The Louvre, the Musee d’Orsay, the Jus-des-Pommes, and the Musée de l’Orangerie are among the best known and most visited art museums in Paris, which means they are among the top art museums on planet earth. These and many other Parisian art museums are more than worth a visit. But there are at least a few world-class art museums in Paris that many visitors overlook, and the Musee Jacquemart is one of them.
Located a few blocks north of the Champs Elysees in the 8th arrondissement, it’s easy to get to. And although the museum is home to a beautiful collection of varied works from such masters as Delacroix, Rembrandt, Tiepolo, and Van Dyck, it often displays guest exhibits. Between March 3 and July 10, 2017, the Museum is hosting a collection owned by Alicia Koplowitz that includes works by Tiepolo, Gauguin, Toulouse-Lautrec, and many other brilliant artists.
The museum’s history alone makes it worth a visit. Edouard Andre owned the original property. Edouard was born in 1833. He was the only son of Ernest André and Louise Cottlier, a wealthy and influential Parisian couple. Since both his mother and father had fortunes of their own, Edouard’s only-child inheritance was enormous.
Edouard inherited more than money and land. His taste for fine art was among the intangibles that his family bequeathed him. After trying his hand in politics and later in the military, Edouard became disillusioned with the gamesmanship and intransigence of the political class.
Still single at the age of 35, the very eligible Parisian bachelor set about building the mansion that is now the museum on Haussmann Boulevard. It was a project that would take around eight years, but the finished product was indeed impressive, even in a neighborhood of impressive buildings. His new residence gave Edouard ample room to store and display his growing collection of “knickknacks” that soon began to include works of such stalwarts as Delacroix.
Supported by his family’s fortunes, Edouard had few impediments to his ambitious plans to expand his collections. While the mansion was still under construction, Edouard commissioned a portrait of himself in 1872. The painter he selected was Nélie Jacquemart, who by this time was 31 years old, and still quite unattached.
Nélie’s social status was far beneath that of Edouard. Her family was poor and on the opposite end of the Andre family’s political and social spectrum. Nélie nonetheless had the good fortune to have become the protege of Madame de Vatry, a wealthy member of the Parisian aristocracy which by this time had recovered from the Revolution. Madame de Vatry sponsored Nélie’s tutelage at a popular school of arts, where Nélie became an accomplished portraitist.
Her skill at capturing nobility on canvas vaulted Nélie into social circles which would otherwise exclude her. Although she was plain-featured, she was witty, well-traveled, and a good conversationalist. The details of their courtship are sketchy, but we do know that Edouard married Nélie in 1881. On paper, it was an unlikely union. In practice, it was by all accounts “happily ever after” matrimonial bliss.
The couple’s shared interests buoyed their relationship. Edouard’s financial resources financed their extensive travels, while their enthusiasm for fine arts and Nélie’s education guided their penchant for collecting works by some of the world’s most famous painters and sculptors.
Through Nélie’s connections in the world of portrait painters, she had received an invitation to Villa Medici in Italy in the early 1860’s. This visit seems to have sparked Nélie’s passion for paintings of the Italian Renaissance. She and Edouard traveled extensively throughout Italy, taking those opportunities to visit art auction houses and shops of antiquity where they continued to add to their collection.
The couple was also drawn to the Middle East, making several trips to Cairo, Beirut, Constantinople, Aswan, and Athens. Their eclectic travel tastes are reflected to this day in their collection and the decor of Edouard’s magnificent mansion on Haussmann Boulevard.
The André’s travels were inspired in part by Edouard’s failing health, which he attributed in part to the climate of Paris. Alas, in 1894, Edouard succumbed to an unknown malady, and Nélie, who was childless, was left a widow and Edouard’s only heir. A court battle with Edouard’s cousins ensued in which the cousins unsuccessfully attempted to wrest control of Edouard’s wealth from Nélie. After she prevailed, she resumed her travels and stepped up the pace of her art collection.
Nélie’s taste for travel and adventure did not altogether dissipate after Edouard’s demise. She made her way to the Indies, where she befriended some maharajas and was about to embark from there to China and Japan when word of the sale of Madame de Vatry’s Chaalis Abbey reached her. She returned to Paris in time to purchase the abbey. Her devotion to the collection did not waver, and when she died in 1912, she left the mansion and its contents to Institut de France which retains ownership.
The Musée Jacquemart-André Today
The museum continues to be a leading light on the Parisian art scene. Although it is more intimate than many of the other Paris museums, a visit to 158 Boulevard Haussmann is not exhausting or overwhelming. It’s part time travel and part spiritual journey through a dense forest of artistic treasures that have been lovingly selected and expertly preserved.
Wandering through the grand halls and rooms with an audio guide that patiently explains the history and context of the mansion and it’s treasures is a great way to spend a couple of precious hours in Paris.
Because the museum and the Institut are committed to maintaining the quality of the exhibits and the artistic passions of Edouard and Nélie, they routinely schedule exhibits like the current Koplowitz exhibit. In 2016, the museum exhibited around 40 works by Rembrandt. The event included daily showings of films explaining Rembrandt’s inimitable style.
If you’ve not visited the home of Edouard and Nélie Andre, you’re in for a treat. Don’t miss it the next time you’re in Paris.
How and When to Go
The museum is open every day, including public holidays, from 10:00 am until 6:00 pm. During exhibitions, the museum is open on Monday evenings until 8:30 pm.
Located at 158 Boulevard Haussmann, it is a short walk from the Champs Elysees. It’s accessible by every mode of public transport, including the Metro, RER, buses, and has a nearby Vel Lib (bicycle rental) station. For more information, visit the museum’s website here.
The Brittany coastline has more than it’s share of the usual appeal of scenic seashores. Painters of the impressionist’s era, including Emile Bernard and Paul Gaugin, made pilgrimages to Brittany and it’s spectacular coast where they strove to capture Brittany’s essence on canvas. It’s a tough assignment, whether you try it with a brush, camera, or keyboard because there’s so much more to Brittany than pretty scenery. There’s a sense of the primal, a feeling of deep pre-history that words can’t describe and images don’t express.
Je ne sais quoi is a French idiom that English speakers often attempt to coopt. It literally means “I don’t don’t know what.” It can be used to convey a sense of mystery, as in “Susan has a mystique, a certain je ne sais quois that other girls don’t have.” To me, at least, Brittany has this thing, this “I don’t know what” mystique that I can’t quite pin down or put into words, but it’s real and alluring.
