We got up a bit earlier to final pack in the cool and leave enough time for the walk to the train station which included a decent sized little hill right at the end. We need the work out LOL, but in this warmt it takes some psyching up to. I cooked our ham and cheese toastie which went down well with Verns well made coffee. The morning was cooler than our bedroom at a mild 23 degrees, but by the time we had done a brisk 35 hike to the train station I was self cleaning my makeup off my face with waves of perspiration.
Prepaid and booked tickets had to be picked up from station person as there was no machine to issue them and the first person on the service desk was rather rude – kept saying to me (which I could understand) do you speak French? I do not speak English? I only speak French and when I indicated I would get something and come back she just up and left. This is the third only – and possibly the worst encounter we have had from the French in our 3 trips here – normally they are good, but we have noted here in Sarlat area they are quite indifferent to the English and American and its not particularly nice. I have seen quite a few comments on Trip advisor to the same, and we have defiantly got that vibe.
When I came back with my bookings book a male came to my attention and spoke a little English. I tried to explain about ticket pick up and showed him the print out. Ok, then he tells me no 1st class left – I showed him the reserved seat numbers and said I had paid, a but more mumbling and checking and then he said no – I can only give you tickets for 2nd class. I indicated I had tickets, and turned page – there was a booking number on second page and he saw that and proceded to chastise me for not saying I had a booking. Clearly my word reservation was not the same thing. For crying out loud – the two pager I gave him was in French and had all the information on it – bloody idiot couldn’t read his own language and was trying to blame my ‘ignorance’ of French on his stupidity, all along I am sweating like a fully blown menopause heat flush and wishing I had my swearing vocabulary in multiple languages. WTF. He issued the tickets and then was nice as pie, telling me which ones I needed to validate or not, and wished me warmly a nice day. Pfff I did not return the pleasantries. French do not have the monopoly on arrogance – I gave him my narrowed coldest green eyed glare, flicked my head and sweaty mop of curls and stopped off with as much dignity as I could muster. Poor Vern got the ear full on the train in full technicolor as I tried to reclaim my composure and reduce my temperature all round.
Scenery from the train is very pleasant. Overall it’s tidy country side with fields of walnuts, maize, pale golden wheat, green tobacco, or pasture. Lots of woodland type trees and glimpses of wide flat rivers with the odd chateau. There was one canal, and the closer we got to Bordeaux the varied crops were replaced by acres of grape vines. We also started to see more and more multicultural people at the various train stops. I was talking with Vern about the bit of arrogance and lack of service attitude of the Sarlat area French and wonder if their superiority complex comes from thinking they are a bit more pure and traditional than the homoginsied lot and actually do not wish to have ‘foreign’ tourists – just happy with French ones? Or do they think that they are the foie gra capital and that makes them more quintessential French? Probably lots of reasons, and despite my grumps on the people in general here – it is very pretty and I would come back to look at more if I had the time and opportunity. It would be for the scenery and history – not the hospitality though!
At Bordeaux station we had time to go to the one cafe this time before our next part of the journey to Carcassonne. We enjoyed a pot of tea and Vern had a chicken Caesar and I had the special of two courses for 15 euro – a lovely ceviche with lime and mango and a fish cooked in paper with vegetables – interesting to have a meat gravy with it, but it worked! Bread on the side is of a good standard at most places and this time Vern got brave and asked for butter … he got it no problem from the very bubbly, efficient, friendly, and english speaking French waitress.
The Sarlat to Bordeaux leg was about 2.50hrs with our arrival around 12:00, and our train from Bordeaux left at 13:30 and arrived at Carcassonne at 16:30. Both were regional trains – intercity – not the TGV which is the bullet trains. On the regional trains even thought the first class is sold, there is little difference to cattle class, other than seat size. On the way to Sarlat we had aircon and wifi on the diesel train, on the way back – aircon but no wifi. From Bordeaux to Carcassonne – very flash comfy lounge suite style seats but no wifi and no air con – other than a wisp of slightly cool air coming from a tiny blocked side window vent. It was murderously hot and stuffy. Just sitting there everyone was in menopause – waves of sweat would wash over you as your body tried to maintain its temperature; passengers sat with stressed looks and tried to fan themselves with what ever they had on hand. The comfy seats became insulators that facilitated the sticking of your clothes to your body in a state of constant damp. I sent Vern on a reconnaissance mission to see if any other carriages were cooler. He came back with good and bad news. One was cooler, but it was full (only marginally cooler) – the rest were hotter and full of even more stressed looking passengers. Great.
