Domme, Dordogne and a Month on t’ Road

Zagan the motorhome is in an official aire at Domme, Dordogne (N44.80103, E1.22176, €9 for 24 hours), a short walk from the old town, pondering his sprightly newness alongside a Dave-aged Hymer cousin. Earlier the light glinted off his white rounded form like the shine of a movie star’s teeth. The sun’s now set and we’re inside, still warm with the lights on, feeling safe.

The motorhome aire at Domme.

The 20 min jaunt here from Montfort was easy today after yesterday’s cornice (I never know how to spell that word!). It had me thinking back of early first trips driving abroad, where I’d considered one of those transparent windscreen stickers telling you which side of the roundabouts to drive around. My driving’s come on since then, a bit anyway. Being pushed along a strip of tarmac about one and a half times the width of the van, an uneven overhanging cliff to my right and a small wall then the continuation of the cliff to my left, still has my palms sweating. “These cliffs are making me nervous” I confessed to Ju, “me too, I keep imagining us slicing Zagan open end-to-end like the Titanic” Ju replied. She was spot on, but as well as intimidating, I find that kind of driving exhilarating too.

Domme this way, but please don’t try and get your motorhome in here.

We’re serious. You ain’t gonna fit.

Told you. Don’t say we didn’t tell you.

Coughing up for the night here’s ended our nine night run of free aires. While we’ve sat in the van, windows and vents open to keep us below 30°C, four other vans have appeared, stopped with engines running opposite the tariff board, then rolled off and disappeared around the corner. There are stacks of free places to stay here, explaining the decisions not to stay. We could live on next to nothing wandering up and down the Dordogne for months. It’s temping too, in this cloudless paradise.

Proof, we actually paid to park.

Domme is a bastide town, created from nothing over 700 years back as a hilltop fortress. Weirdly it’s actually been British for 90 years in the past, when this part of France was fought over by French and English kings. Our aged Rough Guide isn’t too kind to the place, basically saying it’s sold its soul to tourism. Wouldn’t be the first place around here to take that route, nearby Sarlat springs to mind as another tourist-trap contender, but nowadays I’m starting to try to judge a place as I find it.

Domme

With all of two walks into the town, I’ve probably spent as long there as the original Rough Guide author. On first impressions yup, it’s got the usual ‘main street’ run of overpriced local produce shops (tins of confit de canard and foie gras at three times the going rate, cheap-but-expensive imported pottery and metal wall-ware). At this time of year though the car parks are empty, literally for those the petit train would normally shuttle to and from. And that makes all the difference. It’s calm, quiet. The views out to the north take in a great swathe of Dordogne country, wooded hills looking like they’re sporting a tight green afro, cut into cliffs where the river meanders.

View of the Dordogne as it meanders north west to Beynac.

Enjoyable, much helped by the total absence of clouds, just tiny streaks of white behind jet aircraft, like frozen streaks of shooting stars. One end of the town has a small park-in-the-sky, where we got chatting with Barry and Paula. “Quite some view eh?” I tested the water on hearing their English. “Oh yes, even after ten years living out here” Barry replied. The conversation picked up and as they strolled with a slowness we’ve yet to attain, they explained how they’d ended up out here after winning a trip to visit the place. Events sped up. They rented initially, finding a place by accident as the landlady just happened to be in the estate agent when they turned up to start their search. Ten months later they’d fallen for the place, sold up in Ireland and moved here. Not just changing country, but changing jobs too, from shop owners/property managers to self-employed landscaping. “It’s amazing how you can pick up new skills, the language isn’t a problem either after a bit of wine!” Barry and Paula both impressed us mightily with their can-do attitude. “You should see it here in summer, the river’s like the M1, packed solid with canoes, I kid you not”. Maybe I’d have written the same Rough Guide entry if I’d come here in August then!

Flowers in the graveyard on All Saints Day.

Ju’s checked the forecast and it’s looking like our run of fab weather might be ending. Fair enough, it’s been something else. Unseasonably warm according to Paula, and it can get flipping cold here in winter, minus mucho degrees. Might give us good reason to get back on our way south too, we’ve been on the road a month now and we’re still only half way(ish) down France!

A few more random photos from Domme:

Illicit walnut stash bust open with an ‘ammer!

These signs don’t cease to shock me, although I must have seen thousands of names on them across Europe.

Afternoon chilling with vino and a few ciggies. Parfait.

Cheers, Jay