Lost In Limoges

From the sheep-dotted pastures of France's underpopulated Southwest, Limoges rises in all its grey glory. The city's claim to fame: fine porcelain. The half-timbered houses of the Medieval center are surrounded by strip malls and McDo. Land-hungry Brits descend with flailing pocketbooks (thanks, RyanAir). The weather is remarkably cool year-round. Sure, I live on rue de Nice, but this is NOT the Cote d'Azur. Welcome to Limoges, "the middle of nowhere"-- or as Pierre says "everywhere"-- France.

Tuesday, May 29, 2007

A Weekend in the Loire Valley


I had no idea where we were going until we turned off the highway towards Tours (Pierre spun all the way around one of those nausea-inducing highway roundabouts just for good measure, so I was left puzzling about our destination-- would it be St- Malo and Bretagne?-- as we first circled past the green signs for Tours. What a crafty ruse.) And then it hit me: we would spend a weekend in the Valley of Kings, the most opulent of French tourist destinations! Across the world, the symbol associated with la belle France is the grand, romantic chateaux rising from the vineyards around the mighty Loire River. The whole region, rich with architectural treasures, has been named an UNESCO World Heritage Site.

First stop: the Chateau of Langeais, where we sat outside the fortified ramparts, sipping cafe and munching on crossaints, my favorite pasttime. The chateau itself is not as lavish as Chambord, but is historically fascinating. It was here where Duchess Anne of Bretagne married Charles VIII in 1491, thus uniting the kingdoms. (Prior to that occasion, Brittany had been a wild, independent region, distinguished by its Celtic roots.) Inside the chateau, there's a funny wax figure exhibit explaining this important event.

The furniture is pretty cool. Stone walls are covered by Medieval tapestries; I now realize they served as much a practical purpose as an aesthetic one, keeping out the cold drafts in the winter. Over the beds, fabrics were suspended from the ceiling's thick, wooden beams. In front of the massive stone fireplace, a wooden bench could be transformed into a back warmer or foot warmer, depending on the guests' whims. (I wonder if they patented that invention.) Overall, the furnishings provide a fascinating picture of what royal life was like back in the 15th century.

Pictured: The Chateau of Langeais; the young betrothed royalty back in the 15th century; view from the upper rampart walk which wrapped around the castle (you can see the window slats where guards could hurl nasty objects at attackers-- buckets of hot oil, arrows, and the like); lunch in magical, medieval Tours.

Friday, May 25, 2007

Druids and Gauls and Knights, Oh My! :Ancient Origins in Le Rat, Limousin



Before the 100 Years War, before the Romans, before the Gauls, the Druids hung out in the green hills of the Limousin, staking out hilltops, groves of trees, and other sacred natural places. And when we walked through the forest near the village of Le Rat (gotta love the name), looking for a mysterious chapel rumored to be perched on the mountain overlooking the Chandouille and Vienne valleys, I understood why these tranquil spots were so revered. Moss-covered trees created cathedral-like arches above our heads. Old stone walls marked the path, strewn with leaves.

When we reached the top of the hill, light broke through the forest and we saw a tiny stone structure in a clearing. The chapel-- now closed to visitors-- was built in the 17th century. I skimmed the information tacked to the door outside: "blah blah francais blah, DRUID blah blah." (I'll spare you my butchered translation but suffice it to say that I immediately perked up when I read the Druid history part. How cool! Like the wizard dude from the Asterix comic books who saves our hero with his mysterious, brewed concoctions. Sweet!)

All around were rock formations where rituals were performed millennia ago. A large granite cross was later erected at the tallest point. The views are breathtaking. I took a nap in the sun while little Henri jumped all over the rocks. Apparently this region is full of vestiges of ancient history; the masons of the Medieval Romanesque churches often incorporated the Druids' cross and number symbolism into the design.

PS. Nearby, there is also a stone Templars' Cross dating from the 13th century.

Thursday, May 24, 2007

Lost in the Limousin: Lac Vassiviere and the Millevaches Plateau


Exploring the Millevaches Plateau is like stepping back in time: a remote, rural idyll of rolling pastures and lots of toffee-colored Limousine cows. Everything is remarkably green. Villages consist of a few modest stone houses hugging a country road; tractors are parked in the barn; an elderly couple walks hand in hand down the narrow lane. There are no major highways. Just total quiet.


