidback town, the former capital of the Quercy region. The dry limestone plateau is covered with oak trees and riddled with canyons carved by the serpentine River Lot. Many of the residents still speak Occian (Provencal). Practically encircled by a hairpin turn in the river, and ringed by hills, the city has been inhabited since the first century BC, when a Gaulish tribe known as the Cadurci founded a settlement near a sacred spring, which the Romans later called Divona Cadurcorum. There were successive waves of Vandal and Franskish invasions until the seventh century, when the then Bishop, later Saint, Didier finally erected a wall to protect the nascent town and his rapidly growing cathedral. The bishops of Cahors gradually spread their net until they not only ruled over a vast area extending down the Lot as far as Puy-l’Eveque but also controlled the all-important river trade. In the Middle Ages, Cahors was a prosperous commercial and financial center, and reminders of the city’s wealth are clearly visible along the narrow streets and alleyways of Vieux Cahors, densely packed with elegant houses and hotels particuliers (private mansions). Powerful local merchants, known as Caorsins, together with Lombard bankers fleeing the Cathar Crusades, turned the town into Europe’s chief banking center. The more enthusiastic of these money lenders earned such a reputation for usury that Dante compared the town to Gomorrah when describing the structure of Hell. The Tour de Pape Jean XXII, a square crenellated tower—the tallest structure in town—was built in the 14th century as part of the home of Jacques Duese, then a local bishop, later Pope John XXII from 1316 to 1334. The second of the Avignon popes, he established a university in Cahors in 1331.
There was a weekly market going on in Cathedral square. We looked, but did not buy. The cavernous nave of the Perigord-style Romanesque Cathedrale St. Etienne, consecrated in 1119, is crowned with two 18m-wide cupolas (the largest in France). The outside is not very exciting, except for an elaborately decorated portal above the north door depicting Christ’s Ascension. It is a bit tame, showing no movement or violent scenes. The figures are arranged in seemingly celestial calm around the central haloed figure of Christ who, framed in an almond-shaped aureole and wrapped in the fluid folds of a flowing robe, is the very picture of bliss. A host of little angels, twisting and turning gracefully, make merry among the clouds at the top, while the Apostles converse learnedly and listen to a pair of angels singing praises. The nave, crowned with its pair of domes is light and airy. A circular fresco depicts Saint Stephen’s martyrdom, surrounded by the radiant figures of eight prophets. In 1988 further painting from the same era were discovered behind layers of plaster just inside and above the west door. In complete contrast to the simplicity of the nave, the apse is decorated with a profusion of stained-glass windows. The chapels along the nave are Gothic, as are the choir and the massive western façade. The wall paintings between the organ and the interior of the western façade are early 14th century. Accessible from the cathedral’s choir, the badly damaged cloister is in the Flamboyant Gothic style of the early 16th century.
Duras in the north-east corner of the Lot-et-is a pleasant town, usually rather quiet, but they were just finishing up a market day, so it was pretty crowded when we arrived, at 12:30, just in time for the castle to close. So we ate a rather poor lunch in a bistro on the square, then returned to the ticket office of the Chateau de Duras. Originally built in the 12th century, the Chateau de Duras was fortified in the early 14th century, then subsequently transformed in the 17th century into accommodation more suited to residential use, with many luxurious touches being added in the process. As with many French castles it suffered important damage at the time of the revolution, but the second half of the 20th century has seen the castle substantially renovated. We wended our way through a large number of imposing rooms, and through the attractive two storied balconied interior courtyard. We saw the original bakery in the castle, the kitchen and a room with some extraordinary carpentry work (a recent but faithful reconstruction of the original), before visiting the tower with breath-taking views across the valley below. Sarah climbed the many steps up the round tower, while Jerry and I were happy to look from the balconies. The very top room was a huge dormitory, which apparently had quite a reputation for fun. It has twelve fireplaces and is set up to enclose each with curtains, creating private bedrooms for unexpected guests.
It was raining (surprise) as we left, so we drove home, arriving just as two orange lights came on in the Clio.
