Rocamadour

Yesterday we spent the day doing a few random surprise things, which means we didn’t tell the kids where we were going, we just showed up. Our first stop was a mechanical toy museum with a huge selection of one hundred year old dancing, laughing, spanking and sometimes racially offensive dolls. It was actually quite interesting, although I can’t get those weird knitting Victorian dolls with the giant moving eyes out of my head. Shiver. So there was that.

Next was another water mill which has been making flour for the last 700 years. It was probably in the most beautiful spot we’ve seen yet, I’ll try to post a picture. One thing we love about Europe is the lack of safety regulations- if you see a cave, explore it, if the road is as wide as your car and jutting out the side of a cliff, be careful. The mill had all this creaky noisy machinery going on all over the place, water rushing through open places in the floor, one and a half ton stone wheels spinning 80 times a minute right there in the open, everyone touching the flour and throwing it back in the bin. It’s the real deal, giving us more freedom (and a little more credit, come on Canada…liability forms for laser tag?)

Our last stop was Rocamadour, a beautiful cliff side town and final resting place of the Black Madonna (and apparently Zacheaus, that wee little man.) It’s pedestrianized, so we parked in a neighboring village and walked- a lot. John was excited to do the 280 pilgrims stairs, but not on his hands and knees which I think is cheating for such an eager beaver. Speaking of safety regulations, they could really do with a few warning signs at the bottom of that stairway- phew! I may have had a mild heart attack or two.

The whole town is sadly quite the tourist attraction now, little shops selling plastic Marys and glowing Jesus postcards, nestled in between the ancient cave churches, frescoes and thatched roofs. It’s just the way things go, I guess, and it’s what keeps these little places alive, so we did our part and bought ice cream. But only to support the crumbling economy of Rocamadour, OK?
We had a yummy supper of crepes (more selfless support from the Closes) before coming home to one of our last France fires. Five more days…

Angie