"It's mythical, MW." My friends tried to explain the vision conjured in the minds of most French folks when they think about this mysterious, underpopulated plateau in central France, where many of the inhabitants live the way they've lived for centuries. Here, the rural way of life has been preserved. Geographically, the plateau hugs the western edge of the Massif Central and is marked by the higher mountainous altitudes (1,000 meters). The name itself seems appropriate; the Limousin is known for its cattle and there are easily more than a "thousand cows" roaming these parts. But get this: the word "Millevaches" is apparently Celtic in origin, and means "a thousand sources"-- as the region, known for its rivers, streams, and lakes, is the source for the Vézère, Corrèze and Vienne rivers (and provides the water supply for the Garonne region).

The landscape is beautiful: a carpet of green dotted with wildflowers, bordered by lakes, peat bogs, and dense forest. Our Parisian friends made the comparison with Quebec. Indeed, this spot is known as "the Canada of France." We picnicked by Lac de Vassivière, one of the largest lakes in Europe, where little Henri was smitten with the donkeys.


After a day in the country, we returned to Limoges, after the requisite stop at the boucherie (pictured) to choose some fresh steaks for dinner. (This is the Limousin, after all!)

Monday, May 21, 2007

Life is Like a Box of (French) Cheeses


Heaven on earth is a plate of fresh, stinky cheeses from the Pyrénées, packed in a gracefully curving box by an artisan fromager in Pau, and toted by dear friends on a haul north to Limoges. The cheeses were arranged on a wooden cutting board nestled beside faux autumn leaves and a handful of walnuts. Cards on toothpicks marked each delicious cheese (melt-in-your-mouth brebis, a block of aged comté...) The fromager wrote the type of cheese beneath cute little drawings of cows, sheep, and horned goats.

Friday, May 18, 2007

Flower Fritters: Beignets de Fleurs d'Acacia in Biscarrosse


I was skeptical. Thomas had seen a recipe on the Internet involving fleurs d'Acacia, the fragrant white flower blossoming across Les Landes. But it didn't take much arm-twisting to agree to cook these flowers for a special dessert-- after all, anything fried is good. On a morning run, Pierre and Thomas spied lots of fleurs d'Acacia on the grounds of a private yacht club. We had located our source, the prized ingredient.


Later that day, the boys stealthily snuck onto the property, tote bags and gardening shears in hand, while Mathieu and I waited in the car, motor running. Minutes later they returned at a full sprint (owner hot on their trail, apparently) and we sped off into the dusk.


Back in the kitchen, Pierre and Thomas prepared the beignet batter, while I separated the leaves from the flowers, careful to keep the stems intact to use when dipping. We clowned around in an assembly line of sorting, dipping, frying, and sugar-dusting, and the result was surprisingly tasty. (Thomas decided to fry up some bananas and apples as a back-up plan.) The flowers taste as sweet as they smell.

Wednesday, May 16, 2007

The Gigantic Dunes de Pyla Near Bordeaux


Just minutes from Biscarosse, the enormous Dunes de Pyla loom over the Atlantic. The fine sandy beaches of the seaside resort of Archachon are bordered by the highest dunes in Europe. The sand is devouring the pine forest, slowly inching inland, swallowing the trees alive, as Thomas liked to say. Apparently there are some ill-positioned campsites and restaurants that are at risk of becoming covered.

We panted our way up to the top of the dune, slipping and sliding our way through the sand. The views from the top are stupendous: on one side, the ocean rolls out to the horizon; on the other, the pine forest stretches like a green carpet, far below. In the distance, dozens of colorful paragliders soared over the dunes and surf. (The way down is more fun. Pierre rolled in somersaults; Thomas's brother sprinted in giant strides; I leaped.)

On our first day, I went for a walk down the beach to check out the dunes, while the boys got all creative and constructed a massive driftwood sculpture, decorated with shells and refuse they found on the sand. We watched the sun sink to the edge of the Atlantic, the colors reflected in the sand at the edge of the sea. It was quiet here at the Bassin d'Archachon, the water was still and wave-less, but we could hear the roar of the ocean-- and see the white caps-- to the south.


