The Cave and the Gardens

 

Let's start with foie gras.

We are in the foie gras capital of the world. Seventy five percent of the world's foie gras comes from France (most of it from here in the southwest) and ninety percent of it is consumed by the French. It is made of goose or duck liver, but not just any goose or duck. Someone discovered, somehow, at some time in history, that if you force-fed a goose/duck during a particular time of the year, their liver would taste good. Imagine that. “Force fed” means a tube down their throat with grain poured in, direct, I assume, to the stomach.

That's all I need to know to never eat foie gras. Torture a duck so you can have a little schmear on a cracker? Our guide was very balanced, and went into some detail about how the French justify foie gras. But they sounded like the arguments of someone who benefits financially from torture. Ever notice that? How easy it is to think of reasons that bad things are not so bad, because they generate an income and/or allow you to become wealthy? “They have a wonderful life right up until then.” Really? “He had a great life and a loving family right up until we started waterboarding him.” No thanks.

Anyway, Sunday started with confusion in the hotel kitchen: lots of groups in the hotel were leaving for excursions and they couldn't keep up with the timed crowds, so our group had a very sparse meal. Tomorrow should be better - “Mondays are strange in France,” says our guide. “Everything is closed on Mondays.” So we'll all just drift into breakfast tomorrow and everything will be fine.

Anyway. This morning was Lascaux IV.

We are in the Dordogne River region (also known as Perigord) of southwest France. Unlike our first couple of days, in flat farmland with rolling hills (and the awesome sight of the snow-capped Pyrenees in the distance), this is a land of huge limestone cliffs and outcrops, not mountains per se, but great relief which makes for stunning overlooks, beautiful river valleys and narrow, twisty roads. The structure of the limestone (OK, I'll stop in a minute – this is important) is such that many natural caves and shelters were formed in the rock faces. This is the prehistory capital of France (and, maybe, I'm not sure, Europe). You can visit prehistory sites up and down the Dordogne valley (we had lunch at the Cro-Magnon Inn).

In 1940, four boys trying to find their lost dog (it had taken off after a rabbit) found the entrance to what turned out to be a massive cave system containing over 2,000 paintings and engravings on the walls, almost all of animals (and, really, just three kinds of animals), done around 21,000 years ago. These are the world's most famous cave paintings, although not by a long shot the only ones. The cave had been sealed by a landslide in prehistory, which preserved the paintings. After 1940, however, the huge numbers of visitors and the outside air brought in carbon dioxide, pollen and other contaminants. The paintings were not significantly damaged at first, but apparently those in charge saw that the damage would only increase, and in 1962 the cave was sealed again. So that was Lascaux I.

Lascaux II was a small re-creation done in the 1980s (?), very close to the original cave, but it was apparently too close, and somehow it contributed to the degradation of the original, and it was closed. Lascaux III was/is a traveling exhibition, which has visited cities around the world.

Lascaux IV, an initiative of the French and provincial governments, with private investment as well, is a recreation of about 70% of the original, set into the base of the hill the original lives in. It's a really impressive (and beautiful, I think) building made almost entirely of concrete and glass (see below). We went into the airy lobby, got our radio-receiver-on-a-lanyard and headphones (omnipresent gear for the modern traveler) and met our guide.

It was the inclusion of Lascaux IV that sold me on this trip. Normandy, Giverny, the T-L Museum, Paris and the Bayeux Tapestry helped a lot, but I have been fascinated by cave paintings since I watched “Cave of Forgotten Dreams,” a documentary by Werner Herzog, years ago. Those who know documentaries know that everyone either loves or hates Werner Herzog, but his films never fail to get the intellectual juices flowing. The conventional wisdom is that you're supposed to hate him, but this kind of reputation always attracts me; his particular kind of madness resonates. I would highly recommend his films even for those who are not drawn to documentaries, and especially “Cave of Forgotten Dreams.”

Somehow, Herzog arranged to enter Chauvet Cave*, which is bigger than Lascaux and about a hundred and fifty miles away.  He made a film. They used artificial lighting and trod very carefully. They had limited time. They made a masterpiece. The film is especially good at evoking the prehistoric artists and the culture that supported them – about which we know almost nothing. Anyway, it certainly left me wanting more.

Our guide was a big guy, shaven head, big beard (“sculptured,” Abbey notes) and basso profundo voice, but in almost a whisper, which was very effective given our excellent audio equipment. He told the story with drama and mystery, with exactly the intense wonder that I came looking for. It was awesome. “Onward, humans,” he intoned as we moved through the cave.

It is really wonderful that we had such a great guide, because I was somewhat disappointed in the cave experience itself. The cave and the paintings were meticulously reproduced, the air was cool, and the animals were dramatically lit. But, as faithful readers of these journals are aware, I tend to experience the history of a place, viscerally; I travel not just through space, but through time, and experience what I know of what happened in a place almost as intensely as the physical surroundings.

