On Saturday we toured Lascaux2, a replica of a prehistoric cave. The replica was created when the original cave was closed in the mid 80's because the art was being damaged by tourists. They weren't damaging it on purpose, their very breath created some kind of chemical reaction with the atomosphere and oxidation and microbes, all of that, was clouding the art. Lascaux2 is an exact replica, created by a team of expert artists who used what they believe are the same methods and materials used to create the original drawings. The cave was discovered when two boys were out walking in the woods with their dog, they found a hole in the ground, peeked in, and hte rest is history. It was pretty wonderful, even though it wasn’t “real”; it almost made the original more real.
Saturday night in Sarlat was pretty exciting. We stopped in at the local internet cafe, then checked out seeing a movie, but it was dubbed in French (Pirates of the Caribbean 3, I think) and so we settled on some excellent pizza and a walk around town. Because the stones used to build the town are all golden tones and because they use gas lights to light the town at night, the city has a lovely golden light about it. Turns out the town was having a 10K run, which was 4 times around the medieval city walls, and we caught most of it, cheered people on, and saw the winner cross.
Sunday morning we toured Font de Gamme, one of the only caves they actually still allow visitors to tour. Only 130 people are allowed in each day the cave is open. Tours are small, only 8 people at a time. You enter the cave through a narrow path, the lighting is dim and the air is damp and musty. After you twist and turn and duck through the cave, you come upon the first paintings. Lights are placed where the original painters placed their crude lanterns made of animal fat, on the natural shelves of the cave. The light hits the curves and creases in the rock, showing how their paintings must have looked to them as they painted. Our guide, a beautiful French man with a deep, serious voice, spoke only French. The odd thing is, while I can’t speak French, I can understand it a bit. The atmosphere is wonderful and mystical and the images of bisons, ponies, reindeer seem to move at times.
They mystery of the caves is why they as the French say, "decorated" them. We do know they didn’t live in the caves, they hunted reindeer, but rarely painted them, and they left tribal symbols near their paintings. Different caves appear to be created by different tribes. It could have been a community space; it could have been a spiritual place. Or, perhaps once they discovered the cave and started etching and drawing and then found minerals to make red and yellow paints as well as black, they discovered the joy of doing something because it’s fun and just kept it up. What is interesting is that in addition to drawing very accurate renditions of some animals, they also drew animals that included parts of each, sort of bison, mammoth, goat, and horse combinations. The French call these drawings,
Fantastique.
After our caving, we got some bread to add to our collection of cheese and fruit and headed for a little town called Vitrac to rent a canoe. We wanted to paddle down the Dordogne, and we did. It was luscious, and lush and a lot of fun. I haven’t canoed since I was in Seattle and I watched a couple turn their canoe over and fall in the water. My then boyfriend, actually jumped in the icy water to help the woman who was terrified (though the water wasn’t deep and she was wearing a life vest). I don’t remembering paddling much that time. This time, Annalise and I paddled off and on for about 7 miles. We encountered big boats, some rough waters, some other happy boaters, some really drunk English boy boaters, but mostly it was clear, cool water and amazing vistas complete with chateaus, bridges, castles, and herds of goats.
The canoe place picked us up in Beynac and carted us back to Vitrac along with a family of 4 who had also been canoeing. If I didn’t already feel like the luckiest girl in the world, I did when I got in the car. The teen children were sullen, the father, subdued and annoyed and Mom was sitting alone a row behind them, her head on the window. Oh dear. We made eye contact and I introduced myself, and soon we were chatting. I don't think I'm being genderist when I suggest that women can sense pretty quickly when things aren’t quite right (not that men can’t but it does seem a bit easier for us). As the woman and I chatted, the rest of her family rolled their eyes a lot, contradicted her, and while I wanted to pinch them all, I just pretended not to notice. I wanted to tell the woman to take some time to herself if she needs it and not worry about their sullen attitudes, but of course, we don't do that, I just told her I hoped she had a great rest of the trip. Thankfully, Ace and I are getting along pretty damn great. We know when to give each other space; we talk nicely to each other, the basics. And, Ace is a grown up and grown ups can read maps and help you out of jams…..as we learned in Brive.
After our full day, we headed for Brive, a town no one talks about much. It’s not in the guide books, but it does have a train to London and was near Sarlat. I decided it would be easier to spend the night there, so we could fill the car with diesel, drop it off and get to the train by 9:30 a.m. I had directions to Brive and the hostess at our hotel in Sarlat had booked us a cheap room, so we headed there directly from our canoeing trip. When we arrived in Brive we followed the directions I’d googled to the car drop-off place and ended up at someone’s house. We reversed our steps and ended up at the same place again. Hmmmm….what to do? I could also drop the car at the Brive airport, a bit further, but possible. But now, I might just be lost, too. We remained calm, checked our maps again, and as we were thinking about what to do, we spotted a truck with Hertz signs all over it. Surely it would lead us to Hertz. We followed the truck. We followed the truck right out of town and up a tiny road and near a pasture and then right into the driver’s front gate. Annalise hopped out and using her broken French, asked told him we were sort of lost and were sorry for following him, but we were looking for a place he’d just been.
As she talked to him, a beautiful young man of about 20 or so poked his head in my window, “bon jour”. He joined Annalise and his papa and between the three of them, communication happened and directions were received. We were both a bit stunned that we’d actually done this and Annalise put it well when she said, “that was kind of an amazing race moment, we made friends with a stranger, took a risk, found the place. “ It's true, neither of us are afraid to talk to people or to be uncool. While I am slighlty less so now than when I was traveling around as a student, I still remain happily naively believe that most people are good and helpful and only about 3% are homicidal maniacs.
Back in Brive, we encountered some disenchanted youth and a gray, dreary town full of people who also seemed a bit dreary. The Brivians were not hale and happy as the folks down the road in the Dordogne. Brivians don't have a healthy glow to their skin from fine cheese, raspberries, and prehistoric cave art. Things are not as good in the city. Our hotel was fine, and our hostess was very nice. We ordered a pizza from a place full of locals that we just stumbled upon. We brought it back to the hotel and she brought us two glasses of Bergerac on the house.
Our room looked it belonged in a 50’s Dietrich film, and we tucked into our twin beds and were asleep by 10.
Further adventures, in Paris....next time
Labels: travel