Much of Brittany’s mystique is tied to its ancient landforms. The peninsula was fashioned by time itself. Not a few thousand or even a few million years, but eons, and epochs, and eras were needed to sculpt the peninsula and its rugged shores.
To get a sense of Brittany’s age and the forces that created it, you need some geologic backstory. It’ll only take a few minutes to summarize the best parts, and if you spend those minutes now, your next trip to Brittany will have some added dimensions and a certain je ne sais quois…
Assembling Brittany – A Geology Primer
From our human perspective, the earth seems stable, immutable. But if the earth could look into a mirror, it wouldn’t recognize its modern self from its youthful self. The features that are so familiar to us today, like the shapes and locations of the continents, have not only changed, they’re totally different than they were just a short few hundred million years ago.
About one-fifth of the earth’s surface has managed to rise above sea level to form continents and islands. Thanks to earth’s tectonic system, these landmasses have traveled more extensively than the average flight attendant.
In various turns, the continents have traversed the earth as one or two big pieces, while at other times the pieces have broken up and done their tectonic sightseeing in many continent-sized chunks. Our modern distribution of continents is in flux, although it will take a few million years to see much change.
If you’re not familiar with the concept of tectonics, or plate tectonics, it’s the very well-supported theory that the earth’s surface is a patchwork of moving pieces called plates. The plates move about on “conveyor belts” within the crust that are powered by convection.
The convection that drives the motion of the earth’s plates is the same process that produces ocean and air currents. Magma from the earth’s interior is less dense than solid rock, so it rises through the cooler surrounding rock until it reaches the surface as a volcano. About 80% of volcanos erupt below the surface of the ocean. Many of these volcanoes are aligned in ridges, like the Mid-Atlantic Ridge, that act as “spreading centers.” The oceanic crust on either side of the ridge is forced away from the ridgeline by rising magma. These spreading centers are the drivers of tectonism, alternately pushing continents around the globe, then tearing them apart and shoving them back together again.
Tectonism is a slow but inexorable process. It works because portions of the earth’s crust have different densities. The ocean floor, which covers four-fifths of our globe, is mainly a volcanic rock called basalt. The continents are made of many different kinds of rock, but the bulk of them are the composition of granite, which is less dense than the basalt sea floors. The lighter continents ride atop the heavier oceanic plates, which are pushing outwards from the mid-ocean ridges.
About 500 million years ago the portion of the earth’s crust that is now Brittany was part of a relatively small chunk of crust that geologists call a microcontinent, in this case, the Armorican Terrain Assembly or ATA. It was likely an archipelago composed of bits of land that broke away from a much larger landmass.
Named after the ancient Gaulish moniker for Brittany, Armorica was traversing the globe in a pattern that had taken it to what is now Antartica, from whence it made its way slowly northward.
Meanwhile, what we know today as South America, Africa, Australia, Antarctica and a few others pieces of continental crust were all a part of a much larger “supercontinent” that geologists call Gondwana (the likely original source from which Armorica broke free). Other smaller landmasses including Laurentia, Baltica, and Avalonia were floating along on their tectonic plates while dramatic changes occurred on both land and sea. The years ticked past, and the Cambrian Period gave way to the Ordovician Period. As geologic fate would have it, the itinerant land masses lumbered into each other in a titanic collision that would reverberate for millions of years, reshaping global geography and geology, as well as the plants and other organisms that lived on the various colliding parcels.
By the time the collisions began, Armorica was already old, probably over 100 million years. At this advanced age, it had the misfortune of being wedged between as many as four larger pieces of crust that had converged on it. The collision would forever transform the ATA, but the transformation took a while. The microcontinent’s Big Squeeze spanned the period from about 416 to around 359 million years ago. Fifty-seven million years may not seem like a long time in geologic terms, but a lot can happen in few million years.
As Armorica endured the tortuous pounding of the collisions, parts of it began to fold under the huge pressures. Much of Armorica’s ancient interior was raised from the depths through folds and faults. These ancient rocks have since been exposed by weathering and erosion, giving us the benefit of having access to some very old and intriguing geologic formations from the ancient depths.
Lovely and unusual rock formations were created by the herculean forces to which Armorica was subjected. The mountains and uplands that rose from the folding of the little continent’s broken spine became the source of thick sequences of sedimentary and metamorphic rocks, as well as some of the rich soils of Brittany’s green and productive interior.
Earth’s deep interior is usually hidden from us by countless megatons of rocks and soil. The wreckage of Armorica’s smash up exposed some very interesting features of the earth’s internal anatomy. Some of the more intriguing rock types and formations include:
Ophiolites: This is not a rock type, but a sequence of rocks. Ophiolites are pieces of oceanic plate that have been pushed upward (obducted) onto a continental plate. In most cases, the denser oceanic plate is subducted or pushed downward beneath continental plates. That’s why the rocks that make up ophiolites are not common at the earth’s surface.
Ophiolites include peridotite, which is the main component of the upper mantle, and the oceanic crust.
As drifting plates collide, upper mantle and oceanic crust can be lifted out of their deep realm by compression. The cross-section below depicts the process.
If ophiolite sequences are produced as shown, it makes sense that they would be found in areas where pieces of earth’s crust collided. Ophiolites may well mark the “suture zones” where two landmasses were joined together.
In Brittany, you can find ophiolites near Nantes, on the Bay of Audierne. The sequence has been metamorphosed, both by the high temperatures and pressures of the tectonic collisions, and long exposure to seawater. The Bay of Audierne is exquisitely scenic, with miles of hiking along rocky trails. If you have time while you’re exploring Brittany, stretch your legs on the GR34 hiking trail, which has spectacular views of the bay along with some amazing examples of ophiolites.
Around the bay, you will see some great examples of the deformation and metamorphism that resulted from ancient collisions of Armorica and Gondwana. Look for outcrops of dark colored, especially dark green rocks. These may well be part of the ophiolite sequence that has been dated at over 400 million years in age. These rocks may have been part of the earth’s outer mantle or deep ocean crust. The green minerals are likely olivine, a combination of magnesium and/or iron with silicon and oxygen. Olivine weathers relatively quickly, which is one of the reasons that geologists carry hammers. Breaking open a rock with a weathered exterior often reveals the more or less unweathered mineral matrix. Below is a close up of peridotite. If you find an outcrop, a pocket-size piece will make a great souvenir of your time in Brittany.
The green color comes from olivine, which is sometimes used as a gemstone. You may be more familiar with the gemstone name peridot, but it’s the same mineral. Egyptian pharaohs were fond of it.
