Waking to what looked like an all day rain switched me into plan “B” mode early this morning. While Grif slept in, I did my research and emailed Libby, our landlady. It was a day to hit Quercy, the region just west of us and have a few more mountaintop experiences. If clouds broke we had our paints in tow and could be, as an erstwhile flame said, protean. Look it up. I had to.
First we headed to Rocamador, a citadel built into one of the massive rock cliffs punctuating this amazing region. A bucket list item. As magnificent as it is to imagine humans building it, in many ways it seems a futile attempt to compete with or civilize nature. Thank God, the church houses one of the 180 mystic black virgin in France, which I adore. Having missed the main path, we ambled the athletic gravel shepherd’s path tout seul. Hanging out over the very top of the mountain’s balustrade is vertigo defined. One mountain top down.
As the weeping rain continued after lunch, we set our eyes towards a wild card. Libby, our art historian landlady, had suggested the Jean Lurçat(I confess my hitherto ignorance) atelier and museum. Think Picasso. I tried not to get distracted by the huge medieval edifice on a distant hill as we approached the neighboring town but as we climbed higher out of the Dordogne valley to St.Laurent les Tours, we began to hyperventilate as the reality that our museum was the edifice which had captured our imaginations many hairpin turns ago. Cubist tapestries drawn from a medieval donjon!
The rest goes without comment, exempt to repeat Jim’s montra “I love our life!”