The second day on the beach was devoted to fishing. We promised to bring home a cooler of freshly-caught fish for dinner. Thomas's father was skeptical and pulled his own fish from the freezer to thaw. It was a good thing, since we didn't catch a thing. Instead, as the boys rigged the rods, Pierre stepped on a dangerous poisonous fish in the shallows, buried in the sand, which shot a poison barb into his foot. We checked out a book later to identify the fish and it was a nasty-looking little beast.


Pictured: You can just make out the erosion patterns in the sand above the doomed pine trees. Like a mini-Grand Canyon.

Tuesday, May 15, 2007

Discovering Biscarrosse and Les Landes


On a weekend visit south of Bordeaux to see Thomas and his family, we were treated to incredible meals, good cheer, and the best kind of French hospitality-- boisterous and gregarious. Thomas's brother, an avid kayaker, had just returned from a two-year stint in New Zealand and the family was happy to be together again. We were welcomed like family. As we devoured beautiful, multi-course meals (better than any restaurant), Thomas's father, a jolly, bearded fellow, graciously opened bottle after bottle from his wine cellar, aged to perfection.

Thomas's father built the house by hand: a magnificent timbered structure modeled after the historical architectural traditions of the Landes département. I'm just beginning to learn the vast differences between each of the 100 départements in France. Located within the Aquitaine region, bordered by the huge shifting sand dunes next to the Atlantic, Les Landes used to be a vast tract of marshy moors, its sandy soil impossible to cultivate. Forests of pine were planted in the 19th century to prevent erosion, and now the lowly-populated département is known for its timbering industry. Apparently the pilgrims, en route to Santiago de Compostela, used to dread the crossing of the uninhabited moors of Les Landes.

The flat landscape is unlike anything I've seen in France, dotted with desert scrub and flowering yellow bushes. The name for the département now also indicates this particular type of landscape. Even with the sandy soil, Thomas's father is able to grow a vegetable garden. He mixes kitchen compost with the sand.

Our rowdy, late-night conversations covered topics like the trendy 100 mile-diet in the States, the French election (of course), travel (Thomas's parents are adventurous voyagers), and the history of Les Landes. The département has been inhabited since paleolithic times, and Thomas's father was quite passionate about the area's archeological digs. In the nearby lakes, they have discovered artifacts, including a canoe, dating from the Iron Age. The mayor has threatened to stop the funding for this project, which-- we agreed-- is ludicrous. The early inhabitants of this region created iron tools to carve canoes, which they used to explore the coastline. Rivers used to flow directly to the sea, which have since been stopped by the enormous shifting sand dunes, eroding and spreading like the Sahara. The rivers dead-ended at these sand barriers, and lakes were formed. At the bottom of one of these lakes, where the tourists flock in the summertime, incredible artifacts spill the secrets of the ancient people who settled the land.

Pictured: Thomas spoons generous portions of fish on my plate. The platter was positively indulgent: six different kinds of fish purchased from fishermen in Bayonne, grilled and served Spanish-style.

Monday, May 14, 2007

Jour de Gloire: French Presidential Election


Only in France would a polling place be located inside a chateau. Sunday, May 6 was tense with excitement (French media is not allowed to make forecasts before the polls close, so Pierre and friends were checking out the Swiss media to get the scoop before 8 p.m.) so we made an excursion into the Limousin countryside to get our minds off politics.

The nearby village of Nexon is situated on the Route of Richard the Lionheart. Back in the day, Richard I of England waged war over these lands (not to mention all of that crusading in Sicily and Cyprus.) In fact, he was killed here in the Limousin in 1199 at the castle of Chalus. Today it's privately owned by some Brits, who allow visitors to get all dolled up and feast-- Middle Ages-style. (Mutton and goblets of mead in front of a roaring fire, I imagine.)

We arrived in Nexon and headed to the magnificent chateau to check it out. Walking through the gates, we realized that the Nexon mayor's office is actually located inside the historic chateau; signs pointed the way to the voting booths. The hum of voices led us into a large room where we discovered the local politicians hard at work counting the votes. Seated around heavy, wooden tables, they manually sorted the envelopes into piles. The light from the chandeliers flickered across the Medieval tapestry on the walls.