Blueschists: Metamorphic rocks are common in Brittany, thanks to Armorica’s tortured history. Metamorphism occurs when existing rocks, either igneous, sedimentary, or some previously metamorphosed version of them, get heated and squeezed by the sorts of processes and forces that result from tectonic collisions.
The Ile de Groix near Brittany’s south coast is made primarily of blueschists. In geologic terms, the little island is the emerged portion of a band of high pressure, low-temperature metamorphic rocks that were produced about 400 million years ago, during the early Devonian Period.
Blueschists start out as basalt, a volcanic rock that’s common near the margins of continents and oceanic volcanos like the Hawaiian Islands. When it’s subjected to high pressures and relatively low temperatures, the minerals in basalt re-form into new ones, including glaucophane, lawsonite, and garnet.
Blueschist is a gorgeous rock. The chance to find a couple of nice specimens is more than worth a trip to Ile de Groix.
Rose Granite: The Pink Granite Coast, or Cote Granit Rose (which sounds much nicer), is among Brittany’s most compelling attractions. If you’re not familiar with this coastline, the name is a good summary. It doesn’t tell you all you need to know, though.
The granitic rocks that are exposed on and near the shoreline are not only colorful, they’re sculpted and shaped into shapes and configurations that both defy and stimulate the imagination.
The granites that are exposed along much of the Cote d’Armor originally cooled at some depth beneath ancient Armorica. They’ve been exposed on the coastline by both the uplift caused by the plate collisions and subsequent erosion. It’s likely that the granites that underlie portions of Brittany extend to 20,000 or more feet below the surface. The exposed portions on the Cote Granit Rose have been weathered and eroded to produce a jumble of sculpted megaliths that few human artists could conceive, let alone create.
The rose color after which the granite was named comes from feldspar, a common mineral. Potassium feldspar is a less common variety, and that’s what imparts the pink hue to these beautiful rocks. Rose granite is relatively rare and is found only on Brittany’s coast, in China, Brazil, and Corsica.
Under a hand lens, the individual mineral grains can be easily discerned. The white or gray translucent mineral is quartz, the pink grains are potassium feldspar, and the black ones are biotite or amphibole. The individual mineral crystals are large, which is a function of the relatively slow cooling process that the granite underwent when it was originally emplaced in earth’s crust. Not surprisingly, the folding and faulting associated with Armorica’s collisions provided the opportunity for the granitic magma to inject itself into the subsurface. That makes the rose granite between 400 and 280 million years old.
To get some great views of the weathered rose granite, plan a half day to hike along the coast between Perros-Guirrec and Ploumanac’h. It’s the GR34, a trail once used by customs officers to patrol for unauthorized cargo. The tax man always cometh. Fortunately, the nearby Traouïero Valley provided a refuge for smugglers hoping to avoid the vigilant customs officers. Read more about the GR34 trail here, and download a helpful English-version pdf guide to Perros-Guirrec and its environs here.
As you walk the GR34 trail, you’ll be overwhelmed with photo opportunities. Time, wind, waves and chemical weathering have worked together to shape some spectacular artworks. You may see Napoleon’s hat, a stack of crepes, or a stranded granite whale nearby or in the distance. Make sure you’ve got plenty of storage and a full battery on your cell phones and/or cameras. And be sure to collect a specimen of rose granite. It’ll be a durable and lovely souvenir of your trip.
I’m an unabashed francophile. I haven’t visited any part of France that I didn’t like, but Brittany is at the top just about all of my lists. While Brittany has “je ne sais quois” it also has enough breathtaking scenery, culinary delights, and intriguing historical artifacts and monuments to satisfy every traveler.
You don’t need to know anything about Brittany’s recent or distant history to appreciate it’s beauty and allure. But the more I learn about the factors that created it, the more attractive it becomes.
We’ve barely scratched the surface of Brittany’s geology, and the forces and factors that have shaped it. In Part 2, we’ll explore even more fascinating facts, along with some idle speculation, about Brittany’s recent and distant past. I hope you’ll join us.
Most travelers have a symbiotic relationship with their smartphones. We use them to find directions, translate foreign languages, reserve cars, flights, and rooms, and to capture the images that will preserve our travels for posterity.
As dependent as I am on my iPhone, I sometimes forget to make sure it’s fully charged before I begin a day of travel adventure. During a trip to Paris in October, I learned a valuable lesson.
In my eagerness to visit the Jardin des Plantes and the nearby museums of Geologie, Histoire Naturelle, and the Gallerie of Paleontologie, I foolishly left my rented flat with a half-charged phone.
Our flat was in the 3rd arrondissement, about 2 miles from the Jardin and museums. As we walked, we passed the Place de la Bastille and the Bassin de l’Arsenal. I couldn’t stop snapping photos and recording videos. Everywhere we looked was a postcard perfect scene.
By the time we reached the Jardin de Plantes, my battery was approaching 30%. I hadn’t thought to bring a charger. I was about to enter the Grande Galerie de l’Évolution in the Muséum Nationel d’Histoire Naturelle with a dying phone after yearning for years to visit there. It was a grim prospect.
When I said that I rely on my iPhone for a lot of things, it was an understatement. It’s my travel essential, and I’m quite literally lost without it.
My Rosetta Stone French is weak, at best. But with Word Lens on my iPhone, I can read anything in any language. Without it, I’m flying blind.
And, although I’m ashamed to admit it, I could probably use a pair of reading glasses. With my iPhone, I use the magnifying app to increase text size so I can read it comfortably. Without it, I can read headlines, but not much else.
Fortunately, the day did not spiral downward into the disaster that I feared it would. By using my power-saving mode, I managed to coax my dying phone into translating the most interesting plaques and information sheets. And I snapped over one hundred additional photos of some of the most amazing exhibits I’ve ever seen. The phone’s battery lasted until just after 5:00 when the Gallerie of Paleontologie closed for the day. It was a big relief.
Unfortunately, I had a new problem. We were over 2 miles from our flat, with a smartphone that was no longer smart and only a vague notion of how to get home. I had planned to use the City Mapper* app to chart our course home but with my phone in dumb mode, we were more or less screwed.
Thankfully, we were in luck. At least, we were in Paris, and while Parisians may not think of everything, they have thought of some useful conveniences.
While walking in what we hoped was the general direction of our flat in the third arrondissement, I noticed a young Parisian girl sitting at a streetside bus stop with a charging cable running from her phone to a USB port that was built into the bus stop marquis. Bus stops are everywhere in Paris, so we soon found another, plugged in my phone, and voila! We made it back at our flat before 6 with a little battery power to spare.
