Ducky in the Dordogne

You can escape history here in the Dordogne no more than you can escape duck.

Scattered throughout the region in southwest France are fortified towns, bastides, built in the 1200s by rival English and French claimants to the land. Medieval and Renaissance castles dominate hilltops at every turn. Ancient churches and monasteries echo with the miseries of religious strife. Going back further, into prehistory, limestone caves shelter 17,000-year-old Cro-Magnon rock paintings.

Dordogne is the departement, or administrative district, that includes Perigord Noir, the capital of foie gras--the “fat liver” of force-fed ducks or geese. Stores selling foie gras line the streets of towns and major roads, and every restaurant menu lists it. Forgoing our concerns with cholesterol and calories, my friend Sarah and I indulged every day in appetizers of warm (essentially uncooked) foie gras, sliced and served with toast. The 85% fat content of the liver gives it an exquisite taste and texture, rich and buttery.

Throughout Perigord you can have duck for every course but dessert. Follow the foie gras with the regional soup, tourain, in which the flavors of garlic and onions, duck and duck fat, mingle in pleasant, if simple, harmony. From there you move to confit de canard, duck leg cooked and preserved in its own fat, or magret de canard, duck breast, sliced and sauced and served very rare. Your choices may extend to smoked duck crepes, smoked duck pizza, duck in salad.

Sarah and I spent five weeks in Europe last spring, more than half that time in France. I had been to France several times and can hold basic conversations in French (an advantage in the Dordogne, where English-speakers are scarce). Sarah had left the planning to me, and since it all was new to her, I gave us 10 days in the Dordogne because it had varied attractions and wonderful cuisine. (Our trip was cut short by persistent rain; after six days we decamped for warm Provence.)

From guidebooks, I chose a budget hotel in the small, centrally located bastide town of Domme.

The first evening, we dined early in La Poivriere on the Place de la Halle, Domme’s pretty market square. Seated at an umbrella-shaded table outdoors, we took in our surroundings: the 16th century Governors’ House next door, the other centuries-old stone buildings on the plaza’s perimeter, the entrance to the Grotte de la Halle (Domme’s very own stalactite-laden cave, big enough to hold the townspeople during the religious wars). We listened to the buzz of French, German and British English of the international clientele.

And we ate duck.

At sunset, we walked the few yards to the Belvedere de la Barre, a panoramic viewpoint, where we looked down on the Dordogne River and its expansive cultivated valley and forested surrounding hills. History clings to Domme, founded in 1281, as it does to the vertiginous cliff itself. The twin guard towers, used as a prison in the 1300s, still stand at the imposing town gate, Porte des Tours. The scene of repeated fighting in the Middle Ages--as was the case in much of the ancient duchy of Aquitaine--Domme fell more than once into English hands. In the 16th century it was a pawn in the Protestant-Catholic wars.

The silvery river dimmed and the broad, green valley darkened as twilight slowly turned to night. Points and clusters of light--farmhouses and small villages on the valley floor--sharpened. The unbroken stillness below spread, too, over the little town, and I felt exhilarated, at one with a land that wasn’t mine. We would drink in all of this, by day and night, by sunshine and gray drizzle, several times in the course of our stay.

We also often walked the short Grand Rue, with its line of shops offering local products--walnut oil and walnut cake, wine, truffle preparations, the local goat cheese and, most conspicuously, foie gras.

The town felt both foreign and familiar when we navigated the interior of its perimeter, sometimes walking on top of the ancient walls (though it’s not allowed, and I am not recommending it). Foreign because there is nothing in America like the quaint stone houses where daily life is intertwined with a past that’s centuries older than what we consider old. Familiar because walled garrisons from New York to Montana mark our own history, and because I’m from the Southwest, where protective Anasazi Indian cliff dwellings abound.

Another aspect of Domme reminded me of my hometown, Santa Fe. In a region that has lagged behind the rest of the country in development and wealth, tourism provides a major source of revenue. So Domme has been spruced up: the stone blocks of the homes in shades of earthy yellow, cables for phones and electricity discreetly buried, all construction requiring permission of Parisian bureaucrats determined to preserve the historic ambience.

Domme is ideally situated, peacefully isolated on its hilltop yet close to the Dordogne’s major attractions, the fortress shrine of Rocamadour and the caves of Cro-Magnon paintings at Lascaux. But we found a wealth of lesser known but enchanting sights within a few miles of town.

The morning after our arrival we rode on horseback through magnificent countryside with the French-speaking owner of La Vallee des Chateaux equestrian center. Our first destination was Chateau Fayrac, which faces the craggy castle of Beynac across the Dordogne River. Fayrac is private, but its American owners board their horses at the La Vallee stables, so our guide had permission to enter the property.

Leaving Fayrac, we walked and galloped through fields and forests. On one country road the only traffic was the postman’s car. A rural stone village appeared in a valley below, dreamlike, so old and removed even from the world of Domme, we felt as if we’d stumbled onto a Brigadoon that would disappear when we left.

About a mile from Fayrac is Les Milandes, a Renaissance chateau and the former home of Josephine Baker, the African American singer who earned fame and fortune in Paris. We circled the grounds on horseback, then returned to visit the house. On display were some of the entertainer’s gaudy outfits, along with tasteful furniture and decorations, and a life-size sculpted Josephine dressed for work: baring all, but for a garland of flowers, above the waist.

We saw a number of places that are obscure to most Americans but well known to the British, who have been buying holiday homes and driving up real estate prices in the Dordogne. One of these treasures is the town of Sarlat, a 15-minute drive from Domme.

