Sarlat-la-Canéda, Dordogne

All things medieval draw many to France, and Sarlat is especially blessed.

Or all things Renaissance, as the case may be. As soon as I pulled up in front of the old stone house that is my chambre d’hôte (essentially, bed and breakfast), I knew there would be too many photogenic sights to even bother trying to capture. Even in the drizzle, and after the stress of driving over three hours on French autoroutes in a relentless storm of high wind and driving rain, I knew this was a gem. I was allowed to park Skoda in a weird sort of tiny backyard, and there she waits until tomorrow. My research department has informed me that she is Czech in origin. I don’t know any Czech names, and anyway, I’m tired of her incessant nagging, as she beeps if she thinks I’m anywhere near a solid object. Thus, climbing steeply out of the canyon of the Dordogne River yesterday, hemmed in by the stone walls of a hamlet above the river bank, she was in a hissy of nonstop beeping until we got clear of the neighborhood. Absurd. One time she even beeped and then suggested I should stay in my own lane, when I barely touched the center line, once.

Arriving first at the Dordogne River itself, we drove along the canyon lined with cliffs. Every so often there would be a wide spot, with a farm and orchards of walnut trees. And then a small town built of native stone that matches the cliffs, looking over the river, which I hear is popular in the summer for swimming. And full of canoeists, if the many stacks of yellow canoes at the concession is any indication. We are now back in real tourist country, and the difference is striking. I was not alone wandering around the old town, and just how packed with people it is in summer is unimaginable to me. A gentleman I met told me something like two million visitors a year, mostly in July and August? To a town of 6,000 people. A rich town, he said.

There are a lot of modern businesses outside the medieval town center, even a couple of car dealerships, so you could live a normal life here. In the old walled part of course all the buildings are very old, but all are in use. There are two wells of clear, cold, briskly running water, the one on the left getting special treatment and doubling as a grotto in the middle of town.

The house I’m in is a crazy composite of rooms from the 1400s to the 1700s. My host told me that in my first room the wood floor is 300 years old, and in my next room (I had to move each night to get the reservation) the floor is 600 years old. The wood looks fine, ten years old, except for the handmade nails.

 

 

 

I am across a tiny street from a home that was continuously lived in from the 1400s until about 15 years ago, and is now a museum with many original, and authentic furnishings. Le Manoir de Gessin. The de Gessin family were very important in Sarlat for generations. Finally, I got to go into one of these ancient houses! It’s on the right, the tower housing the spiral staircase. The focus here is on the Renaissance life, and they mention King François I as having brought his court here, and presumably helping the leading families, like the De Gessin family, get on the money train with the Medici pope and his Knights of Malta. I say this, because, for some reason nobody seems to know, Sarlat took as their coat of arms the Fire Salamander. Hmm. And in one bedroom there was a huge armoire of prestigious walnut wood, carved all over with Maltese crosses.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It was marvelous to be able to move from room to room and floor to floor, and look out open windows down into the square. I imagined women doing that for hundreds of years, calling out to their neighbors and friends. People have been creating surprisingly sophisticated lives here for a long time.  I read that it was very important to them to have the classes dress to show their caste, with the most brilliant fabrics and jewels reserved only for royalty. These costumes are authentic to the time of François I and the inhabitants of this house. Seeing them up close drives it home that these people were indeed very rich town bureaucrats.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This is my bedroom below, complete with a little terrace that it is too cold to use. In fact that is the downside of old houses in France: they are hard to heat. At breakfast the host and guests were all wearing jackets or down vests. That is the normal thing to do here in real life, during cold weather.

 

 

 

I walked through the maze of streets, taking pictures in spite of myself because there were so many unique little details around every corner. Not a single building, street, staircase, door, cornice, etc. is the same. But, it’s all made of the native stone, even the shingles, so it fits perfectly in the landscape and is all tied together. Today’s featured photo was chosen just because of its exceptional exploitation of wisteria.

I had a very social day as well, starting with three Australian women who invited me to join their table for breakfast, and then the Irish man and his Australian wife with whom I had a great conversation after the other Australians left for their walking tour. First English in a week. Then, in French, a lovely young woman in an accessories shop showed me how to tie a silk scarf in a proper French style. When I said I doubted I’d remember, she offered to show me while I made a video of her. So I did, and it’s excellent. We had fun, and she thanked me for the ‘moment’ as I left. Then the above mentioned Frenchman really lived up to the famed reputation by introducing himself, offering his arm, and escorting me to a site he wished to show me. And then inviting me to his place for dinner. However, I had other plans.  

 

 

 

At lunch in a little bakery, I ordered a regional specialty, a walnut tart. It is under the disc of chocolate, which was plain in the dessert case. I saw the waiter take it away, and after what seemed like a long time, he returned with it bearing this sparkly golden walnut half. I think it is a great way to highlight local produce, and Oregon should use it. Who knew walnuts could be so prestigious? I asked him if it was edible, and he said Bien sur! Of course.