The ports are located on the side of the marquis behind the bus stop benches.
The City of Lights has some powerful conveniences. Paris’ bus stop USB ports are just one of many friendly gestures that Parisians offer to visitors.
If there are morals to this story, they include:
Always carry a phone charger and/or a backup power supply when you’re traveling.
Even if you forget your charger, don’t forget your USB cable or you won’t be able to use the bus stop charging stations.
Paris is cool.
Everyone knows this, but it bears emphasis: Paris is a photogenic city. Every block has some intriguing sight that you’ll want to preserve. Carry your camera or smart phone at the ready, and make sure you have lots of available storage.
The City Mapper app is indispensable for navigating Paris. With a couple of taps, it gives you the shortest, quickest, or cheapest route between any two points by foot, Metro, bus, car or bike. It’s free and works on IOS or Android.
If you’re planning a trip to France, you’re probably overwhelmed with the number of decisions that you have to make. Unless you can spend at least a year there, you won’t be able to see or experience a fraction of all that France, the most visited country in the world, has to offer.
One of the biggest decisions is how to get around once you arrive. And, like most of the decisions involved in planning a trip to France, it won’t necessarily be an easy one.
There is one obvious decision to make, though: If you’re planning to stay in Paris for all or part of your trip, don’t even briefly consider renting a car while you’re there. The public transportation system in Paris is exceptional, while the driving and traffic conditions are a nightmare for non-Parisians. Parking is expensive and nearly impossible to find anywhere near where you’ll want to park.
Using public transportation in Paris is a snap with the Citymapper, an app for Android and iPhones. Citymapper is the app that Parisians use to navigate the City of Lights. Citymapper shows you how to get where you want to go on foot, by the ubiquitous rental bikes (Velib’), by Metro, bus, or taxi. It’s easy to use, and won’t take up any room or weigh an extra ounce in your luggage.
When to Rent a Car in France
For travel outside of Paris, a rental car can open many opportunities to experience France in ways that you’ll miss if you travel by train, plane, bus, or some combination of them.
The train ride made the trip stress free and gave me an opportunity to watch Provenance flash by as we sped to our destination. But the Pont du Gard, a nearby Roman aqueduct built around 2,000 years ago, is one of the most photographed sights in the region, and one that I didn’t want to miss. But there was no easy way to visit without a car. Not only did we miss the Pont, but we also missed market day in the Place aux Herbes in Uzès. Rats. All because I didn’t rent a car.
At the same time, I didn’t have to worry about parking on the narrow streets of Nimes, or getting sideswiped in a tight parking space by a careless driver. There are trade-offs to car rental, but there are also times when it’s imminently sensible.
If you’re traveling with children, even teenagers, renting a car in France is almost a necessity. I’ve traveled in France with my two daughters from the time they were toddlers through their late teens. The extra luggage they needed as they got older and their restless energy as teens would have made public transportation a nightmare. And balanced against the expense of purchasing four train tickets for multiple destinations, the difficulty of shepherding children on foot through busy towns and cities, and the sometimes long hikes to get to and from a train station and a point of interest, renting a car can save time, money, and many headaches.
Things to Consider
Shop before you reserve. Rental fees vary considerably. I use favorite travel websites, including Expedia and Travelocity and then compare on the websites of the big name rental car companies. My favorites are Alamo and Avis. They’re not always the cheapest, but they’re usually within a few bucks, and I’ve never been scammed by hidden fees or charges when I’ve used them. I can’t say the same for some of their competitors.
The displayed prices that some companies use to are a fraction of what they charge you when you show up at the rental counter. Damage waivers are expensive, and you will almost certainly need one. They’ll add at least $15 to your daily rate, depending on the coverage and the company. But they also add a lot of peace of mind.
Choose the right size rental car. The number of people traveling with you is not the only criteria. A subcompact may have an inviting rental fee, but if you’re planning to use the auto routes (France’s network of toll freeways) where the maximum speed can range up to 80 mph (130 kph), you may live to regret not choosing a mid- or full-sized car.
Do you need a damage waiver? My auto insurance is with State Farm in the US, and they’ve assured me that they do not extend insurance coverage to rental cars outside of the continental United States. Your insurance company may be different, particularly if you live in the UK, so definitely check with them before you pay for the waiver. Also, some credit card companies offer rental car coverage, but there are caveats. If you decide to rely on your credit card for insurance coverage, make sure you understand what the restrictions and benefits are by contacting your card company and asking them directly.
In general, you plan on buying the damage waiver. During my last trip to France in October 2016, I rented a car through Sixt to travel from Annecy in the Alps back to Charles de Gaulle near Paris. I was stunned to find that the actual rental fee was double the price that I’d found online when I reserved it. The new price did include the damage waiver. After I had returned to the US, Sixt contacted me to claim that the car had a scratch sustained during my rental. I had not caused any damage to the car, but there were some stressful exchanges with Sixt as I explained this to them repeatedly. In any case, the damage waiver paid for the repair.
One more anecdote: We have friends that often travel to France and always lease a car through either Europe by Car or Renault Eurodrive. The fee includes liability and physical damage insurance. During one of their stays in Nice, their beautiful new Renault was sideswiped while it was parked on the street overnight. The accident was hit and run, so our friends were stuck with the damages. The leasing company honored their insurance policy, though, so they weren’t required to pay anything for the extensive repairs. Hit and run accidents are not uncommon in France or anywhere else, so make sure you have adequate insurance coverage before you drive off in your rental.
Should you rent a gasoline or diesel car? I’ve rented some turbo diesels, some Peugeots, some Renaults. I recommend a turbo diesel, with Peugeots 3008s near the top of my list. They get excellent gas mileage, and they’re fun to drive. The proximity sensors are very helpful in tight parking areas.
Petroleum, both gasoline and diesel, are expensive in France, typically well over 6 U.S. dollars per gallon. A mid-size turbo diesel Peugeot will get between 30 and 40 miles per gallon, which takes some of the stings out of the high prices.
My personal favorite is a Peugeot TDI. The newer models, like the 3008, are impressive. Lots of electronic bells and whistles, including proximity sensors and backup cameras to help with tight parking spaces (which most of them are). Also, the adaptive cruise control has some great features that make driving the auto routes less stressful and much safer.
Do you need to rent a car with GPS? If you have an iPhone another smart phone with GPS built in, you don’t necessarily need to pay extra for GPS. There are a few things to consider, though:
If you choose to rely on your phone for GPS, you could rack up big roaming charges if you have a U.S.- based carrier. Make sure your phone is GSM (global system for mobiles) and not CDMA (code division for mobile access). AT&T and T-Mobile use GSM, which is the standard in Europe. If your phone is CDMA, it won’t work in France, or anywhere other than the US.
