Chalucet: The Limousin's Awesome Medieval Fortress

Just minutes south of Limoges, jutting dramatically from the green countryside, the ruins of Châlucet make for an awesome day-trip. Situated high on a hilltop, the 13th century castle is visible for miles around. It is an impressive structure, a formidable display of power dating from the war-plagued Moyen Age (of which I've become a bit obsessed).


We climbed the steep hill for a closer inspection. The views are absolutely spectacular; the fortress overlooks pastures, moss-draped woodlands, and a fast-moving river-- a landscape quite typical of this beautiful region. The restoration efforts have been diligent and careful, as is the custom in France when it comes to national heritage. The front wall of the castle has been masterfully preserved; back in the day, the clever architects created a facade that appeared to be layers of thick turreted walls. An optical illusion of fortifications (where there weren't).


Take a look at the crumbling tower (pictured). Inside, you can see the ruins of a spiral staircase, its stones seemingly suspended in air as they curve upward towards the sky.

The Medieval Bridge in Cahors

New Year's Day. Nothing could be finer than witnessing the mist rising from the River Lot around the tall towers of the Pont Valentré. Quite the sight to behold. Cahors, capital of the Quercy region south of Limoges, is surrounded on three sides by the bending river, a protected peninsula of sorts. Its fabulous, fortified Medieval bridge stands in testament to the bellicose days of old.


So what if it was raining. And all the town's restaurants were closed for the holiday. (I managed to scrounge up some cheese and semi-stale bread for a makeshift picnic.) I was in history-nerd full form, scoping out the small cross-like slats in the stone parapets and imagining the town's defenders shooting flaming arrows (and worse) from above.


And then I forced us to walk the extra 300 meters to the Fontaine des Chartreux, the 2,000-year old fountain which is a pathetic example of Gallo-Roman glory if there ever was one. (Apparently, that dirty pool used to be the spot for worship of Divona, and archaeologists have uncovered a bunch of Roman coins that were tossed in the water as offerings back during the time of Christ.) The pilgrimage route to Santiago de Compostela passes above in the green hills, overlooking the town and its 14th century bridge.

The Churches of Toulouse: Eglise des Jacobins

The churches of Toulouse are fascinating. There's the Cathedral St-Etienne, near Paul's apartment, where you can see layers of history in the architecture. Romanesque meets Gothic in the most bizarre collision of styles. It all began in the 12th century with the vast nave and choir, and was added to over the centuries, concluding with the finishing touch: the northern entrance built in 1929. (According to the informational posterboards mounted at the door, the church's destiny was really decided with the 13th century plan to realign the cathedral along a different axis. Never happened. Now the two, distinct parts of the cathedral are linked with some Gothic vaults.)


But amongst all the beautiful churches of Toulouse, L'eglise des Jacobins takes the cake. From the outside, the red brick seems to glow in the sunshine. Tour groups frantically snap photos of the 13th century belfry, towering into the sky. I don't think I'd ever seen a red church before. Step through the immense wooden door and the grandeur of the interior will take your breath away. Crane your neck towards the ceiling, where the tall columns gracefully, effortlessly bend to create the vaulted ceiling. Here is where Thomas Aquinas is buried. I stopped to look at the altar-- the theologian, and head of the Dominican order, died in 1274-- and remembered studying him in Professor Peter Gomes' religion class at Harvard. As I stood and stared and recalled the Summa Theologiae, I was overwhelmed by history, and struck by how this sense of history, and deep understanding of it, pervades every aspect of French culture.

The stained-glass windows were extraordinary. The colored light danced on the wall in beautiful mosaics.

Toulouse: La Ville Rose

Ahh, Toulouse. The marvelous, oh-so-lively pink city, buzzing with bars, cafes, and gastronomic restaurants. (And let's not forget Airbus and all the high-tech industry.) Packed with cultural delights and historical treasures, Toulouse is architecturally exciting too, its ubiquitous red brick a seeming anomaly compared with the other regions of France I've explored. The fourth largest city in France retains a beautiful historical center. From the place du Capitole, the sprawling main square where the city hall stands proud, the Vieux Quartier lures with its narrow alleys lined with red brick buildings. I was mesmerized by the old, wooden doors-- some painted brightly, in vivid contrast with the rosy brick-- and couldn't stop taking pictures.


We explored the Sunday morning market, called Saint-Auben, near where the Canal du Midi snakes through the city. (Clothes, organic honey, jewelry, produce, wines, jars of confiture, ceramics...) Hadley and I guzzled perfect cups of cafe creme, while Pierre hurried off to find a bouche de Noel before all the patisseries closed for New Year's celebrations. (He prepared us a true Reveillon feast that evening.) Followed by another mandatory market stop at Les Halles Victor Hugo, where we gaped at the meat displays, indulged in some cheeses, and stopped for a pre-lunch break at a bar, where we stood with the regulars and sipped little glasses of white wine.


