Travel Notes for France: Part Three - Even more Caves

Sunday

Another week flying about the Dordogne with the rest of the flock and each evening our homing instincts (in truth Gerry’s GPS Jane) take us back to the Pigeonniere to roost.

Today we visit La Roque St Christophe, a series of 5 terraces, and more than 100 shelters and caves set into a cliff nearly a kilometre long above the Vezere River. The cliff is listed World Heritage by UNESCO and there is evidence of habitation here by cave dwellers 55000 years ago. A Neanderthal skeleton was found close to the site. Later on during the Middle Ages, it became a fortified town to provide protection from Norman invaders and subsequently served as a protected fortress during the Hundred Years War and France’s Religious Wars. The terraces and caves were divided into rooms linked by impressive rock carved stairways and draw bridges. Today there is evidence of drainage systems, fireplaces, and rings in the walls indicating spots where animals were tethered and in the ceilings where lamps were hung or pulleys operated. There are crucifixes engraved into the rock wall where a medieval chapel once stood on the terrace and a bell tower cut out of the rock. On one terrace there are holes for beams, notches, cupboards, bowls, rings and drainage systems indicating thirty houses would have been built on that part of the rock. Over a thousand people would have lived in the cliff with uninterrupted views of the valley below. Location, location.

Monday

We had some reservations about seeing a facsimile of the real Lascaux cave but we were all mightily impressed with Lascaux II. The real Lascaux cave, UNESCO World Heritage listed, was closed to the public in 1963 in order to preserve the art which was already starting to be damaged by the fusty breathing gases and walked in grot and spores from the couple of thousand of daily visitors it accommodated since 1948. Lascaux II, an exact replica was opened in 1983, 200 metres from the original. The artists used the same material and techniques as the original artists.

In 1940, the 18 year old Marcel Ravidat was walking his dog Robot in the woods when the dog fell into a small hole in the ground which happened to be the then undiscovered Lascaux Caves. Marcel forced a wider entrance, poked his head in and was amazed by what he saw. He let some friends in on his secret who then told their school teacher who alerted the French authorities. 17000 years ago Cro-Magnon Man had selected these caves not to live, but to line the walls and ceilings with works of art: horses, aurochs (primitive oxen), bison, deer, ibex (like goats), a brown bear and a woolly rhino feature as subjects and they are not merely stick animals.

Image via Wikipedia

In the carbon copy cave, the guide showed us that the Cro-Magnon Man had artistic style, used perspective and techniques to indicate movement such as a horse galloping, and had excellent knowledge of animal anatomy. Some of the animal faces are actually quite impressive. In fact Cro-Magnon Man was as intelligent as us but without the acquired cultural knowledge. These people lived in huts, sewed their clothing, made spear throwers and bows. They sourced the red, yellow and brown pigments for their drawings from the earth, applied pigment with fingers, tufts of fur or by blowing, constructed saplings into scaffolding to reach the ceilings of the caves, burnt tallow as fuel and twigs for wicks in their    lamps and used blades of flint for engraving. The cave is like a gallery space.

“Kids and grown-ups love it so – the happy world of Haribo” (German Confectionary brand). We are sustained by Haribo gummy lollies, Euan’s favourite, for the hour or two drive to Brentome. This is a quaint town with a Benedictine Abbey built by Charlemagne in 769 and the oldest belfry in France (11th century) built on a rocky ledge at the base of a cliff. The belfry sounds a fairly austere and unmelodious “bink-clang” on the half hour. We have coffee and crêpes in the sun. There are boat rides on the river Dronne which the kids take with D, G and F while M and I do a swoop of the shops and the church. E (8) reports they saw water and ducks on the boat ride. Astonishing! F points out a more intriguing site, a 17th century stone cottage with an upstairs hole in the wall toilet that directly contaminated the river Dronne. Hopefully not still in use!

