5 – Dordogne – Declan Veale

Day 16 - Paris > Brantôme

I passed by a corner bar which had a jiving blues band preparing for a mic check. I decided to pop in, but sat outside for the best of both worlds, atmosphere and ambience.

As I was digging into a bleu burger, not the cheese but it had that too – a stark comparison to my experience living in Edinburgh where burgers are required by law to be well-done – a local approached me. He was curious on what I was up to. Either I was given up by my dress or the fact he was quite the local that he knew everyone who visited the establishment.

He showed me what he was reading, and it was one of five novels he had on the go. He declared that each one was designated for reading at a particular space, perhaps to associate a type of mood or memory to stories and places.

He told me of a traveller from Ethiopia who had passed by some months ago, who took portraits of people he met and coupled them with notes. An interesting experiment, but most of my portraits have only been on film sets and for people I fondly know..

He took a pointed guess that I was travelling for my mental health. I understand more where he was coming from now, but at that point it time there was nothing I needed to be escaping. I was rather curious to see France, and I was in no rush to return to Oz.

He showed me the best look out points of the town, where I managed to capture some of these photos. I returned to the bar for another beer, and then went on my way, to make it to a camping site before dar

Day 17 - Brantôme > Sarlat-la-Canéda

On my way I passed an epic rural windmill. I saw more than a dozen on these throughout my journey – reminded each time of Don Quixote tilting at windmills.

The Abbey was possible to access only by a ticket. The problem was I was waking at sunrise and starting the day early. Only the boulangerie in the town square had opened. It was an hour wait before the gates opened. Luckily a worker saw me, and decided to sneak me in through a side entrance. They suggested pretending I was a hotel resident if anyone asked. There was a stately hotel attached to the complex which shared gardens. The abbey, especially being there by myself, was serene to the point of surreal.

Day 18 > Sarlat-la-Canéda > Cahors

I stayed the night at a campsite in Blere. It was nice staffed. They asked if I would like to make a pastry order for the next morning – customary in France. I ordered deux croissants. I stocked up at the supermarket before starting each day, with pastries, a large bottle of water and orange juice usually. However while castle is built upon the water, the side entrance was locked, and so I didn’t bother doing a loop to get in. It was impressive enough seeing it from the riverbank.

Amboise is the perfect stereotypical provincial France, how people see Paris. I feel the locals did day trips there. Attracting day trippers, Parisians and tourists alike. Old fashioned signs appeared from most stores, a common theme for modelled villages.

These cultivated thematic towns I make a list of by rank.

“Do you think mum would like this soap?” A typical person in a tourist trap asked.