If you do have a GSM smartphone, make sure that it’s “carrier unlocked.” If you have an iPhone, check the settings to see if you have a category named “Mobile Data Network” or “Cellular Data Network.” If you have one listed in Settings, your phone is unlocked. Otherwise, contact your carrier to find out.
If you have a smart phone that’s carrier unlocked, or an iPad or another tablet with GPS and GSM cellular data, you can get a prepaid mobile data SIM card when you get to France. Orange, SFR, and Bouygues are the big providers; you can get a SIM card at any of their thousands of retail stores.
Using a French prepaid SIM card will lower your cost of phone and data service while you’re traveling, but your cell phone won’t receive calls to your U.S. number, and it’s not exactly convenient to sway SIM cards frequently. If you’re traveling for two weeks or less, check with your service provider to see what kinds of roaming phone, text, and data plans they offer. My carrier is AT&T, they had an unlimited texting plan with 3 GB of data and reduced calling rates for a flat fee. Once you exceed the 3 GB, the price of data is extremely high, so be very cautious if you use this option because GPS services use lots of data.
Bottom line: in my experience, most newer rental cars in France have built-in GPS for no extra charge. It’s usually easier than hassling with mobile phone plans, but if you’re not fluent in French, make sure you have the rental agent set the unit’s language to English before you drive away.
Will you be able to read French traffic signs? The short answer is yes, for the most part. Even if you don’t speak or read French, road signs are pretty universal. Stop signs in France are just like stop signs in Ohio, and traffic lights are red, yellow, and green with each color meaning the same thing it means in Seattle and Kennebunkport.
Speed limits are round with red borders, like this one for Meursault:
The end of a speed zone is denoted with the same round sign in gray, with a slash through the designated speed limit.
The No Parking symbol is shown above, in this case with the stipulation that the area is reserved for buses.
The Do Not Enter sign is universal. The above sign instructs drivers not to enter, and to detour to the right. You don’t need to know that “contrôle routier” means “road control,” the symbols and colors are sufficient.
No need to ask Siri for a translation of this one, it just means “Caution, Falling Rock.”
Most of the road signs you’ll see in France are this easy to interpret, whatever your native tongue. Thanks to the EU, standards for traffic control and road signs are pretty universal throughout Europe. Between smart phones and GPS units with voice prompts, navigating French highways and byways is remarkably easy.
The Bottom Line
Traveling through France by car is one of the best ways to see more. In places like Brittany, where the coastline is a geologic marvel and the biggest Kodak Moment on planet earth. Without a car, you’ll see a fraction of Brittany. With a car, you can explore at leisure.
France has countless nooks and crannies full of serene beauty. You can see lots of them whether you bike, take trains, cabs, or buses. A rental car will usually let you see and do far more than any other mode of travel.
Driving in France is a snap if a little on the expensive side by North American standards. Don’t let your fear of driving in an unknown place hold you back. France is purely fantastic, and a rental car will help you discover it.
I’m a geologist. So I’m predisposed to like rocks, and anything ancient. A visit to the Carnac Stones was at the top of my list when I traveled around Brittany this fall, and it stands out among my many outstanding memories of the trip. If you’re not familiar with them, or if you’re not a lover of rocks or things ancienne, don’t stop reading just yet. Not only is Lorrie (my wife and traveling companion) not a geologist, she’s pretty ambivalent about rocks generally, and old things particularly. And while I sometimes think she takes me for granite, she was nearly as enthralled with the megaliths at Carnac as I was.
When we look into the night sky, astronomers tell us that we’re looking backwards in time. When we look at the megaliths in Brittany, we’re also peering backwards in time, literally thousands of years, into a mysterious part of human history.
Megaliths are ancient stone monuments. The most familiar examples are at Stonehenge and Easter Island. Megaliths are found around the globe in various shapes and sizes, but all of them speak of an age of human history about which we know little.
The megaliths in the Carnac area were dubbed “menhirs” (meaning “long stones”) by the French archaeologists that originally studied them. At first glance, the stones in question may not seem very strange. They’re just a bunch of shapeless, gray rocks sticking out of fields and numbering over 3,000 in total. A closer look shows that they’re not shapeless. As the name menhir suggests, they’re roughly rectangular, or at least longer than they are wide. The stones were shaped by human hands, not very precisely but with enormous effort.
The stones are standing upright, with their long axis perpendicular to the ground’s surface. They’re mostly arranged in rows, some extending for several hundred meters, and including, in at least one “alignment“, over 900 individual stones, some of which weigh over 30 tons.
Archeologists and anthropologists know almost nothing about the people that erected these stones, aside from the fact that they were numbered among the Neolithic people of Northern Europe. From archaeological studies, it’s safe to say that the people of the Neolithic period were characterized by the technological developments of stone tools, domestication of animals, and settlement in agricultural communities. It followed the Paleolithic Period, or the Old Stone Age. I know only enough about all of this to know that it’s interesting and intriguing. Maybe I should have been an archeologist.
The information that archeologists have assembled does suggests that the oldest megaliths in the Carnac area were erected around 6,000 years ago, at least 1,000 years before the pyramids of Egypt. Archeologists believe that the stones had to have been transported to their current locations over distances not less than 6 miles, since outcrops of the type of granite from which they were hewn don’t exist any closer.
What would motivate a group of people to hack huge blocks of granite out of the ground with crummy stone tools, then haul over 15,000 tons of them more than 6 miles, dig deep holes in hard, stony ground, and set the massive stones upright in rows and columns?
The pyramids of Egypt were mostly built by slave labor. No one knows whether slaves were used in Carnac, but there was some extraordinarily powerful motivation for a people that must have struggled to grow, hunt, and gather enough food to survive winters, and to build shelters to keep them out of the harsh Brittany winter weather and safe from predators.
The work would have taken generations to complete, and was likely done over a span of hundreds of years. And by a relatively small group of people that probably had short life spans, meager sustenance, and almost no technology.
Since there probably weren’t enough of them to control a large group of slaves over several generations, the work must have been somewhat voluntary. Religion may be the best explanation, but there are literally no clues to as to what these industrious folks might have worshipped. There is speculation that the stones are aligned with some astronomical precision, but I haven’t found an ironclad case supporting this.
Some of the stones are arranged as tumuli, which are tombs or burial sites, but most them them are simply big stones standing upright.
