As we left town the next day, we inadvertently chose the “Longest distance between two points” method of getting from Belves to Beynac-Cazanac, our next port of call, but, it has to be said, we encountered not only impassable farm vehicles on single track roads, but some beautiful scenery and buildings as well.
Eventually, we reacquainted ourselves with the Dordogne river (God knows it’s big enough and long enough, we couldn’t miss it forever) and the simply breathtaking skyline of the Castle and fortress village of Beynac loomed on the horizon in the summer sunshine. This was the seat of Richard the Lionheart between 1189 and 1199, when he held the Barony here. When you see the sheer impassable geography of the place, not to mention the forbidding walls of the keep and watchtowers, it’s a wonder anybody found a way of replacing him. I imagine most would-be invaders, if they had by some miracle managed to evade the hostile and revolting peasants, the barrels of burning oil and rain of arrows, not to mention the new age shops, would have reached the upper slopes of this incredible natural fortress, spied the towering stone walls and deep moat, and simply asked for some oxygen and a glass of beer, on a promise that they would just go away before the Coeur de Lion could, in the immortal words of John Cleese’ French knight, “taunt them a second time.”
Beynac is a medieval marvel, and long may it stand in such good repair to fire our imaginations and transport our minds back to that dark and fantastic age. I scampered around the passageways and staircases of the fortress, and discovered a very small dude had taken it upon himself to follow my every move. Unfortunately, one staircase was a journey to far…I looked down from the top as he cocked his leg to follow me and he couldnt quite haul himself onto the next step. Ah well, little fella, come back when your legs have grown!
Eschewing the “campitalist” approach beloved of many of our fellow motorhome owners, we managed to park illicitly on the edge of a cornfield,
and damn right too, when campsite owners are asking 20 euros just to use a bit of grass and 6 euros if you want to empty your kaka down a hole. They have a grandly titled “Aire du service de Camping-Car.” It’s a piece of wood with a hosepipe nailed to it. Honestly.
Our parking place of choice, in addition to be unencumbered with costs, afforded us a wonderful view of the clifftop fortress, and was dotted with large trees protecting us from the roadway.
As dusk crept upon us, we took the bikes down some country lanes and made for the banks of the Dordogne itself, and watched the quiet waters wind their way westwards for a while, before heading back for the Boomobile, concealed in the cornfields with its promise of a Cassoulet dinner….
Text by Kev Moore
Drawing & Photos by Miki
Both on Planet Goodaboom
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