Tuesday: Pouring rain and cold again. We postponed travel plans and stayed home. I spent the morning doing itineraries for two more days of Sarah’s visit, then we all went to our French lesson in Port Sainte Marie in the afternoon. Two hours of speaking and thinking in French is very wearying, but I believe I’m making progress, and Sarah was the star of the class. We had our duck burgers with asparagus and leftovers for dinner. The leftovers are about to be chucked.
Our last stop was one highly recommended last night by Alex at the picnic. Flaran Abbey is a former Cistercian abbey located in Valence-sur-Baïse, in the deparment of Gers. The abbey was founded in 1151, as a daughter house of Escaladieu Abbey, at the confluence of the Auloue and Baïse rivers, between the towns of Condom and Auch. The abbey was founded by Burgundian monks and today represents one of the best preserved abbeys in the south-west of France. After its foundation in the 12th century, Flaran Abbey experienced rapid growth. The abbey did not escape the vicissitudes of history, beginning with the Hundred Years' War, which ended with the Plantagenet county of Gascony being realigned with France. Engulfed by fire during the French Wars of Religion, the abbey was restored by subsequent abbots, but was suppressed and sold off during the French Revolution. In 1913, the Archaeological Society of Gers intervened so that the abbey would not end up in the architectural collection that resulted in The Cloisters museum in New York City. The site was purchased by the department of Gers in 1972 and underwent an intense restoration project; it is now the site of numerous cultural activities, including a wonderful exhibit of late nineteenth and early twentieth century art, tastefully displayed in the old monks’ dormitory. We were especially impressed with the explanation of the architecture inside the church. We wondered about the various markings on the individual stones and learned that medieval masons marked their stones with a unique signature that enabled them to be paid for their work. The site houses a permanent exhibition on the pilgrimage route to Santiago de Compostela.
All in all a great day with a wide variety of experiences. Home to a dinner of leftover pulled pork and potato salad.
Larressingle is a medieval fortified village towards the northern edge of the Gers department, 5 kilometres west of Condom and is listed as one of the 'most beautiful villages of France' (you do wonder if there are any ugly villages in France). A small village almost completely surrounded by heavy fortified walls dating from the 13th century Larressingle is almost 300 metres around and creates a very impressive sight on arrival. Medieval home to the bishops from Condom it is the most visited destination in the Gers. The village is entered by its only gate through the fortifications, across a pretty little double-arched stone bridge that was at one time a drawbridge across the moat (now dry) and through an arch in a tower. The defenses are almost completely intact. Within the walls of the smallest fortified town in France are a small church, Roman style and fortified in design, a small chateau (largely in ruins, and dominated by the donjon) and various smaller buildings and houses, mostly set with their backs to the fortified walls. Larressingle is on one of the major pilgrimage paths to Santiago de Compostella, a path that also passes through nearby Condom and Montreal-du-Gers.
The Way of Saint James is the pilgrimage route to the Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela in Galacia in northwestern Spain, where tradition has it that the remains of the apostle Saint James are buried. The Way of Saint James was one of the most important Cristian pilgrimages during medieval times, together with Rome and jerusalem, and a pilgrimage route on which a plenary indulgence could be earned. Legend holds that St. James's remains were carried by boat from Jerusalem to northern Spain where he was buried on the site of what is now the city of Santiago de Compostela. The Way can take one of any number of pilgrimage routes to Santiago de Compostela. Traditionally, as with most pilgrimages, the Way of Saint James began at one's home and ended at the pilgrimage site. However a few of the routes are considered main ones, and one of these is where we traveled today. The scallop shell, often found on the shores in Galicia, has long been the symbol of the Camino de Santiago. Over the centuries the scallop shell has taken on mythical, metaphorical and practical meanings, even if its relevance may actually derive from the desire of pilgrims to take home a souvenir. One version: After James' death, his disciples shipped his body to the Iberian Peninsula to be buried in what is now Santiago. Off the coast of Spain a heavy storm hit the ship, and the body was lost to the ocean. After some time, however, the body washed ashore undamaged, covered in scallops. The scallop shell also acts as a metaphor. The grooves in the shell, which come together at a single point, represent the various routes pilgrims traveled, eventually arriving at a single destination: the tomb of James in Santiago de Compostela. The shell is also a metaphor for the pilgrim. As the waves of the ocean wash scallop shells up on the shores ofGalicia, God's hand also guides the pilgrims to Santiago.
