Bordeaux
As our stay at the castle was drawing to a close, we once again had to vacate our cottage for two weekends in a row to give way to wedding parties.
By this point we were pretty familiar with the area around Thure, Chatellerault, and the Loire valley to the north. We had not yet been south, and Bordeaux was beckoning.
Our plan was to spend a couple days in Bordeaux, then work our way east up the Dordogne river towards Souillac. I had mapped out a few paragliding locations which I wanted to try, and along the way we would mix long drives in the French countryside with bicycle rides through the vineyards, wine tasting at local wineries, and shopping in markets in the towns and villages.
First up was Bordeaux, famous among wine enthusiasts for its full-bodied, well-balanced reds. The vineyards in Bordeaux produce some of the mightiest wines--and at the mightiest prices--in the world. In this region of France, a full-bodied wine goes exceptionally well with a thick-bodied wallet.
St. Emilion, just east of the city of Bordeaux was the perfect example. Here we discovered a beautiful hilltop village which had been completely restored--and which had been completely taken over by the wine industry. Nearly every shop housed a wine boutique, with hundred dollar bottles on display. The shops that weren't selling high-end wine by the bottle were restaurants selling high-end wine by the glass. It soon became apparent that in St Emilion, "the crush" referred to what the wineries could do to your retirement account, not what they did to the grapes.
Like the Chateau Courlaine near Chinon we had visited earlier in the summer, historic chateaus are part of the grand French tradition of winemaking. Nowhere is this more apparent than in Bordeaux. All of the most exclusive wineries in the region are in chateaus: Chateaux Margaux, Chatuea Haut-Brion, Chateau Latour, and the venerable Chateau Rothschild--names which send shivers of delight up the stem of any enophile's glass.
Just outside of St. Emilion we visited the Gran Cru Classe-designated Chateau Soutard.
Surprisingly, we preferred their stainless-steel tanked rose, at less than $10 a bottle, over their select, oak barrel-aged $100 reds.
From hilltop St. Emilion we could look out over the surrounding countryside. Pretty much every hectare was covered with vines.
St. Emilion's reputation in viticulture dates back to the Romans, who recognized even then the area's terroir was capable of producing fantastic vintages.
Just south of the Dordogne river lies the Entre-Deux-Meres wine sub region. Although less known (and much less expensive) than its "well-dressed sister" regions to the north and west, the countryside was equally breathtaking.
We had booked two nights at an Air BnB at a little, family-owned winery in the countryside near Blasimon. After checking in, we explored the nearby area by bike. Riding through the vineyards was as idyllic and romantic as it sounds--if you consider sweating up and down hills in clingy, clammy, lycra shorts to be idyllic and romantic, that is.
Up the Dordogne
After two nights at the BnB, we pushed east up the Dordogne river valley, passing hundreds of smaller wineries along the way.
From St. Emilion east 100 miles to Souillac, the entire valley is one big wine-centric agricultural zone. One could spend a few weeks in the area stopping in at little family-owned vineyards for a taste or two, never scratching the surface of what the region has to offer.
Not far from Bergerac, still on the south side of the river, we came upon 15th century Chateau de Monbazillac, owned by a local winemaking cooperative. Their tasting room was a study in contrast and used old materials in a modern architectural design.
Leaving the vineyards south of Bergerac, we followed the two-lane roads into the hills. Our lunchtime arrival in the town of Issigeac was perfectly timed, as the Saturday market was in full swing.
After buying supplies, we made a picnic lunch in the park of rotisserie chicken, sausages, fresh peaches and cucumbers, cheese, and bread, and topped it off with a chilled glass of Chateau Soutard rose.
Exploring Perigord
Back on the road, we soon dropped into the Dordogne river valley and followed it east to our next stop, an Air BnB along the banks of the river in Calviac-en-Perigord.
We had picked this area for its proximity to paragliding, but found to our delight it was the perfect location for visiting nearby Sarlat-la-Caneda. To be honest, we had never heard of Sarlat, but once clued in by our BnB owner, we had to pay it a visit. We decided to go by bike.
Bike lanes have been installed along the Dordogne river following an old railway bed, and a short spur runs uphill to the historic city. The path was recently paved, and we enjoyed whizzing along its smooth surface under the cool shade of the surrounding forest, ducking in and out of railway tunnels along the way.
Before long, we wheeled into the middle of town. It wasn't easy clacking about the cobbled streets in cleated bike shoes, and tight-fitting bike shorts weren't necessarily de rigeur for the chic shops and cafes, but as in any tourist town, it seems that one can get away with being a little gauche.
Sarlat is the site of a 14th century Benedictine abbey, and because the destructive forces of more modern history largely passed the city by, the central core is exceptionally well-preserved.
