104 km. Details
I decided on a reasonably swift journey yesterday, to outrun the rain that was forecast for the afternoon. It worked - I was caught by only a couple of brief showers, and sure enough it rained for most of the afternoon after I arrived. But by the end of a 100km morning my legs were reminding me that I'd ridden for seven straight days, and I decided to linger here and make today a rest day.
Not at all a bad idea. Périgueux is an interesting place, with enough of the old town left to make it worth a day of anyone's time.
Those who like timber-framed houses would be in for a treat:
And the cathedral is unusual. Built on the pattern of St Mark's in Venice, with several (six or seven?) domes in a Greek cross, it was largely rebuilt in the 19th century and as a result is quite austere.
But however pleasing the architecture, what one has to talk about here is the food. To visit the Saturday morning market in Périgueux is to condemn oneself to a lifetime of dissatisfaction with supermarket shopping. It's a riot of colour and quality and sheer gusto. One almost expects the perfection of the fruit and vegetables, and the stallholder cutting chunks out of a melon so you can taste it before deciding to buy one, and the dozens of varieties of local cheeses you've never heard of, and the astonishing range of breads produced by the artisan boulangers, but it is still overwhelming. More surprising are the hundredweights of oysters tumbling out of crates, and the steaming pans of paella a metre across that are being ladled into cartons for queues of people looking for a takeaway lunch, and the guy cooking crepes to order - 6 for €4 - while you wait.
But even away from the market, this is a town that relishes its status as the capital of the Dordogne. Every third shop seems to specialise in a range of the regional delicacies. Foie Gras and Rillettes de Canard are everywhere. I half expected to be accosted on the street corner by a Perigord goose honking "please, eat my liver, it's delicious" after the fashion of the pig in the restaurant at the end of the universe.
So, entering into the spirit of the thing, I lunched in Le Chai Bordin which I am at present disposed to nominate as the best wine bar on the planet. Tiny, absolutely heaving with regular patrons, serving really, really excellent wine by the glass and plates of charcuterie and cheese. La vie en rose.
2 comments:
Apologies for radio silence but have been on busy trip to the US. Now returned with time to catch up with your journal. It is acquiring quite a magical sense of taking place in another dimension, in terms of time, location and pace of existence. (All very Le Grand Meaulnes or Wind in the Willows for me.) One time-locked, sleepy town after another, all featuring exquisite and seemingly unspoilt mediaeval buildings. And interesting that you have this sense of the travelling being what it's about, not the arrival. The journey becomes the end rather than the means. Nice to have some time for reflection!
I absolutely get the feeling about having slipped dimensions. Of course, for the people who live in them these places aren't time-locked, it is me that has slipped the constraints of "real life" to move through them at a pace, and with a detachment, that gives it all a slightly dream-like quality.
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