On the French side, the Château de Beynac faced off with the Château de Castelnaud, then in British possession… The Dordogne River was the symbolic frontier between the two enemy kingdoms. To best understand its history, you have to go back to 1337, when Eleanor of Aquitaine married the heir to the English throne and gave part of the Périgord to the English. It was the Hundred Years’ War that most marked this region. In the 13th century, the Dordogne was an area of major conflict between France and England. In the 10th – 11th centuries, the Dordogne Castles were established on naturally strong points, rocky escarpments, spur points, almost always near land or river communications axes to control them and impose a toll. Across the lot, looming above another building, was the church steeple.Castles in the Dordogne Department – Historical Background It was more of a vacant lot beneath a 200-year-old flowering tree whose gnarled trunk and branches had been trained to twine over a trellis. As we sat, the hostess came over and asked if we wouldn’t rather eat out on the terrace. We were dubious, but didn’t feel we could ask to use the facilities without ordering something to eat. We parked and peeked in through the open doors to a dimly lit dining room with a handful of tables, all empty but one. At one end was a gothic church spire, and at the other another bland two-story structure with a sign indicating that this was “La Bonne Franquette” restaurant. Then we came to a crossroads and a little town, picturesque but seemingly deserted, of about a dozen two-story, stone-and-stucco buildings shoulder to shoulder along one main street that looked like a set for some World War II movie. But this wasn’t Interstate 95 we were on - unless we wanted to take our chances going au naturel in a field, we seemed to be out of luck. On one of our longer day trips, we were heading back to Sarlat but still an hour out and in desperate need of a rest stop. Coming on it by accident only made it that much better, and ultimately, those happy accidents defined our stay. By the end of the 20th century, Commarque was a forgotten ruin, almost entirely toppled, buried or reclaimed by the forest, until a direct descendant of the original lords of the castle began an ambitious private-public restoration of the chateau and exploration of a cave beneath it, filled with prehistoric paintings and sculpture.īetween its bottomless history, its stark beauty and remarkable isolation, that visit to Commarque is something I’ll never forget. We paid a nominal admission and climbed up the escarpment all the way to the top where there was a wide array of ruins, from a stone chapel to a soldiers’ barracks and ultimately to the 12th-century keep. The chateau rose dramatically to the left, looming atop the rocks, while another chateau, this one private, stood out among the heights on the other side of the valley, not so much as a road between them. After about 700 meters, the woods ended at a line of exposed limestone reaching to the sky and stretching away into an open meadow. But just as we were about to give up, we came to a dirt parking lot in a grove of trees with an arrow pointing down a trail through the woods. We turned off the road and followed a series of ever smaller roads until we were sure we’d made a wrong turn somewhere. Thank God we had GPS.īut here was one inviting us to visit. We often found it hard to believe these rustic tracks were leading to major tourist destinations, but we were never disappointed. ![]() But more often than not, we had the roads to ourselves as they narrowed into single-lane tracks (more than once we had to back up to let another car squeeze past) through increasingly tiny villages and wooded hills. I felt daring driving at 45 mph on these byways while the locals lined up behind me, impatiently waiting to pass. ![]() All roads are winding, rolling two-lane forays through the pages of a fairy tale. This part of France apparently has no strip malls, gated housing developments or major highways. ![]() And forget the destinations - the drives themselves were breathtaking. Any one of them could have been the highlight of a trip. A 30- to 45-minute drive in any direction brought us to destinations that were each more stunning than the last. But as we quickly realized, the best thing about locating in Sarlat was leaving it. Though it was stimulating to be in the middle of such history, the smallness of the town - its photo-ready back streets could be explored in an afternoon - made us wonder at first about our decision to spend two weeks there.
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