Great restaurants weren't hard to find. Sarlat is in a region known as the Perigord-Noir, famous for its regional cuisine. Anything and everything duck-related is on the menu: duck liver terraine, duck liver pate, duck liver foie gras, and so as not to slight the other body parts, roasted duck breast and roast leg of duck.
As expensive as the foie gras was, I quickly developed a taste for the creamy spread. Foie gras with a little currant marmalade on toast was as tasty as a good PBnJ sandwich, and way more addicting.
Karen's favorite? A duck-gizzard salad with fresh greens, walnuts, and a warm, creamy puck of fresh, Rocamadour cabecous.
To compensate for all that good eating, we rode our bikes every day. Usually we rode the flat lanes along the Dordogne, but other times we ventured south into the hills overlooking the valley.
The Dordogne runs spectacularly clear and cool in this region, and the water felt deliciously refreshing at the end of a long, hot, ride in the hills.
Paragliding in Perigord
Prior to our little road trip I had researched a paragliding site at the village of Le Roc, just upstream from Calviac. Although I was unable to contact any of the local pilots before our trip, one day, after our normal bike ride, we decided just to stop by to say hello. We arrived to find a van-load of pilots getting ready to drive up to launch.
With barely time for an introduction, the group invited me to jump into the van. Twenty minutes later we pulled into the ridge-top launch overlooking the valley. Everyone piled out, and within minutes of arrival, I was standing on launch, wing spread out, waiting for the right moment to take off.
Although the day was shady, the lead pilot, Jean-Marie Mas, told me that with a slight breeze hitting the hillside, I could easily stay aloft in the ridge lift. Since the wind was already coming in, I took one quick look around, and brought the wing up. A few steps later I was not only soaring, but heading up towards the thickening clouds.
Not being familiar with the site, nor the peculiarities of its weather, I didn't push my luck too far, and when the other pilots left the ridge to land, I followed.
After the flights, we shared a table with the crew at the restaurant next to the landing zone. How convenient to put your wing on the ground just steps from a cold beer!
Jean-Marie conducts tandem flights for tourists, either at Le Roc, where we met up, or if the wind was right, to the south at Douelle. The predictions for the next few days pointed to Douelle, and when Jean-Marie invited me to meet his crew there, I happily agreed.
The next day we found our way to the launch site overlooking a lazy ox-bow bend in the Lot river. In front of us lay the castle-studded vineyards of the Cahors AOC, famous for its Malbec varietals.
The flying was pretty tasty, too. The valley wind came straight in on launch, and staying aloft was a simple matter of ridge soaring the bluff and waiting for a thermal to boost you to the clouds. Conditions were prime, and more than a dozen local pilots had showed up to take advantage of the good weather.
Although cross-country paragliding flights from Douelle south to the Pyrenees are not unheard of, I was content just to push out front, soar over the castles and vineyards in the valley below, then come back to the bluff and do it all over again.
At Douelle, if there was a lull in the wind, the landing zone was directly in front. Karen could wait with a glass of wine at a restaurant along the river, and wait for me to land. A simple pickup, followed by a twenty minute ride back up to launch, and I was back in the air. On a good day I could fly the around valley for hours and never be far from the landing zone in the vineyard below the ridge.
Though not as famous, nor as popular, as the "big air" sites in the Alps, the "rinse-and-repeat" flying at Douelle makes it a spectacularly fun place to fly. With great bike riding in the area, wineries to visit, and the luscious water of the Lot river for a cool-off swim, we had found a slice of heaven.
On the last flight of the last day, I had one of the most memorable flights of my life. The whole valley seemed to lift off at once, and I rode a buttery-smooth thermal high into the sky. I left the other pilots, who were still soaring the bluff, and pushed straight out across the valley, ascending the whole time. For the next hour as the sun faded, I floating effortlessly on a soft, magical, pillow of air, vineyards glowing in the sun below. This was paragliding at its finest.
Finding Jean-Marie and his crew and discovering Douelle was for me one of the highlights of our trip up the Dordogne. The pilots were extremely friendly and welcomed us into their little family. They readily made seats for Karen and I in the van and refused all our attempts to contribute money for gas. Here, the measure of a good pilot was not the big distances you had flown, nor the class of wing you chose to fly--it was the size of the smile on your face at the end of the day.
Our stay on the Dordogne river was over, and it was time to head "home" to Chateau Barbeliniere, and then on to our "real" home in Chelan. Our summer in France had surpassed all expectations, and we were so glad we had taken a leap of faith to make the trip. We had made new, life-long friends in Arnaud, Marie-Laure and their kids, and we knew we would be welcome back at any time.
Spend the summer care taking a castle in France? Yeah, we could do that!