I was disturbed by the contemporary art at Les Abattoirs, the museum housed in a former slaughterhouse. The space is elegant, exhibiting no trace of its former life, but the installations were a bit odd: the legs of a horse (without the body) poised in mid stride, the tops painted in gorey red, upon which fake snow rained from the ceiling. Hmmmmm. I think I would've preferred a return to the Musee Des Augustins, the extraordinary collection of Roman statues and Rubens paintings, situated in a former Augustine monastery. (We visited it a few years ago.) But the walk along the River Garonne to get to the contemporary art museum was perfect. A beautiful day, the city's red brick aflame in the afternoon light.

Then we wandered the alleys some more. We stumbled upon the Hotel D'Assezat-- an enormous, private mansion dating from the 16th century, now converted into a museum. The courtyard is simply exquisite, with ornate columns and, of course, beautiful, big, wood doors.

Pau's Blvd des Pyrenees

Later in the day, we stopped in Pau to pick up my friend Hadley at the train station. After a stressful run to Leclerc (where the crowds anticipating the New Year's Day supermarket closure, stockpiled provisions as if expecting a blizzard or natural disaster), we retreated to the stylish Blvd des Pyrenees just in time for sunset. We took the funicular up the hill and then enjoyed a promenade along the famous boulevard, from where the views of the snow-capped mountains are spectacular. As the sun melted pink across the sky, we sipped noisettes and people-watched at a cafe.

Cirque de Gavarnie: Walking in the Pyrenees

On December 30 we drove south to the isolated villages around Gavarnie near the Spanish border. As we climbed the winding (and stomach-turning) roads, the views were heartstopppingly beautiful: the rugged peaks of the Pyrenees, waterfalls tumbling from cliffs, small villages nestled in valleys amidst all that grandeur. Evidence of serious landslides and avalanches was everywhere. Huge boulders were strewn across pastures, as if pebbles thrown by giants. At one point on this treacherous road, there is a high-tech motion sensor which can detect even the slightest motion from the cliffs above. (Within seconds, it triggers a red light signal on the road.)

Just on the other side of the mountains is Spain's Parque Nacional de Ordesa where we hiked last summer. Monte Perdido, quite characteristically, was hidden from view. The hiking here, at Cirque de Gavernie, is some of the best in the world. I hope to return this summer for some days exploring the exquisite park that straddles the international border.

We walked along a stream (the swift current edged with ice) and then enjoyed a picnic in the sunshine. Cheese, bread, and single-sized portions of gateau basque, purchased from the bakery in Cauterets. Not a cloud in the sky, and when the blasts of wind calmed, it was actually quite warm.

The Berlingots of Cauterets

Every evening in Cauterets, the streets are abuzz with skiiers returned from a day on the slopes. There is a jovial air as folks meander from boulangerie to cave to patisserie to charcuterie, lining up to secure the night's provisions. (Adjacent to the covered market, Le Saloir is generous with their cheese tastings. The shopkeeper offers tempting morsels of the finest mountain cheeses from a very serious-- and sharp-- blade of a knife.)

But the most fun of all is the candy-making demonstration at the berlingots boutiques. These rainbow-colored hard candies, called berlingots, date from the 19th century, and have now become a Cauterets specialty. For over a century, les curistes have come to take the waters at Cauterets, and though a day at the thermal baths proved quite soothing, the sulphur taste lingered unpleasantly in the mouth (and resulted in serious bad breath).

A villager crafted a special, flavorful candy which overpowered "le gout particulier de l'eau soufree" and the rest was history. Now the town is full of artisan shops which delight kids with a berlingot-making demonstration every evening. (Though they're a bit stingy with the free samples.) The hot, gooey candle is squeezed from a tube and snipped, with scissors, into bit size pieces of every imaginable flavor (though cassis and blueberry seem to be the all-time favorites).

Ski the Pyrenees in Cauterets

Fringed by the tall, snow-capped peaks of the Pyrenees, the French village of Cauterets is a perfectly picturesque resort destination, famed for its seasonal recreational activities. In the winter, Cauterets is almost always shrouded in a thick blanket of snow, and entices skiers and snowboarders of all levels to hit the slopes carved from the surrounding mountains. This year's scant snowfall has compelled most French ski resorts in the Pyrenees to close-- with the exception of Cauterets, of course. So, during the week after Christmas, the crowds flocked. And despite the artifical snow-making at night, we still had to dodge the rocks and rough patches on our descent down the mountain. (The town's proximity to some of the best hiking trails in France (the National Park of the Pyrenees straddles the Franco-Spanish border and boasts a wealth of natural beauty) ensures plenty of summertime visitors as well.)

