Our Monday here is a white roads day, for the kind of exploration of the countryside that we call “tootling”. We come across more than one unexpected château, for the map we had to buy last week in Bretenoux (having found we’re missing one from our large collection !), being of a slightly different scale, doesn’t have many of the important and familiar aspects of the rest of the Michelins — including indications of ruins and of châteaux !

So that driving around a little bend and seeing before us, with great astonishment, a wonderfully ruined castle set in a tiny village, or a totally marvellous château set amongst fields in solitary splendour, are events of huge enjoyment. Maybe not to everyone — to we châteaux-seekers but !   :-)

Perigueux … Have to do it; one cannot be in this area without visiting so big a city — and we’ve read on the Web that it has a very beautiful old centre.

The trip down shows us the impressive Château l’Evêque; those churchmen really knew how to live ! It also reveals that the “detailed” driving map we bought of Perigueux is less than totally user-friendly, and there are some small contretemps whilst trying to get into said old centre; but with CS’ usual lucky streak, we find ourselves parked in the place André Maurois, both pretty and provided with a Crédit Lyonnais bank, two car-spaces away !

We don’t see any of the aspects of Perigueux seen on the Web; the old centre is interesting, as they all are, but we don’t find anything that could be called spectacular. However, it does contain a shop (IT content of some kind; I can’t remember !) run by a friendly man, wherein we check the content of the first CD of our photos that CS has copied so as to enable us to re-use the memory card when we’ve filled up the second one. So that all works (as does my French !), and enables us to come home with nearly 900 pictures.

Memory: a nice salon du thé there, where we select from a huge range of disgustingly delicious goodies and I drink hot chocolate and feel very French !

Today whilst lunching on the sundeck, we find that the gîte next-door is not only also owned by the people in whose gîte we are, but is also currently hosting Australians ! One of the ladies we’ve seen going in emerges onto its back deck to to take in some drying and, upon seeing us sitting there, says, involuntarily, “Oh ! Hello !”, and we make suitable responses. She tells us she is one of three women travelling together, and stays to chat for a little. After a while, the second of them arrives, saying “Oh ! — so this is were you went ! I’ve been calling you for your tea for ages !”, and she, too, joins the conversation. And finally, ten minutes later, the last of the trio turns up complaining “People keep coming to this end of the house AND NOT COMING BACK !”, and everyone falls about ...

It rains, lightly but persistently; we visit the local supermarket this-afternoon, and find it to be not as extensive as a Leclerc, because it’s not as big. But all these non-city French supermarkets have product ranges that make ours look very inferior …

This-evening, in philosophical mood, we discuss the following points;

• French media make no mention whatsoever of the US Presidential race (nor does The Telegraph, which we buy a couple of times)
• Australia gets about the same coverage as, say, Peru
• In Europe the stock-market is part of the business world, and is given attention only by those who actually utilise it; its happenings are not reported on TV nor written about anywhere other than the business part of the newspapers

So what conclusions may be drawn ? — basically, that Australia has the wrong slant on many aspects of today’s world, for we are being driven by commercial interests at every turn, including politically. This country is in truth governed via the the Boardrooms of its corporations; we shouldn’t try to pretend otherwise. And our media are, of course, prime examples; which means that we have no hope of being seen to promulgate any philosophy independent of our media bosses’ interests. (But if Alan Ramsey could be cloned, perhaps …)

During our tootling next day, we look for, find and enter a sign-posted fortified but ruined abbaye. If you’ve ever read any of the ‘Brother Cadfael’ detective novels, written by the late Ellis Peters/Edith Pargeter, you’ll have a clear mental image of what this place once looked like. It’s marvellous ! — l’Abbaye le Grand Naudad.

But it transpires that we’re not supposed to be there (indeed, we ignored the small “Privée” sign nailed to a tree, because I reasoned that the place could scarcely appear on regional maps and on road signs if one were not meant to visit it; I argued that there was no sign saying “Accès interdit”, so in we came). We are, about 25’ later, approached by a young man riding a tractor — a young English man, it transpires ! — who tells us with all civility that we shouldn’t be there, that the abbaye is open ‘in the season’, which means from July. Well, this explains both the existence of the road signs and the lack of welcoming ones, and we’re duly embarrassed.

However, he’s friendly and informative, and spends time with us explaining much about the property and its owners’ philosophy and methodologies — all of which are absolutely commendable, as it contains a true nature reserve wherein all animals are totally protected, and the farming is carried out on biodynamic principles. It was a Cistercian fortified abbey, and dates from 1247; the house that’s been built onto it, and all the decorative twiddly bits, were added in the 18th century … it really is astounding how much building/adding on to/development went on in France during that period …

Warning: slight whinge follows ... An aspect of France ’04 that has somewhat alarmed us is the dogs (I do seem to go on a bit about dogs, don’t I …?). Never has either of us seen more truly ugly dogs as are paraded before us throughout these six weeks in April and May: they’re mostly mongrels, and almost all seriously ugly. They all seem to’ve had their tails docked, and the few undocked ones have tails that go straight up into the air anyway; thus it’s almost impossible to avoid seeing dogs’ (_¤_)s wherever one looks, and these are not a few of my favourite things. Many of them also have their ears docked, an even more criminal thing to do to a dog, and equally unjustifiable (pardon ? it stops them getting burrs in their ears ? — gimme a break !). Never can I forget seeing a woman in Perigueux, during this week of staying in Brantôme, walking her … well, I can only imagine it was a whippet of some kind; but it was like the devil’s walking parody of a whippet ( apologies to GKC), just bones and skin. Don’t get me wrong; it wasn’t underfed, this was its “look”. How the French manage to love these unappealing animals is beyond me. And why have the dogs become so ugly ? — I’m sure (well, I think I am …) that it used not be so. Why does a nation’s taste change …? Or have the French always had a penchant for vilains chiens …? And if so, why, when they are a people who represent Good Taste …?

Memory: CS pointing out to me a REAL dog — a German Shepherd — as we drive by a farmhouse; it’s standing, high up, on the roof of a barn, kind of ‘looking out to sea’ !