Tuesday, May 08, 2007

Talmont-sur-Gironde: The Most Beautiful Villages in France


Picture this: a seaside village that seems to float over the waves, a fortified church at the tip of a promontory overlooking the estuary, white-washed houses with colorfully-painted doors, cobbled lanes covered with flowers... Welcome to Talmont-sur-Gironde, 12 kilometers south of Royan in the Charente-Maritime département. Of course a charming spot like this-- where visitors like me feel compelled to fill entire memory cards with photos on a walking tour-- has earned a coveted spot as one of the Les Plus Beaux Villages de France.

For the May 1 birthday festivities, guests were organized into teams for a scavenger hunt with clues assembled all over the village. And what a fine way to explore the town. We were sent to discover the village's namesake plant, the words painted on the bottom of a miniature ship hanging from the church nave, a mysterious clue hidden in the surrounding marsh. (Poor Pierre had to wade barefoot into the mud flats.) The packet of thorough instructions/clues even sent us to buy a wooden Christmas ornament from one of the boutiques.

Our teammates, a hip bilingual couple, bounced a baby on the hip while simultaneously camouflaging a clue-- hiding it from the competition under a pile of sand in a bucket at the bottom of a well. (Hahaha. Alas, we still came in last.) Another teammate turned to me and said, "Can you believe people actually live here! In the U.S., you'd only find this in Disney World!" (On the ride over to Talmont, we had discussed-- unfortunately-- his last family trip to the U.S. Where to? Orlando!) I didn't think I had the time to wax poetic about small-town America...

Curious about the history of Talmont-sur-Gironde? A stopping point for pilgrims on the road to Santiago de Compostela, the Romanesque church Sainte-Radegonde dates from the end of the 11th century. Edward I from England later built the fortified village, this ancient bastide, around the existing church in 1284. Here, the battles of the Hundred Years War raged.

Pictured: The wind-swept cemetery, full of flowers, next to the sea. An impressive display of wine at one of the village shops.

Monday, May 07, 2007

Le Pont de Mai by the Sea: Weekend at Meschers, Gironde


We celebrated the May 1st weekend at a big birthday party for Pierre's friend/mentor, Laurent, in a picturesque fishing village on the Gironde estuary just north of Bordeaux. May is one long férié in France, a string of back-to-back holiday weekends called "les ponts de Mai." (May 1, or Labor Day, fell on a Tuesday this year, hence the obvious need for Monday to be declared a holiday. Likewise, May 8-- the holiday to celebrate the Victoire of 1945-- falls on a Tuesday, inspiring most French citizens to take Monday as a vacation day, creating the "bridge" between the weekend and national holiday.)

These long weekends are characterized by spectacular feasts, plenty of sun-bathing, animated political debates, and all-around merriment. Upon our arrival on Monday, after a serious sand castle competition (our team won with a mini Egyptian pyramid, replete with a mysterious, crouching Sphinx-- aka Pierre-- who queried the birthday boy with impossible riddles), we picnicked on the sand. It was a really indulgent luncheon. Bottles of wine and local Pineau were kept cool in a small pool of fresh water at the base of the cliffs, from where springs trickled down the rock face. We ate bbq'ed mussels, salads, saucisson, quiche... (The platters of mussels were cooked right on the beach beneath flaming piles of pine needles.)

A word about Meschers: While tour buses descend upon the Médoc for tasting Bordeaux's celebrated wines, the small villages on the other side of the estuary, where the Garonne and Dordogne rivers converge and dump into the Atlantic, remain untouristed and quaint. From the beach (pictured), we could gaze across at Pauillac on the facing shore. The rock cliffs seem to soar above the sea. For centuries, people have inhabited the caves carved into these cliffs, including groups of persecuted Protestants. There is even a restaurant built into the rock at Meschers, its windows facing out onto the rising tides. And today, people still live in the cliffs! We enjoyed a boat excursion out on the water, from where we could see the windows and doors of houses opening from these cliff-walls, just inches above the rolling waves. The waterfront is distinguished by docks and colorful fishing houses typical of the region (pictured); nets are rigged at the end of the docks and suspended into the sea.