Putting all of this together, I’ve so far come up with far more questions than answers. But they’re intriguing questions, and while the answers may never be found, it’s great fun to imagine what the Carnac area was like 6,000 years ago, and what the people were like that spent so much time and effort to create these strange monuments.
Carnac and the megaliths are just one of the many really good reasons to visit Brittany. The whole peninsula is a photo gallery of stunning seascapes, rugged coastlines, ancient villages, sand geologic wonders. Throw in some great seafood, excellent restaurants, town markets filled with the bounty of the region, and a friendly, eclectic mix of independent Bretons, and you’ll be hard pressed to find a better place in the world to explore.
If you’ve dreamed of buying a castle in France, you won’t want to miss this episode of Castle Hunters. If you haven’t dreamed of buying a castle in France, you’re either not getting enough sleep, or you’re holding yourself back.
At any given time, there are over 2,000 chateaus for sale in France. They can range in price from a couple hundred thousand Euro to several million. Every region has these beautiful buildings either tucked away in small villages, like the lovely stone edifice in Nadaillac de Rouge in the Dordogne, below:
The one percent in France may have had an inordinate share of wealth in the days before the Revolution, but they also had very good taste. Many of these lovely old complexes inspired what we’ve come to know as fairy tales. It’s not hard to imagine royals, and fair maidens, and knights in shining armor cavorting on the grounds and in the great halls and hallways of an ancient French castle. Because the French take such pride in their heritage, many of chateaus have been lovingly restored like the one in Nadaillac de Rouge and are still occupied. But because the costs of restoration and maintenance are so daunting, many are in ruins, and are abandoned and decaying, like the Vielle Forge, a Napoleonic era chateau near Nadaillac:
The French bureaucracy has created many obstacles to non-French citizens wanting to purchase and either restore or maintain old chateaus. They’ve also created some incentives, so don’t give up on the dream! I haven’t. I’ll let you know as soon as I buy my first chateau. And if you’d like to be part of an investment group dedicated to buying a castle in France, let me know. We’re planning to make our first purchase in 2016.
One of the biggest challenges facing the 80 million visitors arriving in France each year is deciding where to go and what to see. The country is big, nearly the size of Oregon, Washington, and most of Idaho, combined, but with a far higher density of population, historic and prehistoric sites, cities, villages, and natural wonders.
As challenges go, though, this particular challenge is not as daunting as it might seem because, as I’ve noted elsewhere, it’s hard to go wrong when you’re in France. Not that there aren’t seedy and dangerous neighborhoods in the cities. But they’re hard to stumble into, and as the world’s number one tourist destination, the French do a great job of keeping their visitors safe, supremely satisfied, and very well fed.
If your French journey should take you to the Dordogne Valley, bring lots of memory cards, because there is almost nothing to see there that’s not postcard-perfect. The ancient city of Beynac-et-Cazenac is one of many small villages built between the towering limestone cliffs of the valley walls and the meandering river. Saying that Beynac is a picturesque village is an unjust understatement.
Beynac preserves the look and feel of the medieval era that gave it birth. For those of us that grew up reading Sir Walter Sclott, Tolkien, T.H. White, and so many others, Beynac brings childhood fantasies to life.
Beynac has been the backdrop for films, including Luc Besson’s Joan of Arc. I’m sure the real Joan would have felt quite at home in modern Beynac. If much has changed there since she was busy flummoxing the English, it’s not obvious to a casual visitor.
One of the highlights of my recent visit to Beynac was finding a trail on the cliff top near the chateau that wound its way along the limestone ridge above the Dordogne river. The trailhead was not well marked, but the trail is well maintained and easy to follow down through an oak forest back to the valley floor on the east side of the town.
Not far from the cliff top, the trail passed by some caves in the sheer limestone wall of the cliff face. I ducked into a couple of them, but with no light I couldn’t tell how deep they were. Later, I met a young man from the village that told us the caves had been used by the villagers in the late thirties to hide from German soldiers that had occupied the town. The caves were apparently deep enough to keep them hidden and safe for the duration of the occupation.
If you visit Beynac, head east from the main entrance to the chateau. There are posts with yellow bands that indicate where the trail begins. Follow these to the view point (point de view), and you’ll see the trail descending to an eclectic wooden house. The trail appears to lead only to the private entrance to the house, but it continues past and into the woods beyond, winding downward for about a mile until it meets an narrow paved road that descends back to Beynac village.
Beynac chateau was the seat of one of the four baronies of the Perigord region. It was built in the 12th century. Much intrigue surrounded the chateau, and the surrounding valley in its early years, since many of the battles of the Hundred Years War between France and England were fought nearby. Castelnaud, just 2 miles to the south, lies across the river and was the English counterpart to Beynac chateau.
The fortifications and ramparts of both chateaux made them nearly impregnable to enemy attacks, but they were not invulnerable to betrayal and trickery. Both chateau are open to the public and many of the stories surrounding their long rivalry are told there in French and English. Any visit to Beynac-et-Casenac must include entry to both chateau, admission is between 6 and 8 Euros for adults.
Beynac-et-Cazenac is one of many fond memories of the Dordogne Valley. It’s high on my list of villages where I’d eventually like to own property. It’s close to many of the most scenic parts of the valley, and has good access to Sarlat-le-Caneda, the nearest town of any size. Put it near the top of your must-see-in-France list!
Francophilia is not a disease, but it IS contagious. If you haven’t caught it, it may seem darkly mysterious, but it’s really not. And if you’re wondering what it is, here’s a quick definition: A francophile is one who is fond of or greatly admires France and/or the French.
Strangely, many Americans seem to be “francophobes” – those who despise or are greatly offended by France and/or the French. This is particularly odd since the French played a vital role in America’s struggle for independence, provided us with a gift that has become a treasured national symbol (you know – that big statue in New York), was an ally in both world wars, continues to be a major trading partner, NATO ally, and the progenitors of such notable American staples as French fries, croissants, and faux pas.
More than that, tens of millions of us have French ancestry, and the contributions that the French have made to American culture are enormous. For example, fully one quarter of the four most American things (baseball, hotdogs, apple pie, and Chevrolet) are of French origin. If you don’t know which quarter is French, here’s a clue: it’s Chevrolet. While the automaker is lately a government debacle, it was originally the brilliant product of one Louis Chevrolet, a Swiss-born Frenchman. Now, if the French had given us hotdogs, I can understand a little hostility. But they gave us the Corvette, and that should have earned them our undying gratitude.
