In the blink of an eye, my return trip to the Limousin will be over. Pausing in a picturesque town big enough to have an open restaurant on my way here yesterday, I began to read the specials of the day on the chalkboard, only to be taken aback by a greeting wishing all a good feast of St. Sebastian. Besides reminding me of my friend, Father Valinchek, in Akron, such a wish on a menu still confounds my American senses, long after the feast of steak with morrel sauce has been digested.
Wirhin a few more hours drive, I had passes the country estate of Georges Sand, fistfuls of Romanesque churches, castles and forests famous for their wild wolves, before making the last turns into Peyrat-le-Chateau.
A sudden sunburst called for a morning painting session before a trip to Renoir’s birthplace, Limoges, to see the Musée des Beaux-Arts as well as the cathedral and garden next door. Looking about the city, I tried to imagine Caesar and his troops on these snowy river banks.
Tomorrow, more painting and some antiquing are on the books, before I begin my way back towards Paris. I’m a little anxious about hauling my finds from car to train to hotel to airplane. My antiquing will cost me more than the price of a second bag!