With its large number of medieval and Renaissance buildings, Sarlat is popular with tourists, and the day we visited, a brass band was playing for the crowd in the central Place de la Liberte. We ducked into the cathedral--part of it dates back to the 1100s--and found a service underway. The congregation was singing, and the organ reverberated through the cavernous space. Hushed by the aura of devotion, I felt the presence of living history--this church was no museum--and a moment of grace.

About a mile from Domme is the village of La Roque-Gageac, which sprawls along and up a cliff. We worked up an appetite one morning climbing up and down the narrow streets and strolling in the woods along a path that’s part of an extensive regional trail system.

One day we went farther afield to Rocamadour, about an hour’s drive from Domme. The first sight of the medieval hilltop enclave will awe even the jaded. The village and its churches and towers climb in tiers on a cliff that rises 1,640 feet from a river gorge.

Rocamadour was founded in the 12th century when gravediggers found the remains of a man believed to be a saint entombed in the rock. Soon after, miracles were associated with the find, and for two centuries Rocamadour was a major destination of pilgrims, penitents and others seeking divine favor. It was largely laid to waste in the religious wars, and restoration didn’t begin until the 1800s. Today, with a boost from elevators in the parking lot, day-trippers pack the pedestrian thoroughfare, with its wine shops, foie gras outlets, tacky souvenir sellers and ice cream stands.

Though pretty to look at, Rocamadour has lost its soul. As one guidebook curtly comments in its hotel section, “You may be happier somewhere in the surrounding countryside.”

Long before I had heard of the Dordogne or visited France, I had read about Lascaux, the cave that houses one of the earliest records of Cro-Magnon man, our own species. About 30 minutes’ drive north of Domme, it was high on my list of sightseeing priorities, and here I was not disappointed.

Skeletons estimated to be 35,000 years old were uncovered here in 1868 and given the name Cro-Magnon for a nearby village. The region is riddled with caves, and here the Cro-Magnons indulged an impulse to make art 12,000 to 17,000 years ago.

At Lascaux II--an exact reproduction of the original Lascaux, long since closed to protect the art--we viewed the work of master artists who rendered animals-- horses, reindeer, bison, mammoths--in motion, in perspective, foreshortened or manipulated, Picasso-like, for effect. Photographs hadn’t prepared me for the scale of the paintings, for their sophisticated use of the shape of the rock to create a 3D look, for the dark monochromic beauty at once distant and modern. Viewing the images, preserved for 170 centuries (though these were copies), I again felt a sense of the numinous.

Some of the region’s important caves are open to the public. Grotte de Font de Gaume allows a limited number of visitors--be there by 9 a.m. to reserve a place--to stand before its 14,000-year-old paintings. The thrill here was in knowing that these images, beautifully executed and similar to those at Lascaux, were originals.

I also recommend for its excellent artifacts the Musee National de Prehistoire a couple of miles away in Les Eyzies-de-Tayac, a combination medieval fortress and cliff-dwelling village.

For natural splendor, the most spectacular cave we visited was at Gouffre (Chasm) de Padirac, a government-operated site east of Rocamadour. An elevator carried us 244 feet down a sinkhole to the entrance of a dripping cave. Farther down were boatmen who rowed us through stalactite-studded caverns across an underground lake.

Early summer rain and the threat of more of it curtailed our plans for bicycling and canoeing. But we visited other towns--the perfect bastide of Martel, and the highly touted Cahors, which was disappointing; new buildings distracted from old, the ancient heart of the city seemed dull and weathered rather than charming, and heavy traffic crawled through the narrow streets. We much preferred the pedestrian-friendly, historically preserved Sarlat.

Sixty years ago, Henry Miller wrote of Domme that the view from its bluff is something to be grateful for all of one’s life. I am grateful, and I’ll return, for the charm of Domme, for the countryside of the Dordogne, and for the duck.

(BEGIN TEXT OF INFOBOX / INFOGRAPHIC)

GUIDEBOOK

Country French

Getting there: Air France, American and AOM fly nonstop from L.A. to Paris; restricted fares begin at $610 through October.

A car (or a guided tour) is necessary to enjoy the Dordogne. Some might prefer to take the TGV (fast) train or fly from Paris to Bordeaux or Toulouse, each about 85 miles from the area described here, and rent a car there.

When to go: July and August are the high season--and most crowded; many sites and some hotels and restaurants close November till April.

Where to stay: Hotel de l’Esplanade is Domme’s best, set on the cliff overlooking the river valley. Rooms run $87 to $92. Telephone 011-335-5328-3141; fax 011-335-5328-4992.

Two handsome hotels in nearby towns are members of the reliable Logis de France (Internet https://www.logis-de-france.fr): Hotel du Centre in Les Eyzies, rooms average $50; tel. 011-335-5306-9713, fax 011- 335-5306-9163.

Hotel La Couleuvrine in Sarlat, rooms from $29 to $58; tel. 011-335-5359-2780, fax 011- 335-5331-2683.

Where to eat: Hotel du Centenaire, Les Eyzies, tel. 011- 335-5306-6868, fax 011-335- 5306-9241, is a Relais et Cha^teaux property, with rooms from $116 to $260. Its restaurant is the best in the region, with two Michelin stars. Fixed-price menus are $56, $83 or $104 per person, not including wine. Closed November to March.

Le Regent, on the main square in Sarlat, is similar to La Poivriere in Domme, with moderately priced local dishes.

For more information: French Government Tourist Office, 9454 Wilshire Blvd., Suite 715, Beverly Hills, CA 90212-2967; tel. (310) 271-6665 or (410) 286-8310 (France-on-Call hotline), Internet https://www.francetourism .com.--B.F.