Deep in the Dordogne

Salviac is a small town in the Lot department in southwestern France. It is located near the more famous towns of Rocamadour and Cahors, and lesser-known but striking gems such as La Roque-Gajeac, the gardens of Marqueyssac, and Château de Castelnaud. 

A Small Farm in Salviac

For ten days, my home was a small semi-farm on a hillside overlooking the village. The owners had built it themselves 19 years before, and included a lovely pool terrace, flower and vegetable gardens, and an extensive wooded chicken run. It was still a bit chilly in April, so sadly I did not get to enjoy the pool, and it was too early for fresh vegetables, but the nine chickens did provide me with more fresh eggs than I could handle. I have to say, I really love looking after chickens. I love the gentle humming noises they make, and the fact that they’ll eat just about any scraps that come out of the kitchen. Sometimes when I get really stressed during the work day, I’ll come out and watch the chickens a bit, and think that maybe life isn’t so bad. 

My indoor charges this time were Charlie and Luna, two sweet cats with polar opposite personalities. Luna was quite old, and spent most of her time asleep in the study, occasionally coming out to cry for more yogurt. Charlie was a young black mouser, and boy did he catch mice. The owner warned me that he could catch several mice a day, but I assumed that he would be too wary of me to bring them to me… I was wrong. By the third day, we got along just fine, so he felt quite comfortable bringing me his catches. Some of the unlucky ones he ate after playing with them a bit, and some of them I took from him and was able to give to the chickens for a high-protein snack (I know, but that’s nature). I did manage to save one that was playing dead, shooing a perplexed Charlie away and catching it in a box and letting it free in the field next door to fight another day. That one may be a drop in the bucket compared to all the other mice Charlie has successfully exterminated, but there’s some starfish on a beach story that makes me feel better for at least saving one…

Although the village was quite small, I was pleasantly surprised that it had everything one could need – a grocery, bakery, pharmacy, and other small shops to make up the differences. One such shop sold an eclectic mix of spices, tea, and homemade pastries. I spoke at length with the owner, and soon we were joined by a jocular older French gentleman who embodied the French countryside, from his ruddy cheeks to his thick leather boots to his dusty flat cap. Once he found out I was American, he winked and said “you guys get some great Presidents, eh?” and I chuckled nervously, but as we looked to the owner to see if she understood the sarcasm, she rolled her eyes and said “don’t look at me, I’m Russian”. We all commiserated.

The center of the village was the 13th century church, and at the time I was reading The Pillars of the Earth by Ken Follett, thus I appreciated the architecture so much more. Inside the sanctuary was a room housing religious treasures found recently in a forgotten attic in the town, having been hidden during WWII and remarkably preserved throughout the centuries. 

Hiking the Lot Valley

Before they left, my hosts left me with several pamphlets of local hikes. During the week, I chose several from a booklet that looked to be about several decades old, and set out in the hopes the trails were still well-marked with a baguette end, apple, and dried goat’s cheese from the market. One such hike, the Circuit de l’Abbaye Nouvelle, took me through nine kilometers of forest and field, across roads and pastures, and past beautiful little cottages in the Dordogne-style, with pigeon towers and slate-shingle roofs. Deep in the mossy woods, much to my surprise and delight, I happened to surprise a wild boar and watched as it crashed through the brush away from me. I caught glimpses of the deep, chestnut brown fur, much darker than the fair-skinned doe I came upon later. It was clear the trail was well-maintained, though sometimes I would walk through spider webs, and felt like the forest was gently placing a wedding veil over my eyes each time. The walk culminated with a picnic amidst the ruins of l’Abbaye Nouvelle, or “the New Abbey”. There were dozens of trails in the area – indeed, there seem to be all sorts of marked walks all throughout France, and they are quite easy to follow once you figure out the sign system. 

La Roque-Gageac and Rocamadour

When I was a little girl, I dreamed daily of going to France. I would search the early internet for the locations of the most beautiful villages in the country, looking at house listings and planning a provincial life full of fresh flowers and old wine. At the top of my list was a small village in the Dordogne, La Roque-Gajeac. The village is built straight into rock, taking up the narrow space between the towering cliff-side and the Dordogne river. Over 20 years later, as I drove across the bridge and approached the medieval wonder, I felt that strange sensation of a lifelong dream becoming a reality. True, it was smaller than in my dreams, and there were far more tourists than I had imagined, but walking among the shops and stopping for lunch on a welcoming terrace felt like the end of a lifelong pursuit. I returned twice, and with Leo we climbed up into the cliffside fort and enjoyed the view of the verdant valley from the caves.