Sunday, Pentecost, May 19: We came up with a plan for the day which turned out to be very pleasant, changeable (what else is new), but pretty and interesting. We began by crossing the Garronne toward Nerac, where we stopped for a quick visit. We tried the Chateau Henry IV, but alas it was, as usual closed. Fourcés is another of the “plus belle villages de France” and we entered it over a lovely stone bridge over the river. The St Laurent church is on the right just before the town. The church dates from the Middle Ages, although it was in part rebuilt in the 1860's - the bell tower is particularly attractive. The village itself is a perfect ensemble of medieval houses, some in colombage (half-timbered) and some in stone (built in the 17th and 18th centuries). The mairie occupies one of the finest arcaded-colombage buildings. Fourcés is very unusual, in that although it is a bastide town, it follows a round design (almost all other bastide towns, except, of course, Prayssas, follow a strict grid pattern). The edges of the central square are surrounded by beautiful old buildings, with sheltered arcades below. The centre of the square is planted with London Plane trees - again unusual. Around the edges of the 'square', there are curious marks in the wood of the buildings (left by the builders hundreds of years ago). In one of the shops I found a pretty bowl with bluebirds to remind me of the bastide towns when I get home.
Miramont-de-Guyenne is a traditional bastide town, founded by the English King Edward I at the end of the 13th century. Although the layout of the town still largely follows the original typical grid, in fact it was so badly damaged during the Hundred Years War that the town was 'refounded' in 1494. In the 19th century the town had a period of prosperity based on the manufacture of sheepskin slippers, the original Uggs. It shouldn’t take long to explore Miramont, but today was a huge market, so we had more to see than we had expected. We did some shopping, including getting three duck burgers for dinner tomorrow. Then we visited the 19th century Church of Saint-Marie best known for its modern stained glass windows using a vibrant color now called 'Miramont blue'. We weren’t too impressed either with the church or with the vibrancy of the windows. The tower of the church no longer seems to be part of the 'main' building but stands a few feet away - this is because the original church foundations were not strong enough, and after threatening to collapse the church was closed from 1929, then subsequently restored in 1962, but with a space between the church and the original belltower.
Allemans-du-Dropt is a village on the banks of the Dropt River with a beautiful and exceptional church. The Church of Saint Eutrope is the highlight in the village. Dating from the 10th century, although much altered in later centuries, this church in the centre of town is unremarkable from the outside, but inside the walls are covered with many 15th century frescoes, prettier than any I have ever seen, even in Assissi. These frescoes, painted in vivid colors, were rediscovered in 1935 and have now been largely restored - they represent various episodes from the bible, mostly the Last Judgment , and many have an almost startling modern quality about them. There are two market halls in the village of Allemans-du-Dropt, the original market hall (next to the church) is constructed in wood, and a larger hall has also been built in stone- this is the prune hall, built in the 19th century and traditionally the centre for the local prune markets. It was raining when we came out of the church, so we climbed in the car and drove on.
Monday (a bank holiday) Left about 10 for a full day in the Dropt Valley (NW Lot-et-Garonne). We started at the quaint 13th century Church of Beffery, which was undergoing some work and was closed.
The compostela is a certificate of accomplishment given to pilgrims on completing the Way. To earn the compostela one needs to walk a minimum of 100 km or cycle at least 200 km. In practice, for walkers, that means starting in the small city of Sarria, for it has good transportation connections via bus and rail to other places in Spain . Pilgrims arriving in Santiago de Compostela who have walked at least the last 100 km, or cycled 200 km to get there (as indicated on their credencial), are eligible for the compostela from the Pilgrim's Office in Santiago. The compostela has been indulgenced since the Early Middle Ages and remains so to this day. The pilgrim passport is examined for stamps and dates. If a key stamp is missing, the compostela may be refused. The pilgrim can state whether the goal of his Camino was 'religious', 'religious and other' or just 'other'. In the case of 'other' a compostelate in Spanish is given asking for blessing of this heathen. In the cases of 'religious' or 'religious and other' a compostelate in Latin is given. The Pilgrim Office of Santiago awards more than 100,000 compostelas a year to pilgrims from over 100 countries.
