A Tour in the Dordogne by Ron Trill
1976, a rather warm year, Jean and I headed off to the Dordogne for 2 1/2 weeks where, if anything, it was even warmer. As we circled round before landing at Bordeaux Airport, I could see from above that the grass, and anything else coloured green, was already burnt brown, in. contrast to that in England which was still a fresh green. On our return, ours was just as brown as theirs. We found our way roughly eastwards for a week or so and then found another way back to Bordeaux, and it seemed to become warmer tile further we went inland. Under the French system of Summertime the sun seemed to be at its highest just before 2 p.m. , which meant that the mornings were relatively cool until about ten, and it was a pleasure to ride in the mornings until about eleven o’clock. By late morning we were seeking deep shade for a couple of hours at least. The afternoons were reasonable as long as we were going forward. Whenever we stopped the heat descended on us. Then most days there was a thunderstorm. One day we had just finished our picnic lunch when we heard a very distant rumble. The map showed a village about a mile away, so we packed ourselves up and rode along to it, reaching the cafe just as the first few drops of rain were falling. Outside was a hay-lorry with half a dozen Frenchmen working. like ants round it securing a tarpaulin over the hay. Inside were the meals they were parted from, and it takes something to part a Frenchman , or in this case, several Frenchmen, from his meal. On another day it was mid-afternoon before we heard the familiar distant rumble. We were sitting, at a cafe overlooking a river at the time and about to leave. It was a Sunday afternoon, so plenty of people about, but not much shelter. We took a chance up the road. After a couple of miles or so there was a road junction where the verges had been cleared for about 50 yards and spread with gravel and in the middle of this "desert" was a bus shelter. The storm. clouds were getting close by now so we tried it out, but it was impossibly hot inside. Once again, we took a chance up the road. Perhaps we had gone about half a mile when the first large spots began to fall. Just a very few spots, about the size of an old penny as they hit the road, and then spread. I thought we were going to get wet, but casting around for any sort of shelter, I spied a tunnel by the roadside, and we dived in. to it. It was a properly constructed tunnel, as was the road through it, and it looked very much like a tunnel under a railway line, but it did not appear to be so. Perhaps it was an old tramway, but nothing was indicated on the map. It was just the place to shelter from the rain, until we were joined by half a dozen shouting, yelling, throttle-revving teenagers on their scooters, followed by a 2C.V. The din was indescribable. Looking past the car we could see the rain was almost horizontal. Real monsoon stuff. Ten minutes later the storm had passed on, and all was quiet. The 2 C.V. and teenagers had gone their ways, and there was no wind, and we were on our way. Our furthest point east was the small town of Argentat, some 120 miles south-east of Lyons, and 40 plus miles beyond the well-known Church of Rocamadour. We intended visiting Rocamadour, but when we arrived at the top of the cliff which supports it and realised that the only way into the town was from the bottom of the cliff, a drop of several hundred feet which would have to be climbed again, in 95 degrees Fahrenheit, we chickened out and sat on a seat on top of the cliff in some wonderful deep shade. Also visited were the cave paintings at Les Eyzies. It was a conducted tour with the commentary in French, but very interesting all the same. Some other caves nearby were closed to the general public on the grounds that with so many bodies visiting the paintings could be damaged, and this could also happen to the caves at Les Eyzies. In this part of the world we could not escape the vineyards, of which there are 5 main growing districts, 3 to the west of Bordeaux. As soon as we crossed the River Garonne, by a very long bridge, we were in the district known as "Entre Deux Mera" because it was in the area between the Garonne, coming up from the south-coast and the Dordogne, coming from the east. The two rivers met a few miles north of Boulogue. There were rather a lot of vineyards for a few days, and at the end of each row of vines was planted a rosebush, the purpose of which was to help in the process of fertilisation. On the whole a very interesting tour.
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