Have you ever wondered what it would be like to live in a fairy
tale? Alan and Diana, kindred
spirits we met on the cruise, do just that. They fell in love with St. Martin de Vers and bought a home
there in 2004 and now split the year between France and California. There is no
reason why you should have heard of St. Martin de Vers - at the height of
summer the population may reach one hundred. The church is believed to be 1000 years old but most of the
thirty houses have been standing for only a quarter of that time. For Alan and Diana, renovating the
house has been (and I imagine will continue to be) a labor of love but the
results are charming.
In the first hour of walking around the village we met half a dozen
residents. Many speak perfect
English and every one was a real character. One man, an expat described as “an individual,” wandered by
in a hooded white monk’s robe.
Claire, who lives in the former town hall, (not to be confused with the other
Claire) has raised ten kids, gone through three husbands and is now working on
prospect #4. Even Eddy, the bread
guy, had a big smile and a “Bon jour” for us. Bread delivery is THE big event of the week but if will face
competition for Saturday’s wedding, a village affair. Later Alan and I rustled up dinner; pork chops hacked from
the loin by the butcher, foie gras, sautéed turnips and apples, Eddie’s bread
and, of course, good local wine.
And great pastries.
Eddie, the Bread Guy
Connie and I slept fitfully in the attic bedroom. Part of the problem was our colds. Part was the church bells that rang
every fifteen minutes and marked the hour - TWICE. I guess it is too easy to loose track of time in
paradise. It rained overnight but
Alan wasn’t deterred and insisted on showing us a good time. We stopped here and there for
magnificent views, a hidden Roman aquaduct and bits of local French
history. We ended up in St. Cirq
de Lapopie, another of France’s panoramic medieval villages. They all begin to run together after a
while like wet paint.
We celebrated our reunion and my birthday with lunch at Truite d’Or,
the Golden Trout. As much as I
wanted the trout I thought the veal stew would be more filling on a cold
day. I didn’t realize we would
first have a tureen of vegetable soup, salad, a crock of pate and a loaf of
bread before the main course.
Desert was overkill.
We spent the rest of the afternoon in Cahors where Diana had her
weekly language lesson. She is
pretty fluent in French so she is studying Occitan, the ancient language of the
region. Alan jokes that she is in
her seventh year in the beginner’s class.
Not much for dinner – we were still full from lunch – but Alan treated me to my first pastis. It's an acquired taste, a bit like liquid Good N Plenty candies (or Jagermeister), both of which I like. Maybe I have some French genes after all.
