Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
stone walls, high ceilings and windows - offering spring blossom views towards our farm
and the Dordogne valley beyond - provided instant grandeur.
'Now I show you the dungeon, where the real history lies,' said Pierre. We descended to
the gloomy basement.
'This seventeenth-century castle is built on the site of a monastery from Celtic times.'
We followed, obediently picking our way carefully through the murk. Pierre showed us
his well, which dated back at least a thousand years.
'There are no prison cells here but we do have a secret tunnel.'
He led us further into the obscurity along a wooden plank that balanced precariously over
a very uneven stone floor.
'Et voilà!'
In the castle wall was a vaulted doorway leading into a tunnel completely filled
in with loose stone. 'We don't know why it is filled in. Perhaps it was a rock fall. Perhaps it
was to keep some treasure secret from the Germans in the war. Folklore says that a tunnel
from the castle leads to Garrigue. Maybe we'll explore it one day.' Pierre smiled conspirat-
orially and turned to lead us out of the basement.
Laurence was putting on running shoes as we said goodbye.
'Do you run?' I asked. Laurence looked the quintessential French lady, not one who beat
the pavements.
'A leetoll.'
'We must run together. How about this Sunday?'
'Why not?'
And so, that Sunday we started our regular runs, which offered me a stress-buster, an op-
portunity to talk French on subjects beyond wine and a closer look at French psychology
and history. Laurence was a teacher's assistant and starting preparations for a full teacher's
certificate. She was a delicious fountain of French culture and was into organic food and
natural remedies. We struck a chord.
On our runs we sometimes met deer and other four-legged creatures. One morning, as we
were running up the road to Gageac, the sun highlighting clouds of our breath, a volley of
gunshots shattered the peace. We both yelled. A hunter swaggered out of the trees swinging
his gun nonchalantly on his shoulder.
'People get killed every year in hunting accidents,' said Laurence, not very reassuringly.
We ran the rest of the hill at astonishing speed.
Sean and I had our first wine bottled and were beginning to realise how long a game wine
was. Each of our wines took a minimum of eighteen months and sometimes, for the reds,