Even though it seems quite populated with tourists, I would say that La Roque-Gajeac is still considered a hidden gem compared to the nearby Rocamadour. Rocamadour is certainly impressive, and like La Roque-Gajeac, is built directly into a cliff-side of a gorge. Most of the impressive sight is made up by the cathedral and its several sanctuaries, and following the steps down you can walk through the old medieval main street. Like much of medieval France, the street is lined with souvenir shops and tourist chains, and we didn’t feel the need to stay too long.

Château de Castelnaud

I prefer La Roque-Gageac for other reasons besides just having fewer tour buses coming through. Within sight of the village are several medieval castles, all built on promontories to face each other in an eternal stand-off of enemies. Châteaude Beynac faces Château de Castelnaud faces Château de Montfort, and that’s just a few of them. It was certainly tense for the inhabitants of the time, but it makes it rather convenient for the modern-day tourists to visit a bunch of medieval castles all at once. Leo and I visited the Château de Castelnaud. The castle had one of the better constructed castle tours I’ve seen. The informational signs guided us through numerous chambers housing original furniture, armor, and weapons, and reproductions of clothing and scenes of daily life. Videos and dioramas explained the tense situation with neighbors and the battles the castle withstood over the years. Over the ramparts and out in the castle yards were enormous, true-to-life reproductions of catapults and trebuchets and other siege weapons that made me feel very small and very peaceful indeed. We even go to try our hand at archery at one of the gardens. To cap off the lovely day, we stopped to pick up some regional specialties, such as the dark, thick “vin de noix” (nut wine) and fatty, rich foie gras.

Les Jardins Suspendus de Marqueyssac

Outside of the battle-happy chateaux, the gardens of Marqueyssac are well worth a visit. After spending countless hours caring for a walled garden, I know just how much work can go into a place like that and can appreciate it all the more. A stone’s throw from La Roque-Gajeac and all the aforementioned castles, the gardens top a small plateau that rises up suddenly out of the landscape. Being posh gardens, I was greeted by a frustrated peacock, who was fiercely challenging the delivery truck in the parking lot, his full tail on lustrous display. Perhaps even stranger, when I stepped into the main house, I myself was confronted by a large Michelin man waving at me. Evidently the gardens are a three-star Michelin stop, hence the incongruous doorman. I spent over an hour walking through the ornately trimmed hedges, lavender gardens, and woodlands, pausing to enjoy views of La Roque-Gageac and step inside several of the old poet’s huts. Sadly, I forewent scaling the side of the cliff which was included in the price – I had no idea how serious the activity was until I saw the helmets and ropes required. Perhaps next time, with better shoes.  

Gouffre de Padirac

When I think of visiting places in France, I don’t usually think of natural wonders. Of course, I know there are gorgeous natural sites in France, such as places in the Alps, deep-cut gorges, or hidden coves on the coastline. What I didn’t expect was a deep, yawning hole in the earth that leads to a 20-kilometer network of underground tunnels and rivers, and for it to be one of many. 

The Gouffre de Padirac is a chasm well over 300 feet deep. We descended several hundred stairs into the “gouffre”, surrounded by the dripping, moss-covered walls and occasionally slipping on the sleek metal stairs. It strongly reminded me of several levels of Tomb Raider, and not for the first time I wished I was as cool and capable as Lara Croft. We entered the tunnels and walked deep into the darkness with only small lights to guide us, illuminating ghostly pools and damp stalagmites and stalactites. Strange formations had developed on the cave walls as water dripped down over the centuries, and it felt like we were walking through a forest of giant, marshmallowy fungi. Soon enough the path ended, and to continue deeper, we got into wide, flat-bottomed boats pushed down the cool river by guides who called out to each other in the darkness. The tour took us about one kilometer into the earth, with the remaining 19 kilometers saved for researchers and geologists. We broke back out into the sunlight dreaming of 19th century explorers and places unknown.

It just goes to show that there is no way to get tired of traveling, as there is something new and wonderful to discover in every little corner. That is what keeps me lugging my suitcases onto trains, buses, and planes over and over and over again. May the dusty road never peter out.