Beynac, Bateaus, and Bounding frenchmen

a roof covered with flat stones: lauzes
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Monday, October 1.

Everything is slammed shut today! I guess they need a break after the weekend. Even the hotel lobby is locked, where I have been using the internet for free, but I have an “aha”! There is a teeny sign on the patio that says WiFi (pronounced wee-fee here). I can use my laptop after all, which is where the last two blogs you have (hopefully) read came from. And, because the hotel restaurant is closed, I have the whole terrace overlooking the river to myself. There are thick trunked climbing vines over my head, and it’s hot, probably over 80 degrees. The weather in France is running a close second to the unpredictable and constantly changing weather in Colorado. Cold, hot, rainy, windy…I have experienced them all, sometimes on the same day. I bring a couple of beers from my house, and chill out in my own private space. Wonderful!

they use the corn to force feed the geese to fatten them up...but PEOPLE do not eat the corn

a little dormer window
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There are wooden bateaus with jaunty striped flags giving rides up and down the river, for a different view of the chateaus and villages. I am having a lazy day, and go, even though the entire thing is in French only. Quiet engines propel us upstream against the current, and a pleasant breeze ruffles my hair. There are only 5 people on board, so I sit in the front and prop my feet up on the bench in front of me. I listen, but in an “un-tuned-in” way, and I catch the gist of most of what the guide says. Her voice is soothing, and French sounds soft and romantic anyway, so I am feeling peaceful and pleased. We pass a huge castle on the right, and sure enough, I hear her confirm that it is owned by a Texan. She makes a joke I don’t understand, and everyone titters. I know that Texans always do things in a big way, but this place is huge, and beautifully maintained. There are flower boxes all the way up to the fourth or fifth floor and on the towers too. Who waters those? We float under an arched stone bridge, see a few more castles, do a big U-turn, and cut the engines. Now we are going with the current, and the silence without man-made sounds is all encompassing. I only hear the swoosh of the water against the boat. It reminds me of being in a glider, with only the sound of the wind under you. Was it the greatest boat ride I’ve ever taken? No, but on this particular day, at this particular time, it is the most satisfying.

gate to Chateau Beynac
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I walk the uneven footpath up to the Chateau Beynac, which I haven’t seen yet. Half of the path is laid with little oblong narrow stones on their sides, called pise’. They are anchored in a bed of clay and lime, with a patterned strip of flat brick shaped stones running up the center. At every junction of another path, there is a decorative circle. I peek into people’s gardens and down little private stairways that disappear under stone gateways. I found out that the thick flat hand hewn stones on the roof are called “lauzes”, and viewed from the gabled end of a house, are stacked in a stairstepping zig zag way, that obviously keeps them in place. (they have been there hundreds of years!), but it still looks impossibly precarious to me. The gates and street names are still in Languedoc, which sounds like Italian…Porta Veuva, Rue Sol de Bonela, Rue Costa del Port.

the castle's church door
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The Chateau Beynac is a feudal castle, a fortification, and was once the home of Richard the Lionhearted back in 1189. There is only ONE gate, with a drawbridge, and hoardings hang from the walls above to drop rocks on enemy. Under the drawbridge are sharpened stakes. The first room you enter is the kitchen, but a ramp is built right through it so you could ride your horse into the upper courtyard without dismounting! The eating tables have slots in the end to store your sword while you sit down, and all manner of suspended hooks and chains and cages for pots and food hang down from the ceiling. There is original armor from Mr. Beynac hanging on the wall, and a rack for long lances and crossbows. I guess this is like a medieval mudroom where you dump your stuff as you gallop through.

Chateau Beynac
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Because the guided tour here is in French only, I get to wander on my own, which totally suits me. This is the most authentic, least touristy castle I’ve visited, and very hands on. It’s lit only by natural light and oil lamps, and some of the inner rooms are very dark until my eyes adjust. The soldiers always kept their battle horses near to them, so right inside the keep is a stall for the horses. There is very little furniture, just a few massive carved chests and long wood tables, and that makes the great hall and state rooms seem even larger. The high, high ceilings are curved across from side to side, not flat, some rooms are triangular and a little chapel still has painted frescos that are being restored. Winding stairways, guard’s rooms, even separate rooms for the latrine- with raised stone seats, and a pop out round stone circle to access the “hole”- there are three levels of rooms until I reach the roof. Through the crenelations in the wall (the alternating cut outs you see on all the tops of parapets) I have a spectacular panorama of the river valley. Someone owns this castle and apparently still lives in some of the rooms. I hope he has electricity! He has joined with the Ministry of Culture in France to restore the castle to it’s three main periods of life: 12-13^th century, 14^th and 17^th centuries. The restoration is supposed to continue through 2030, but there wasn’t a thing going on while I was there!

the bateau
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I sit at a little café’ garden outside the castle walls and have a beer. I order at the bar, so I actually get to pick one. I order “Affligem”, which I love, a Belgian style deep reddish color. Except I realize later the girl took too much money from me, and I hate that I feel like I need to pretend I understand what people are saying, when I don’t. Well, my $8.00 beer is delicious, and the second one for $3.00 is even better! The sun is setting as I walk down to my house, and all the gaslights are coming on, lighting my way with a soft yellowish glow. Germans are arriving for dinner, all dressed up, their sweaters draped around their shoulders.

going under a bridge in the boat, a castle in the distance
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Some of the restaurants are closed tonight, but the closest one to me is open, La Petite Tonnell. I get the last table outside, and I strike up a conversation with some Aussies, and two couples from California and New Mexico. I start with a fish soup that I could swear was a crab bisque, only not too rich at all. There are little bowls of cheese and crusty croutons to dump in the tureen, and it is so good, I may go back and eat it again tomorrow! My prerequisite foie gras is followed by thin slices of veal in a sauce with sauted potatoes and a spinach soufflé (well, I think it was spinach, it was green), and a chocolate fondant that leaks more chocolate sauce when I cut into it. I have actually skipped dinner the last two nights, and I hear other people saying all they’ve done here is eat! It’s so hard not to, the servers are often the owners, and the French take such pride in the presentation and preparation of the food, down to the last detailed flowery bud that tops your meal.

Castlenaud
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By the way, foie gras is big business around here. I think it’s funny that they use corn to force feed the geese to fatten them up, hence all the cornfields around here. But the PEOPLE do not eat the corn, and would think you were crazy if you did. The corn is for geese, for pete’s sake!

About half way through the meal, it starts to lightly rain, and most of the people change to inside tables (dutifully carrying their outside seat cushion with them, so it won’t get wet!). I’m sitting back against a wall, and I’m not getting wet, so I am the only one outside now. I notice a white sport-type car driving by the restaurant for the fifth or sixth time, when the driver finally catches my eye. Omigod, it’s Andre’, the old guy from the St. Cyprien market day. Is he stalking me? He bounds up to my table spouting French, until I think he’s asking me to have coffee with him later (I’m thinking, no way!). I “peut-etre” him (maybe), and he says he will come back. (oh no!) The rain falls a little harder, so I move inside as well and finish my meal. I’m lingering over coffee when the owner tells me there is a gentleman waiting for me. I ask if there is a “sortie” out the back? “Why, you no want?” he asks. There is no other exit so I wait until a group of 10 leave, and I weave my way into the middle of them and take off as soon as I’m out the door. I’m sure he meant no harm, but it’s too much work to think in French after a big meal, and he’s really not my type!

the Texan's house
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I prop my mountain bike back across the doorway, and go to sleep.