In the church we had a pleasant surprise, a stamping machine for the pilgrim’s passports. Outside was a sign warning that, although you could have your dog on a leash, you must not ride your horse into the town.
Founded in 1255 on a rocky outcrop, Montreal (another “beautiful village”) is a typical bastide town. However, this one has yielded to modernity and turned its central arcaded square into a car park. An ancient Gothic church forms part of the town walls. On a nearby hill in Séviac there are the remains of an ancient Gallo-Roman villa. We drove up to it, but decided not to pay the entry fee as the only real remains were some mosaics covered in corrugated roofing.
On the way to our next stop, we realized that this whole day we have been on the pilgrimage route of Saint Jacques de Compostelle (Camino de Santiago in Spanish). We had seen lots of hikers, but didn’t put it together till we saw signs for the Pont d’Artigue and stopped. It was signposted with the story. This stone bridge across the Osse River is one of the oldest structures along the pilgrimage route.
Gail South
The reason most people venture to Cahors is to see the Pont Valentre, which spans the river on the west side. It is one of France’s finest medieval bridges, consisting of six arches and three tall towers, two of which have projecting parapets designed to allow defenders to drop missiles on attackers below. The bridge was always intended to serve as part of the town’s defenses and it’s still open only to pedestrians. We crossed the bridge and then had a great five-course lunch at the Lagarr : Vegetable soup, followed by a lovely quiche, then roast beef and dauphinoise potatoes, a cheese plate, and chocolate mousse, with, of course, bread and wine.
Building a colossal edifice like Valentre Bridge requires equally colossal financial and technical efforts. Desperate to finish his work, the architect began by calling on the saints of paradise to help him. But when his prayers seemed to fall on deaf heavenly ears, this shrewd and artful man was struck by another idea, certainly more dangerous, but perhaps more affective. If the master of heaven either could not or would not help, then he would call upon the master of hell instead. Satan, ever eager to attend to a troubled soul seeking damnation, rushed to answer his call. Help him/ Of course. But at a price. Once the work was accomplished, the devil was to receive his reward: the architect’s soul. Work began. Arches, piers, parapets and towers shot up with what can only be called devilish speed. The architect was delighted; the devil was laughing. But then the architect began to wonder if any bridge, even one such as his Valentre, was really worth eternal damnation. So he had another, rather diabolical, idea. “Devil, fetch me water for my mortar!” he commanded, indicating the recipient, a sieve, riddled with a thousand holes. Although he worked like a demon, the poor devil was unable to finish the bridge and keep his promise, and had to admit he was beaten. But if he was beaten, why the devil is it that every time the last stone is set firmly in place, at the top of the great tower, it falls heavily to the ground? An ill wind perhaps?
We walked about some more and saw the Pope John XXII tower, with ornate openwork windows, then traveled down a flowered footpath to the river where we had parked the car. This turned out to be one of the 25 “secret gardens” of Cahors, the journey through which seems to be a great way to see the city. I think we will try it again with Megan and Dawson.
Drove toward home, passing Montcuq (pronounce the q if you don’t want to be saying “my arse”) which is built around the flanks of a conical hill, on top of which stands a huge square keep. It guarded the ancient Compostelle road, but it seems to have had the knack of picking the wrong cause: it sided with the Cathars, was condemned for collaborating with the English and later became a Protestant stronghold. Got stuck behind a truck delivering flour to a boulangerie, then passed the church of St-Hilaire with its octagonal brick tower.
Skipped the town of Lauzerte and headed home. The clouds rolled in as we entered the driveway. Jerry immediately started to mow. We have the best groomed lawn in France.