So Lascaux IV was just a reproduction, and I had a hard time feeling like I was in an ancient shrine of artistic mystery, surrounded by prehistoric artists of remarkable passion and talent. At the end of the tour, we were in a large room with lots of exhibits. Many of the painted passages were reproduced again, so we could look closely and take pictures. I tried to “reverse engineer” the experience, looking into the minds of the artists and their wider culture by examining the paintings in detail. How was that auroch horn painted? Who made the brush? Where were the mineral pigments found, and who collected them? Why an auroch? How was the pigment applied? Why were you doing this?**

Waiting in the lobby to leave, a few of the guys from the group were discussing pretty much the same thing. Who were the artists? How was the society constructed so that this massive work could take place? How were those with artistic talent discovered, and nurtured? Men? Women? How was the skill, tradition, process, vision passed down from generation to generation for 500 years?

One of the guys said that the cave might have been, to them, a cathedral. That's the vision I'm sticking with.

That was Lascaux IV – a great experience, but not communing with cave painters. Go watch “Cave of Forgotten Dreams.”

Then on to the Cro-Magnon Inn, for a lunch of little bits of lots of things, and two different wines. Did I mention it was raining most of the day?

Les jardines suspendus de Marquessac. OK, that's it. I'm not copying that name again. We'll call them “the gardens.” An awesome linear garden hanging over the Dordogne Valley. Click the link, although the website seems to focus on activities at the garden, and not the sublime pleasure of just walking the paths and enjoying the awesome gardens (mostly boxwood) and spectacular views.

The Dordogne Valley is a favorite of my Hyde Hall friend David, who taught French and in his retirement spends as much time in France as possible (he's actually in southwest France at this very moment, in Albi). It is a beautiful valley, with the robust Dordogne, in flood, at the bottom, lush forests and fields, medieval towns scattered here and there, and craggy limestone cliffs rising hundreds of yards on each side. And castles. Right within view of the gardens are two castles, one on each side of the river, whose lords were on opposite sides of the 100 Year's War, or for part of it, at least (“sides” in that war were... flexible). “They were fighting each other all the time,” says our guide. And there they are, right in front of us.

The whole valley is right in front of us; the gardens are well toward the top of one of the more impressive cliffs that line the valley; the gardens are long and narrow (because for most of their length they're on a narrow ledge, with paths toward the top). The views are constant and delightful. After a while, you stop taking pictures. And this was on a rainy, cloudy day.

Apparently there are over 100,000 boxwood plants in the garden, lining 6 kilometers of trails. There's a maze, of course, and boxwoods formed into what looks like a collection of rectangular blocks scattered around. But mostly they are all along the trails, framing the views, at one point seeming to spring out of the cliff face; they're pretty much ubiquitous.

The gardens were developed and maintained by a family who lived in the chateau/small castle at one end of the gardens. Oh – and did I mention the peacocks?

The gardens were the second choice for this afternoon – first choice was a cruise on the Dordogne, but the river was in flood and no one was allowed on it (we passed a kayak place, deserted (on a weekend!) with all the kayaks piled up). That would have been great, but the gardens were not at all a “second choice.”  I'm really glad we got to see them.

Then back to Sarlat and a walk through town, looking for dinner. We settled on a sandwich shop – I think I've described that sublime sub – fresh tomatoes and lettuce, and bread that makes you wonder why all bread everywhere can't be made just like that.****  Then to bed.

Bonus pics of the boxwood cliff garden and the Dordogne valley.  Remember to click on the pic to embiggen.  I may have figured out some of the blogger.com formatting secrets (and they are secret):

     

         

NOTES:

* - Chauvet Cave is bigger and older than Lascaux, and was closed up in 1994, very soon after it was discovered, for the same reasons as Lascaux was closed.  Herzog's film was made in 2010.

I'd really like to write a report on Chauvet Cave (I know, I know....sorry).  Go to the Wikipedia article and the cave's website (awesome pics), and soak it all in.  Some teasers:  there's a replica of Cauvet, a couple of kilometers away from the cave itself; it is ten times bigger than Lascaux IV.  Ten times.  Found in the cave were footprints and skulls of cave bears and ibexes.  And evidence of humans, including a small number of handprints.***

** - For another encounter with prehistoric artists, see How Art Began, a film by Anthony Gormley, an artist who specializes in public art, who found kindred spirits in the cave painters, and who, for me, unfolded the compelling idea that art is who we are, what we are, and not something we've learned to do.

*** - Which brings us to the second major reason for prioritizing a prehistoric cave in our travels:  "Shaman," a novel by the prolific and endlessly creative Kim Stanley Robinson, about a band of prehistoric humans living near what today we call Chauvet Cave.  His protagonist, a teenager, damages his pinky finger and later in the story leaves a handprint - with a crooked pinky finger - on the cave wall.

  

Here it is:

Just one more thing, and I'll stop.  On the Chauvet Cave website, there's a picture of a girl, maybe nine or ten, reaching up to place her hand on a reproduction of one of the handprints from the cave.  I find it enormously moving - reaching out to another human over thirty thousand years, like it is nothing.  Here she is:

**** - Randall says the secret is more butter and fewer eggs.