I fell in love with Cauterets. The days were warm and full of sunshine as we walked around the village and discovered artisanal boutiques, caves stuffed with bottles of Madiran and Jurancon, Le Pavillon des Abeilles (organic honey and soaps galore!), and fragrant boulangeries. A river flows through town, and you can hear its swift current (and white water rapids) from your window at night. Above, the white-capped Pyrenees loom. I recalled a town in western Sichuan, China, modeled after a European ski resort village, and Cauterets could be the exact stereotype of how it should be.

There is a fast-moving gondola that carries you up, up, up from the village to the resort's base in the mountains. It moves at an incredible speed; on my way back down, the French ladies with whom I shared the gondola gasped and covered their eyes as we dropped over the precipices. From the highest chair-lift, the views are absolutely stunning. We stopped to eat a picnic, skis and snowboards discarded in the snow, overlooking the surrounding peaks and valley below. The sun was warm on my face as I stuffed myself with good cheese and I couldn't have been happier.


We indulged ourselves with a day at Les Thermes, the Roman style bath complex fed by hot springs. (The naturally-warm water may reek of rotten eggs, but the jet pools and showers are divine.) My favorite treatment was a shower with jets, where the bath assistant-- armed with two scary-looking hoses-- aimed the fierce flow of water at my body in the ultimate massage.

We sipped chocolat chaud at a cozy bar with warm, wood paneling; a small toy train followed a track around the ceiling. At the small covered market, I drooled over perfect wedges of local cheese, homemade blueberry torte, and seasoned charcuterie. (I made the rounds every evening. I promised just to look, but then ended up buying a new sliver of cheese or sausage to try each night.)

A Pilgrimage to Lourdes

Regardless of your faith, it's impossible not to feel moved when visiting the beautiful town of Lourdes, one of the world's most important pilgrimage sites. Every year, five million visitors make the journey here, some seeking miraculous cures from the spring's waters. (The Catholic Church has only confirmed a handful of cases as full-fledged miracles.)

In 1858 the tiny village of Lourdes was catapulted into fame when Bernadette Soubirous, a 14-year old peasant girl, saw the Virgin Mary in 18 separate appearances in a remote grotto. On the 9th appearance, Bernadette was told to drink at a fountain, where none was present. She scratched the ground and discovered a spring beneath rock and clay, which bubbles to this day. It was during the 16th vision when Our Lady of Lourdes identified herself as the "Immaculate Conception," words that later proved to the town priests and the Catholic Church that the illiterate Bernadette had indeed witnessed true, supernatural, and divine apparitions.

We visited on the day after Christmas. The town was quiet, mysterious, and still. In the summer months, mobs of people flood the three religious complexes; one is actually an underground church capable of seating 20,000 folks. The rock in Bernadette's cave is worn smooth by the millions of hands which have touched it.

Winter Wonderland

On December 23, we drove north from Limoges to Partheney, in the Deux-Sevres departement. I've driven this road countless times, and the landscape is quite familiar: rolling green hills punctuated with small villages (each with their medieval church, of course). I can pinpoint all the landmarks along the way, including exactly when the nuclear reactors will loom into view. But on this trip, these familiar landscapes were breathtakingly beautiful and I kept gasping with delight. Arm extended out the window, I couldn't stop taking pictures.

The fields were dusted with white frost, and the trees were encased in a dazzling sheath of ice. It looked like snow, but the skies were blue and we hadn't seen any real weather change in weeks. And for a few fleeting days, we experienced real winter. Cold, biting wind, greyish skies, a world painted in white. Now the days are spring-like and warm and for the first time in my life, I'm actually wishing for another taste of the winter we lost too soon.

Colorful Christmas Kitsch in Limoges

Limoges really got dolled up this year for the holidays. Not just garlands of twinkling lights and the ubiquitous Pere Noel dolls seen dangling from upper-storey windows all across France. But a wildly entertaining citywide display of artistic animals, fashioned from colorful lights.



In centre ville, a slew of these critters are positioned around the Place Denis Dussoubs. Outside my favorite local brewery, a strange marmot-squirrel hybrid is perched on a giant log. Opposite the traffic circle, an enormous bear faces the oncoming cars. The elephant stands proudly with trunk in a salute. There's even a giraffe... all lit in bright white lights.

But the best part of all has to be the giant, feathered peacock a-glittering above the fountain on Place Carnot. Draped in green and blue lights, this big bird is quite a sight. Apparently, the peacock is a source of great pride for the residents of Limoges. And I can understand why. I can't stop giggling/smiling every time I walk by it.


We will be graced with this good kitsch for another few weeks, I'm sure. Everyone's too tied up with Les Soldes (the semi-annual sales which spawns French frenzy and makes the US post-Thanksgiving Black Friday look tame) to bother bugging the city about their removal. But I already miss the Christmas shop windows, as beautiful in their design (and as welcome a sight) as wrapped presents under the tree.