Dordogne delights

 We have just spent four fabulous days in the Dordogne region of France. And while we’ve wandered through any number of photoworthy villages and enjoyed stunning rural skylines, it is the interactions with other humans that leave lasting memories.

Our hosts Jill and Brian, pulled out all the stops to welcome us.  Our reception at Le Buisson station on Saturday morning really needed only a red carpet, brass band and  bunting to make it a full civic occasion. Having been kept up to date with my daily journal (well, since you ask, https://www.cycleblaze.com/journals/peeps/ ) Brian had even scoured the shelves of local stores to produce a welcoming array of red, white and rosé. What more could we ask?

The grounds of the gîte on a foggy autumn morning

Next morning, the Kiwi peloton set off from the gîte for an impressive (in terms of the hilly terrain) 30-plus kilometre loop of this beautiful countryside, crossing the Dordogne river twice and calling in on two villages, Limeuil and Tremolat. We were riding our trusty touring bikes, blissfully without panniers, while Jill and Brian had rented a couple of nice-looking Treks.

After the generally flatt(ish) greenways and canal paths that Tour Leader and I have encountered in previous weeks, the Dordogne landscape is consistently undulating. Translate that as you will, but it would be fair to say the ride was a good challenge for three of us. It was a relief, then, to pedal over the bridge and into Limeuil for our first stop.

We did it ...uphill

Limeuil is a medieval hillside village that rolls down to the confluence of  two languid rivers, the Dordogne and the Vezère. Beauty oozes from its warm tiled rooflines and stone walls.  We stayed in this village for a fortnight on our way to the London Olympics in 2012 so we're looking forward to this morning’s visit. And it does not disappoint.

Morning coffees and pastries at a café overlooking the two rivers inspired a flurry of social media activity of the hashtag-how-cool-is-this ilk. And you’d have to agree, if you were sitting in the sun there with us, it was a magical moment.

After caffeine, we climbed the narrow street, past so many photo opportunities, to the open square at the top of the hill.  Here we could take a peek at our 2012 home, a 16th century magistrate's house, complete with a cellar which once doubled as a lockup for drunken sailors.

Cheeky fellas, Mirabeau

Back on the bikes, our next stop was Tremolat, a mere two hills or so away. We enjoyed lunch there and a great chat with four English travellers who were intrigued by our Kiwi accents. Wearing her NZ Tourism hat, Jill even roughed out a few itineraries for the couple who were keen to head Down Under.

The Dordogne region is a popular destination for the English and has been since forever.  Who hasn’t watched an episode of that TV show “English couples trying to buy a bargain in the French countryside and meeting many obstacles in the form of reluctant tradesmen and red tape”?

OK, I may have made that up but you know what I mean. Which explains why, after a month of greeting people in French, I have felt rather odd saying bonjour to all and sundry since arriving here. The chances are that those sundry saying bonjour back are English. Just too weird!

Back in Limeuil this morning, we had chatted to an older English couple who'd noticed the Kia ora on the back of my bike. They spend five months in their Dordogne home every year and were on their way back to the UK, along with their wee dog, to see the winter out in a warmer house. When I commented on the ubiquity of the English here, Mrs Brit replied in a flash, “Well after all, this was our first colony”. And yes, there was a certain sense of entitlement in her response.

Jill and Bruce in a-maze-ing Campagne. Sorry.

Another day, another ancient church. We were in Le Buisson de Cadouin, a popular tourist destination because of its 12th century abbey. And what remains of it is indeed a fine landmark. The French Revolution six centuries later saw its possessions looted and the library burnt down. Progress eh?

But plenty of visitors still flock to the large square in the centre of the town to admire the church building that still stands. The drawcard for us, though, after an afternoon of exploring by car, was the ice cream sign spotted in a quiet corner. It was 3pm, right on opening time.

So we ordered. And sat outside. And waited. Monsieur mimed and gesticulated to suggest that the ice cream was in the freezer and needed to soften. The afternoon unfolded further. We sat and softened a little ourselves. Monsieur whistled and sang, ignored instructions from his wife in the window upstairs (“I make ice creams!”) And gave us regular updates on the state of the ice cream.

Le Buisson ...beyond ice creams

 I can't recall the exact order of events – it played out over some time – but by the time we had our treats in hand,  a bond had been forged over rugby. Monsieur Rashid was from Toulouse, Jerome Kaino now plays for Toulouse. So, to illustrate this connection Rashid needed to borrow Brian to demonstrate a Kaino tackle. Pure theatre!

Reading the signs, Belvès

Of course we had to go back. On the pretext of buying some gorgeous pottery from the studio next door, we found ourselves outside the café dead on three o'clock a couple of days later. Things unfolded much as before. This time, we were asked to perform a haka in exchange for free ice creams. Brian gave it his best shot mais non, we fell short of the expected standard. A mere 35 minutes later, defrosted ice creams finally in hand, we farewelled footy-loving Rashid and the Abbey of Cadouin.

Our final day's outing was to Domme, an ancient fortified town (bastide) perched 150 metres above the Dordogne river. En route we stopped to explore the fairytale Château de Mirabeau. As beautiful as it is, the history of this castle is eclipsed by the story of its celebrated owner, Josephine Baker. Wikipedia labels her as a French entertainer, which barely does her justice. This talented black American performer taught herself to dance, left home at 16 to find fame in France in the 1920s, joined the Resistance during the war and later became a civil rights activist. Oh and adopted 12 children. Her life was a compelling and ultimately sad story.

Château Mirabeau

On to happier things. Ascending to Domme’s highest point, we enjoyed a convivial lunch in dramatically stormy conditions as a weather front passed overhead.

I've written more than usual in this blog – there seemed so much to say, and so much I still haven't said – but this return trip to the Dordogne was something special. And again, it was very much about the people. Thank goodness for characters like Rashid, and the English colonisers. Thank goodness for friends like Jill and Brian.

Think I left a piece of my heart in Limeuil