Lemony-Scented Adventures

On these curvy roads, it was bound to happen. But the surprise is that it's not me or Gigi but rather Pippa who gets car-sick and vomits all over the interior of the rental. And I do mean all over. She manages to hit not just her entire outfit, but also her booster seat, the car seat under it, the floor, the seat in front of her, the window, and even the ceiling. The road has no shoulder, so despite the warning she gives us, we have no choice but to keep going forward till the next turn out. Gigi goes into a nearby store and buys tons of bottles of water, and they also give her some paper towel and a sponge. Once Anthony and I have gotten the car (and her) relatively clean, I have the brilliant idea to use a travel-sized bottle of moisturizer I carry with me in my backpack. It is an old hotel-freebie to be used in dry-skin emergencies only, since Anthony nearly gags at what he calls the "lemon balm". Or is it "lemon bomb"? I'm not sure what he's been calling it, because both are apt. In this case, we moisturize the car seats with it, assuming it will improve matters. But this is putting lipstick on a pig, and now -- let's face it -- we're driving around in a lemony-vomit-scented rental car. In desperation, we each smear a little bit of the lemon balm/bomb beneath our noses. I'm not sure if this is an improvement or not, but let's just say that we drive with the windows open.

Pippa changes into an extra sweatshirt we brought with us and wears my fleece jacket tied around her like a skirt. But as we are driving, we come across this Defimode store. At which point angels start singing. I find out just how heaven-sent (and heavenly-scented) it is when I realize it is basically a French equivalent of T.J.Maxx or Ross Dress for Less. Fourteen euro later, the Pipster is wearing comfortable and cute lavender pants, and we are -- finally -- ready to make it to our destination...

...which is the Indian Forest Acrobatic Park. This oddly-named place is one of several ropes courses in the heart of La Dordogne. The courses are labeled like ski slopes. Officially, the red and black courses are meant for ages 12 and up, but Gigi (age 8) is allowed to do them because she is 50% monkey, 50% mountain goat. And 100% fearless. Pippa (age 6) is allowed on the blue course, whose posted minimum age is 9, because she is also a monkey-goat hybrid, but not tall enough to move up to the red and black courses. As it is, she is on tippy-toes for a few of the passages, and Anthony or I have to try to pull the ropes down for her. Some of these things are really quite high up, and we keep saying that my mother would be having a heart attack if she were here.

Between the delayed start and the fact that we have a blast on the ropes (the girls pronounce this their favorite part of the trip and predict, correctly, that this will be what they remember the most of La Dordogne), we don't get out till about 3pm. This throws out the window some of our plans to see a museum or another attraction or two. But that's OK, because we are also quite content just to explore a few villages that we've had on our list.

We like la Roque-Gageac, with its view of the Château de la Malartrie at the end of the road. We are a little extra partial to this town because it has a) more of those houses built into cliffs and b) good ice cream.

The smallest of the towns we see has the biggest name: St.-Félix-de-Reillac-et-Mortemart, which takes longer to say it than to drive through. And that's not an exaggeration. You see a sign indicating you are entering St. Félix; then about 10 tightly clustered houses and an inexplicably large church (photographed through a rainy windshield, so excuse the droplets) that looks like it could hold several hundred people; then the sign indicating you have left St. Félix.

 

Domme is quaint, and a fine place for lunch, but it is the town of Sarlat (officially called Sarlat-la-Canéda) that really steals our hearts. The medieval section of it is hilly and twisted and cobbled, just as you would hope. It's got great old architecture, (yet more) good ice cream, and the largest doors we've ever seen -- replacing a huge stained glass window in an old church that's been converted to a market. We're not the only ones who think so: Sarlat has been named by the government as one of the "Most Beautiful Villages of France". The others we've seen here are Domme, La Roque-Gageac, Beynac, and Castelnaud.

Sarlat is also home to what may be the cutest house ever in recorded history. I mean, seriously; If you saw this house in a movie, with it's dormer window, tiled roof, stone walls, colombage details, pointy-capped tower, rose bushes, and ivy-covered trellises, wouldn't you roll your eyes in comtempt at how fake and over-the-top it was? My only disappointment is that it's a private house, and not open for tours. I would love to see inside it (but just hope it isn't decorated with IKEA).