With the main focus of our stay in the Dordogne being Our Splendid Friends’ wedding, there was little time left over for discovering the delights of the region. On the Friday morning, however, there was a brief lull in the frenetic preparations and we prised…Read More

With the main focus of our stay in the Dordogne being Our Splendid Friends’ wedding, there was little time left over for discovering the delights of the region. On the Friday morning, however, there was a brief lull in the frenetic preparations and we prised ourselves away for a few ‘family’ hours in nearby Sarlat-la-Caneda.

The Dordogne is rich in historic attractions, second only to Paris apparently, and Sarlat more than punches its weight in this esteemed company. The town is blessed with having the highest concentration of medieval and Renaissance facades in the country. In the early 1960s the then Culture Minister, Malraux, made it his personal mission to preserve then-obscure provincial Sarlat and carried out the architectural restorative equivalent of pickling it in aspic for future generations to enjoy. If you’ve enjoyed Jean de Florette or Manon des Sources, both set in Provence rather than the Perigord incidentally, then you’ve caught glimpses of Sarlat in the background. It’s that sort of town; the sort that epitomises France’s self-image as a rural idyll and is easily turned into a period version of itself with a scattering of straw on the cobbles and a liberal sprinkling of horse-dung.

The effect of this preservation is the reverse of that depicted in the movies. Isolated towns that are untouched by time and fail to modernise generally fade away into neglect unless, like Sarlat, they are polished, preened and advertised. The result, while having an unavoidable hint of ‘Disneyfication’ about it, is very impressive and atmospheric. Turn off the rather dull Rue de la Republique down any of a number of narrow alleys left or right and lose yourself in a tangle of medieval streets that expand and contract through arcaded places and passageways. The warm sandstone combined with the grandiose irregularity of the buildings offer scenes of interest around every corner.

We discovered all this as we wandered into the Rue de la Liberté, historically the main thoroughfare and marketplace, and took shelter from the rain to enjoy a little late breakfast of coffee and pastries at ‘Le Glacier’. From our table we could see the elegant boutiques that lined the road; souvenir shops were interspersed with merchants who dealt in the towns many specialties.

The Perigord is a haven for gastronomes and seems to have even more specialties than the average French region (and that’s saying something). Sarlat is walnut country; you’d be amazed what can be flavoured with walnut. The town is also at the centre of the foie gras world; every other shop seems to offer the most original, genuine or purest version of this rich delicacy. I am more than a little in thrall to the whole French food ‘experience’ and can easily put to one side the goose cruelty thing because, well, foie gras is delicious and I’ve had more than one nasty experience with a goose. In my view, they’ve got it coming.

Throw in a 100 different ways of preparing canard (duck), black truffles secretively gleaned from the surrounding woodland, cheeses of all shapes and stinkiness, and the incredibly imaginative things that can be done with pork and you begin to appreciate what the fuss is all about. Markets are held on Wednesdays and Saturdays, with the latter being a full blown ‘fayre’ attracting all and sundry.

With the rain making a slow transition from ‘annoying drizzle’ to ‘depressing downpour’ we had little inclination to linger outside shops or soak in the atmosphere. The Tomato, being the only one appropriately dressed, loved it and drew lots of attention in his enviable ‘Dinosaur raincoat and wellies’ ensemble. We took brief shelter in a converted church – converted, unsurprisingly, into a chic indoor market specialising in all the usual Sarlat suspects. We were pulled through this brief dry respite at some speed – after all, there were puddles outside that wouldn’t splash themselves.

I saw enough of Sarlat to take a shine to it, as one might say (if you were of a certain age and desperately English). It would make an excellent base for exploring the region should you be one of those poor saps who isn’t staying in a château of course.
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