Tuesday

Rocamadour is a medieval village dramatically set into the cliff side and has a 1000 year history as a pilgrimage site. The story goes that Zacchaeus (the converted and repentant short of stature tax collector of Jericho who climbed a sycamore tree to see over the crowds and catch a glimpse of Jesus) fled to France from Palestine to escape religious persecution and endured his wrinkly years as a hermit on the site now known as Rocamadour. In 1166 a wholly preserved body was found in a grave on the site and was declared to be Zacchaeus also known as St Amadour in France. Rocamadour soon became a pilgrimage site. Many kings of England and France and thousands of others crawled up the chapel steps on their knees to pay homage. We just use our feet. These 200 plus steps called the Grand Escalier lead from the village to the seven sanctuaries above including The Basilique St Sauveur chapels, the Notre Dame Church (1479) - home to the Black Madonna reputed to be carved by St Amadour but actually carved later in the 11th century and St. Amadour's crypt. The kids are told to be quiet when we go into “God’s house” to which Annabel (6) puts the question why does His “house” lack a fridge and cupboards. We have lunch on a terrace perched on the edge of a cliff in the sun. My cassoulet is served in a rustic heated stoneware pot.

We hike up even higher above the chapels to the summit of the cliff where stands the château that was built in the 14th century to defend the sanctuaries. But, after huffing and puffing our way up the hill to avoid an exorbitantly priced elevator ticket, the château is not open to the public and we can only walk around the rampart for an admission charge! We shrewdly outwit the unmanned turnstile gate and get two bodies through to the rampart for the price of one. We later see others with the same idea and I encourage them. After all this is France. Viva le revolution! We earlier defrauded the coin box pay toilet by slyly holding the door ajar for each other. Ingenious! From the rampart there is a panoramic view of the village that a workman is defacing with safety fencing.

Rocamadour cheese is a famous goat’s milk cheese. We take home three varieties but my favourite is the 6 day old cheese – smooth and velvety and only slightly feet scented. Mmmm.

Wednesday

Some of us visit the town of Sarlat again because it’s market day. E (8) only comes along because he thinks he might be able to buy a fossil. This is important because when he grows up he not only wants to be an archaeologist but also own a fossil shop, so he needs to build his collection now. The other two kids couldn’t unhitch themselves from Nintendo DS and probably weren’t even wise that we had left the house after they became stupefied by the beeping screens. Unfortunately there were no fossil vendors but a plethora of local produce: duck and goose whole and their foodstuffs, walnuts, giant mushrooms, cheeses, wine. I bought two hats: a red rain hat and a furry aviator hat for winter in The Hague. Très chic.

Thursday

Went to a town on the Dordogne river called Beaulieu-Sur-Dordogne , supposedly a highlight of the Correze department of Limousin. Turns out it is the quietest town in France and we have to whisper as we walk through the desolate streets. There is a 12th century Abbey of Saint-Pierre de Beaulieu with a beautiful Romanesque sculpture of the second coming of Christ on Earth in the tympanum. The old part of the town with medieval houses some constructed of colombage (wooden frames with the upright struts filled with a mix of manure, straw and clay) is attractive but lifeless. Where are all the people? As it’s lunchtime, all the shops are shut. It’s as if the whole town is in a coma. This is contrasting dramatically with the three-little-person-travelling-circus L (9), E (8) and A (6) whose squeals, giggles and off key singing echo through the cobblestone laneways. They cannot calm down. There is one restaurant open for lunch. I promise the kids a coin for the quietest child and F will double it for the best table manners. It’s like a miracle: the children are the height of decorum. They use their cutlery appropriately, are modest, polite and initiate conversations on mature topics such as Lachlan’s discussions on Evolution vs Creation and the published works of Stephen Hawking. They end up with €2 each. Gerry speaks perfect French with the waiter who I later hear nattering in English with a wee bonnie Scottish accent. Aye!

M made a delicious quince clafoutis from quinces bought from the Sarlat market tonight, very yummy.

Friday

M, D and I take a local stroll along country roads by local farmers. We pass geese getting their livers fattened up for foie gras, corn fields, tobacco crops, walnut trees, free range chickens. We eat figs fresh from the tree and meet Phoebe’s French cousin – a Border Collie farmdog who approaches us for a pat.

Meanwhile, Eeeoor the donkey is completely attached to our daily visits with gifts of carrots, apple and sugar cubes. He recognises the car we drive and kicks his heels, eeeoors loudly and trots over as soon as we open the car doors. What will happen when we leave?

Related articles

• Lascaux Cave Paintings (PHOTOS): Rare And Never-Seen Photos From LIFE.com (huffingtonpost.com)
• French bid to save rock art (nature.com)