A Cadeau and Wooly Rhinoceroses

On the way to Rouffignac

The market was under the church tower and only had a few stalls, which I cruised. Truffles came in various forms, mainly oil or a type of tapanade--pricey! The tapanade went for $30 for about 1/2 cup. I bought some truffle oil from a sweet man who gave me a little bottle of truffle vinegar--a cadeau, he said, a gift. He touched his heart when I thanked him. I popped in the car and started driving--it became evident pretty quickly that I wasn't going to have time to hike the extraordinary group of stairways and caves I had seen just past Les Ezyies (near Grotte de Grand Roc) and make Rouffignac in time for the last tour at 11:15. I hate not being able to clone myself. Rouffignac was worth the sacrifice; this cave was completely different from Font-de-gaume in terrain and artwork.  Font-de-gaume was more like my mental picture of a cave, with limestone formations, narrow walls and very tall “ceilings”--more than 20 meters high in some places. Rouffignac was wide and low--it looked and smelled like an inverted lakebed—cement-like mud with hard lumps of reddish material made of silicone that looked for all the world like half-dug potatoes. The ceiling had several large dome-like structures. Being inside, on the little train that takes people through this deep cave, was both creepy and thrilling—I could imagine the roof caving in far too easily. The drawings were simple lines, drawn with fingers in the mud thousands of years ago, but made with considerable finesse and individuality, particularly the grand ceiling that had a zoo’s worth of bison, woolly rhinoceroses, and horses swirling overhead. A frieze of woolly rhinos marching along wrapped around one wall (their existence, along with mammoths, ended with the ice age).

Artist's rendition of the woolly rhino frieze

But I had to leave for Spain. Since I loved the Dordogne, I opted to take back roads rather than the expensive and monotonous highway. I passed through numerous villages made of yellow stone, and the farmland changed to vineyards farther southwest--this was Bordeaux wine country.

View from a country road near Rouffignac

Time was tight, so i eventually opted for the highway, and made it to Bayonne around sunset. The Ibis hotel I planned to stay in was not an Ibis but a creepy discount hotel right off the road. Nope. So I continued on, guided by the faithful Beauty on my GPS which had proved so reliable up to now. I crossed the border and continued on to San Sebastian in Spain--i don't know what I expected, but this was a big, grand city—the largest in Basque country, and a major destination for holidays.  I was swept along with traffic into the town along one side of the bay. My blurry impression was of an ornate bridge and hundreds of people on the streets, cruising the pincho (tapas) bars in the old town. It was warm and humid--we were definitely back in Spain. 

Country road, France

I couldn't go slow enough to really find a hotel, so I guided myself back to the highway. I was growing more tired with each passing mile, and finally pulled off the road in the hope of finding a hotel in the dark.  What I found was a nameless port town with no facilities at all. I finally wised up, set the GPS to take me off the highway and through the small towns, and to indicate hotels (it does that). Then I did it the old-fashioned way--i pulled into a gas station and asked. I was directed to a hotel a few blocks away. it turned out to be a lucky choice, though the lobby wasn't very promising as it reeked of fried fish, an odor that managed to reach and permeate my fifth floor room. We pause here for a word of gratitude for room fans and the super-strong bottle of lavender oil I brought with me! In short order, the room was pleasant.

Autumn leaves, on the way to Basque Country

This section of Spain is the land of Zs—nearly every town name and string of words has the letter in it. My haven for the night was the Hotel Zarauz, (26 Nafarroa kalea, Zarautz (Gipuzkoa), quite a pleasant place for 47 Euros ($68—cheaper if you book online). Euskara, the Basque language, is as difficult to pronounce from the spelling as Welsh; take this snippet  from the welcome page of the Guggenheim Museum: “Esku artean duzenen aldizkariak 2013-14ko udazken-neguko denboraldian Musepoan egingo den programzio artisikoaren....”