With all of that said, you may be wondering whether a francophobe can become a francophile, which is a very good question because it’s the exact one that I’m about to answer: Mais naturellement! But of course! And I speak from personal experience, so you can rest assured that the answer is quite reliable.
My evolution was a step-wise affair, and really began with my first visit to Paris in my mid-twenties. I was single, a very proud English-speaker, and a bit of a xenophobe, although I’d spent some time in Germany and found it quite appealing. I had studied German in college, but discovered during my time in Deutchland that most Germans speak English far better than I spoke German. I wasn’t particularly troubled by this, having concluded that it was unassailable evidence of my cultural and linguistic superiority. I was too thick to see it at the time, but this brutish arrogance was kindly overlooked by the German people of my acquaintance (as far as I know). I’m humiliated by it now, but only when I think about it.
And speaking of humiliation, I was deservedly treated to a generous helping when I carried this attitude with me on my first visit to Paris. It started at the train station, where I had debarked with a good friend who was relying on my travel know-how and linguistic skill to guide us on a Eurail Pass trip through Europe. Unable to find a train to Cherbourg on the huge reader boards at the Gare du Nord, I boldly approached an information booth and asked the attendant there, in my best English, when the next train left and where to catch it. To my amazement, he glared at me with disdain, shrugged dismissively, and turned away. He the refused to say a word, or to look at me, simply kept his face turned away, even though I repeated my question more loudly, and demanded his attention. I finally stomped off, infuriated by his French impudence. And although I didn’t realize it at the time, I became a committed francophobe.
When my European travel ended, and I settled down to pursue my career and family goals, I managed to retain and even nurture my phobia of things French by sharing stories of my experience there, and cultivating friendships with like-minded people, of which I found no shortage.
They say that hindsight’s 20/20, but the clarity of hindsight really depends on one’s willingness to look in the rear-view mirror of life with objectivity. If done correctly, hindsight should not only be 20/20, it should be at least a little uncomfortable, and often downright painful. From my current vantage point, looking back at my petty, immature 20-something self is more painful than uncomfortable. Downright embarrassing, in fact. If you haven’t guessed, my arrogant anti-Frenchness isn’t the only issue in my rear-view mirror of which I’m ashamed, but those other things are for a different article. Or not.
A friend once pointed out that he was much more likely to like a song if a friend or relative liked it first. In other words, music to which he had previously been indifferent, or didn’t like at all, sometimes would become much more appealing after he’d heard a friend’s positive opinion of it. Once he told me this, I began to notice the principal at work in my own life, and that it applied to many things besides music. I found that I was more prone to like or dislike foods, sports teams, hobbies, really anything about which you can formulate an opinion based on subjective criteria, solely because of the opinions of close friends, relatives, or people I otherwise admire. I further observed that the depth of relationship with the person voicing their opinion, the degree to which I liked or admired them, were factors in determining how influential they could be in shaping my own likes and dislikes. You probably recognize all of this as just an aspect of peer pressure, which it undoubtedly is, but since I’m a bit thick, it was something I’d never noticed or really thought about. I’d just assumed that my opinions were strictly constructs of my own unique tastes, experiences, and refined sensibilities.
By now, you may have formed the opinion that I’m shallow, petty, and easily influenced. So at least we agree on something. What I can say in my defense that not even my best friend’s good opinion of rap music, sagging pants, or rocky mountain oysters could dissuade me from reviling these despicable items, anymore than my own mother’s disparaging remarks about a well-prepared lobster could change my opinion that it’s nature’s most perfect food.
And at last we reach the point where I can tell you how I emerged from my pupal state of francophobia into the brilliant papillon of a francophile that I am today. My wife, you see, was born a francophile. Yes, that can happen, even though neither of us was aware of her latent love for all things French until she’d managed to spend a few minutes there. Because she is in all respects a lovely person, and because her passion for French cuisine, Paris, escargots, lavender fields, Claude Monet, and beurre blanc was so contagious, my transformation was surprisingly rapid. Not instantaneous, but très rapidement.
When she and I visited France together, many years after my Parisian encounter, I not only held a higher opinion of the French, I held myself in a rather lower one. And so I took the time to familiarize myself with as much of the French language as my feeble brain could manage, and to learn a little of their culture and customs. What I found was that the French take both pride and pleasure in their country, it’s food, traditions, language, and culture. They tend not to be haughty, but protective of the things they hold dear. I also learned that when greeted in their own language, in accordance with their own customs, they respond warmly. I must tell you at this point that I am a serial abuser of the French language, and could probably be fined or imprisoned for the degree to which I’ve assaulted it, but I’ve never had a French person hold me accountable for my ineptitude. Instead, they’ve nearly always accommodated my linguistic incompetence by either speaking to me in English, or by speaking at a level and pace that I can comprehend.
Before I leave you to make your own way into francophilia, I should say that the French are people, just like any other. They have their own cultural idiosyncrasies, regional distinctions, and individual personalities. You may have heard or experienced the rudeness of Parisian waiters. So have all Parisians. They’ve earned their reputations in the same way that New York taxi drivers and southern California valley girls have. It’s no more a reflection on the country and it’s culture than a cranky bureaucrat at a US Department of Motor Vehicles reflects on America.
The lens through which you observe France will determine how you define your experiences with the French, just like my myopic and narrow little lens prevented me from seeing how offensive my approach to the Gare du Nord information booth was. I’m a lot older now, the very tiniest bit wiser, and every inch a francophile eagerly looking forward to my next visit to France.
The Loire Valley holds a universal appeal that has spanned centuries, and drawn the attention of men and women of all ages, classes, cultures and tastes. It spans over 150 miles of stunning scenery punctuated by sleepy villages, thriving cities, and 21 of the most lovely chateaux in all of France. But with all of it’s visual appeal, one of the valley’s main attractions is it’s incredible diversity of wines, including delicious whites, reds, rosés, and sparkling versions.
Near the center of this outstanding Valley lies Vouvray, a village with a population of just over 3,000. The town has lent it’s name to the uncommonly palatable white wines that are produced by a rare combination of soils, microclimate, and viticultural techniques that only Vouvray and seven small neighboring communities can claim. The village of Vouvray itself is appealing, but deceptive in that it’s gray limestone cliffs, matching stone manor houses, town hall, cathedral, and ancient shops belie the exceptional talent of it’s inspired vintners and the rare quality of the vines that provide their raw material.