What do you do? Just try and get through it by slowing your body down. We could not wait to get off though and felt sorry for an Aussie couple next to us that had two more hours on the train – alighting at Montpellier. When we stepped out of the train it felt great – definitely cooler and bearable – we checked the temperature on the wifi at the station as we had expected a 36 degree day – and it was 32! Bahaha – I hate to say what is was on the train – maybe 38-39? We got a cab outside the station and 10 minutes later were at our hotel, Mecure at the base of Le Citie. Check in went smoothly with a nice friendly round French lady (very different down here to Sarlat) and then the sheer bliss of entering a clean sterile hotel room that had aircon set to 15 degrees. I fell on the big bed sans shoes and felt the cold white sheets on my body through my damp clothes, wow a feeling I wont forget – like someone had plugged me into a charger that was restoring life back to me via an umbilical cord.
As much as we wanted to plunge in the pool, or at least have a shower we only had this evening to see the walled city so we had a quick cup of tea, ate the walnut cake I bought from Sarlat, and the chocolate mousse that was now thick sauce (I had forgotten to eat in Sarlat but bought for dessert) and headed out. It was a short 5 minute walk through a couple of car parks up hill to the entry to Le Cite. The impression you get right away is both imposing and impregnable. It is the best example of a walled city in France and was restored beautifully in 1853, it has been inhabited since the Neolithic period, and following that due to its position the Romans had their time there too as it is well placed for trade routes. Strategically set on a hill it has commanding views of the area and whilst the size is impressive by today’s standards I can only imagine how it was viewed a century ago. It was quite good visiting at around 6pm as the bulk of day crowds were gone and it was a BIT cooler.
We wandered around for about an hour and a half over uneven, large stone paved, short, winding and sloped streets and lanes. They were quite hard going and we were thankful for our good Teva sandles which gave us stability and cushioning. Footwear is critical over here and worth good investment. It is pretty touristy inside, with lots of shops, and restaurants and a few hotels inhabiting old buildings. Street signs have years on them and one I noticed was 1100. The buildings on a whole were not super impressive in comparison to some we have seen in other places in France but it was still nice wandering around. What was impressive was the Michelin star rated restaurant with main courses at 80 euro! Joking aside there was a lovely church – which had a beautiful peaceful vibe and relatively plain other than its arch work and lovely stained glass windows. No relics, just a couple of simple naves and a plaque with names of parishioners dated 539. Outside it had many faces around the sofiet and cool water gargoyle spouts. There was even an owl recessed by the door – its a shame we didn’t have time to go on a guided tour to find out more about the history of the Citie.
Despite our initial relief from the train to the outside temperature it was still very warm and the baking in the train for two hours really took its toll on us. I felt the most shattered I have so far, and was finding it hard to concentrate to take pictures and even walk the uneven pathways, having to focus on not stumbling. Additionally whilst I enjoy train travel sometimes it can leave me feeling a little motion sick or weary- especially the diesels and their suspension and the speed. I have a theory the effect is exacerbated when I am seated in the opposite direction to which I am traveling, which was the case for our second leg. Yes, we were sweaty again and smelly by now too. I was ready to head home and straight for the shower and then concede to eat at the hotel, but Vern encouraged me to look for a suitable restaurant within the walls.
It didn’t take too long and away from the main tourist honey traps on a side street I found a likely candidate. It displayed quite a few ‘recommendations” over a number of years and had an interesting menu. It was an excellent choice and for a set menu price of 16.50 we had three large delicious courses. We added Kir Royal (sparkling cider cocktail) and got free water on the table without asking! We shared an entree of black pudding and apples, and a goats cheese and honey parcel – both with salad. Next Vern had Cassoulet- regional dish made of beans, with goose and tasty sausage and I had salmon with sorrel cream sauce and vegetables. Dessert was pistachio creme brûlée and a salted caramel panacotta. Apparently the history of the restaurant is that it is situated by a haunted well (in the corner of the courtyard) and witches used to meet here! How exciting.
I felt so much better having rested and eaten a lovely meal- the setting was great in the leafy courtyard with fragrant flowers and a skilled guitarist playing in the background. I was so tired I forgot to take a photo of the venue which is a shame. As we left, the lights were just starting to come on and the sun setting to provide a hint of a pink sunset. I got a few more photos to remember the golden lit walls and turrets and hurried towards a long shower, relegating my icky clothes to a special sealed bag and compartment for washerman Vern to sort at the next stop.
As a footnote, the best way to photograph le citie is from a distance (especially at night) to get the best perspective of its setting and size. A great viewpoint includes part of the river – which would have been at least a half hour walk including some ‘hills’. This was something regrettably that we did not feel up to at this time due to heat not just today but the 2 weeks of it and lack of respite in Sarlat, no vehicle here, and time and energy!
Car-Ka-sowne., Sar-lar.
Travels with Valrock 