We've just about finished unpacking from Morocco. So, obviously, it must be time for our next trip. Yet another long weekend (that makes three in May), so we're off to La Dordogne, as the Périgord is more commonly known.
We arrive mid-day in the region's biggest town, Périgueux, and are able to rent a car only because the person on the phone with me a month ago made a mistake and booked us for this day without realizing it is a national holiday. When, this being semi-rural France, you cannot rent a car. We also cannot return it on Sunday, when we want to, because, this being semi-rural France...you get the idea. Evidently, in a tourist town in rural France, you would best be advised to rent cars only on business days, not on weekends or holidays, when you might actually want one.
Rental car sorted, we drive down to the town of Les Eyzies (short for Les Eyzies-de-Tayac-Sireuil) which, when pronounced, sounds exactly like "les zizis", meaning "the penises". Well, actually, it is more a funny slang word for penises along the lines of weenies or willies. Or broomsticks, dongs, dingle-dangles, holy porkers, fiddle bows, jacks-in-the-box, kielbasas, Misters Goodwrench, one-eyed trouser trouts, pocket rockets, rolling pins, steaming hot kangas, or wingles. And if you noticed those terms were in alphabetical order, that's because they come from the same Department of Translation Studies list from the University of Tampere, Finland that I discovered while writing a posting about pornographic puppetry in India. The name of this town has Pippa in stitches, and she keeps repeating it over and over -- sometimes in full glorious song. She even buys a postcard celebrating its wonderful nomenclature. For a six-year old, it could only get better if the streets were called "Poo-poo" and "Stinky Fart".
Our main activity here for the afternoon is a two-hour canoe ride down the Vézère river, past La Madeleine. This is not, as the name suggests, a large butter cookie, nor a village where said butter cookie originates, but rather a prehistoric cave village fortroglydites troglidytes trogladites troglodytes.
The town itself is fabulous, and we happily wander around after our canoe ride. We knew nothing about La Dordogne before coming here, and only booked the trip on the recommendation of many French friends. And since we have been so focused on Morocco, we haven't had any chance to research what we would do here. It makes our wandering slightly less efficient, but it also makes everything we do feel like a surprise or a happy discovery. One of our favorite things about the region turns out to be that Les Eyzies and many other small towns here are built into huge overhanging cliffs. In this case, when I say "built into," I mean it quite literally. Rows of houses use the overhang as both back-of-the-house and roof. Having paid for some major house renovations in San Francisco, I can see the benefit of that. It must cut construction costs in half.
We stumble upon the restaurant Au Coup de Silex ("at the stroke of flint"), just across the street from the Museum of Prehistory, which we are too late to see -- both the prehistory and the museum, that is. Our dinner here is one of the best deals we've had in France. That's partly because we're out of Paris, and for the 22€ prix fixe menu (nearly always the way to go here), we get a lovely view, and good food, including some excellent foie gras, the specialty of the area. There is even a vegetable on the plate. One lone baby carrot, candied within an inch of its life. But still, a vegetable. This trip is looking promising...
We arrive mid-day in the region's biggest town, Périgueux, and are able to rent a car only because the person on the phone with me a month ago made a mistake and booked us for this day without realizing it is a national holiday. When, this being semi-rural France, you cannot rent a car. We also cannot return it on Sunday, when we want to, because, this being semi-rural France...you get the idea. Evidently, in a tourist town in rural France, you would best be advised to rent cars only on business days, not on weekends or holidays, when you might actually want one.
Rental car sorted, we drive down to the town of Les Eyzies (short for Les Eyzies-de-Tayac-Sireuil) which, when pronounced, sounds exactly like "les zizis", meaning "the penises". Well, actually, it is more a funny slang word for penises along the lines of weenies or willies. Or broomsticks, dongs, dingle-dangles, holy porkers, fiddle bows, jacks-in-the-box, kielbasas, Misters Goodwrench, one-eyed trouser trouts, pocket rockets, rolling pins, steaming hot kangas, or wingles. And if you noticed those terms were in alphabetical order, that's because they come from the same Department of Translation Studies list from the University of Tampere, Finland that I discovered while writing a posting about pornographic puppetry in India. The name of this town has Pippa in stitches, and she keeps repeating it over and over -- sometimes in full glorious song. She even buys a postcard celebrating its wonderful nomenclature. For a six-year old, it could only get better if the streets were called "Poo-poo" and "Stinky Fart".
Our main activity here for the afternoon is a two-hour canoe ride down the Vézère river, past La Madeleine. This is not, as the name suggests, a large butter cookie, nor a village where said butter cookie originates, but rather a prehistoric cave village for
The town itself is fabulous, and we happily wander around after our canoe ride. We knew nothing about La Dordogne before coming here, and only booked the trip on the recommendation of many French friends. And since we have been so focused on Morocco, we haven't had any chance to research what we would do here. It makes our wandering slightly less efficient, but it also makes everything we do feel like a surprise or a happy discovery. One of our favorite things about the region turns out to be that Les Eyzies and many other small towns here are built into huge overhanging cliffs. In this case, when I say "built into," I mean it quite literally. Rows of houses use the overhang as both back-of-the-house and roof. Having paid for some major house renovations in San Francisco, I can see the benefit of that. It must cut construction costs in half.
We stumble upon the restaurant Au Coup de Silex ("at the stroke of flint"), just across the street from the Museum of Prehistory, which we are too late to see -- both the prehistory and the museum, that is. Our dinner here is one of the best deals we've had in France. That's partly because we're out of Paris, and for the 22€ prix fixe menu (nearly always the way to go here), we get a lovely view, and good food, including some excellent foie gras, the specialty of the area. There is even a vegetable on the plate. One lone baby carrot, candied within an inch of its life. But still, a vegetable. This trip is looking promising...
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