Since Vouvray is a small but very special wine region, it wouldn’t do to write about it without pointing out a few intriguing facts. First, the primary grape variety used to make Vouvray wines is Chenin Blanc. According to one of the vintners I met there, the grapes were originally brought to the area by Saint Martin. This may not be true, though, since Martin arrived in area around 400 AD, probably long before Chenin Blanc was born. And second, the grapes thrive in this area due to the mysteries of the terroir, that je’n sais quoi of soil, climate, genetics, and other unknown and unreproducible factors that shape only the wines from a given area.
The vines themselves are gnarled and wizened-looking, as if they’ve earned the right to survive and produce their bounty only through long years of desperate struggle. Looking at the rocky soil that sustains them, it’s hard to imagine how they survive at all.
One last bit of Vouvray lore is the fact that the vintners must prune the vines short, as you can see above, and leave only one or at most two spurs per vine. If this weren’t enough work, each spur can have no more than three buds, so that the vintner, not the vine, chooses how many grapes will be produced.
I should point out here that I’m not a wine connoisseur. And that may be a serious understatement. I drink wine, and enjoy drinking wine, but I can’t describe for you it’s fruity bouquet, or tell you whether it’s bright or buttery. Shameful, I know, but there it is. What I can say is that the dry (sec) Vouvray wines that I’ve tasted have been among my all time favorites, and that one of my more erudite friends whose palate is far more refined told me with no hesitation that the best bottle of wine in his vast experience was a Vouvray, which was recommended to him by an outstanding sommelier. So plan accordingly.
I’ve spent enough time in France to know that, no matter how high my expectations are when I visit a new area, they’ll be met or exceeded. Even so, my first glimpse into the ancient city center of Sarlat-le-Canéda was stunning.
Many old towns and cities have experienced most of their population growth in the modern era and so usually have an old town center that’s surrounded by the newer suburbs. Sarlat-le-Canéda (just Sarlat to her friends) is no different. When I first visited, I drove in from the North, and so passed by the Macdonalds restaurant, the large Carrefour shopping center, the hospital, several car dealerships, and a farm implement lot. Like most French cities, it’s very tidy and well maintained, but in Sarlat’s case, these outskirts are pretty nondescript. I wasn’t discouraged by the modest fringes, though, and quickly found parking near the periphery of the vielle ville, the old part of town.
Because of the way the town is laid out and the newer buildings are constructed, very little of the old town is visible, even when you’re very near it. So when my wife and I strolled through narrow alleyway that opened onto an original street in the old town, we were literally awestruck. The French colloquial term for “love at first sight” is coup de foudre, literally a bolt of lightning, as in “Quand je l’ai vu, ça a été le coup de foudre.” Or, “When I saw it, it was the bolt of lightning.” And that’s how we felt on our first glimpse of the medieval center of Sarlat.
The contrast between the old and the new was a factor in our delight at as the city revealed itself to us. But there was much more. The narrow streets that wind through the honey-and-soot colored stone buildings, the cobblestones, the restaurant-lined open squares, ancient stone architecture, and the many alluring shops together produce an atmosphere that is comforting, tranquil, and wholly agreeable.
Photos, at least my photos, can’t begin to reveal the essence of Sarlat but they at least give you a sense of what you’re missing by not being there. But more than just seeing it as it is today, every house, every building, practically every stone has some really intriguing story behind it, and that’s a huge part of Sarlat’s appeal.
The photo above is of the house of Étienne de la Boétie, born in 1530. Boétie was a scholar, and judge, a man of vision, integrity and rare brilliance who was taken from the world at the age of 32 but not before he penned the essay, “Discourse on Voluntary Servitude”. This essay was an ingeniously insightful treatise on the relationships between tyrants and their subjects in which Boétie asserts that victims of tyranny can free themselves by an act of their own will without resorting to violence. And even if you’ve never read it, or even knew that it existed, the Discourse on Voluntary Servitude has been influential since he first wrote it at the unlikely age of 22. The essay is powerful and timeless, and of worthy of particular note at this juncture in human history. I strongly recommend that you read it, here.
It wouldn’t be fair to mention Étienne de la Boétie without at least mentioning his friend Michel de Montaigne who was also a judge and scholar. Montaigne wrote a towering essay on friendship some 25 years after Étienne’s early demise in which he extolled his friend with whom he felt he shared an uncommon bond. Of their friendship, he wrote, “We loved each other because it was he, because it was I.”
Among countless other historical monuments are the Saint Sacerdos Cathedral, dedicated to Sacerdos of Limoges, who was born in AD 670. The cathedral itself is intriguing because of it’s strangely discordant architecture. It’s mainly gothic, and was originally built as part of a Benedictine Abbey in the 12th century, although it was extensively rebuilt in the 1500s.
Behind the cathedral on a slope overlooking the cemetery is Les Lanterne des Morts, supposedly dedicated by St. Bernard in the 12th century to commemorate victims of a plague, but there is a lot of mystery surrounding its origin. It’s built of limestone blocks, and the upper level includes a series of slotted openings that would allow light to enter and guide the dead.
The Manoir de Gisson was built in the 12th century for a noble family, and has survived the centuries with remarkable aplomb. It’s open to the public, and includes lots of great examples of period architecture, furnishings, and artwork.
Sarlat is a popular place, and so it gets lots of visitors, as many as 2 million a year, as shocking as that sounds, since the town’s total population is under 15 thousand. With such a thriving tourist industry, you won’t be surprised to learn that Sarlat’s old town has lots of restaurants and shops that are loaded with the things that tourists, and even some locals, love to buy. The local cuisine is superb and some of the artisans that supply the shops are astonishingly talented.
The regional delicacy is foie gras, along with other preparations of duck and goose. Don’t be put off if you’re not a fan, and don’t let the stories of animal cruelty keep you from sampling the area’s delectable foie gras. Yes, I know that PETA and other animal rights groups are disdainful of the feeding practices, but foie gras and the practice of gavage (force feeding) has been around for over 3,000 years. I had the privilege of staying on a foie gras farm and seeing first hand how the animals were treated. The process was far more humane than a typical American egg production facility or Confined Animal Feeding Operation.
Although I don’t have a specific recommendation for a Sarlat restaurant, look for the “Routard” recommendations. Routard is a French website that’s roughly equivalent to trip advisor. Since it’s readers are predominantly French, and French palates are quite refined, their recommendations are powerful. Spend some time on their site, use Google translator, or better yet download a free Google Chrome browser which will translate the site automatically. Routard is a wealth of information for the Francophile.
Sarlat is one of the highlights of my travels in France. There is much more to tell and see than I have time for now, but I highly recommend a visit. If you’ve been there and have comments, I’d love to read them, and if you haven’t and have questions, I’d love to answer them.