SCRIPT

Writers have said that the city of Bordeaux is a gift presented to France.

The great French author Francois Mauriac said that Bordeaux is a city in which we can stroll aimlessly, certain that our walk will lead us to discover some new marvel.

For us, Bordeaux is the gateway to the Dordogne region of France. Dordogne, with its castles in the air.

The Dordogne River rises 6000ft high in the central mountains of France and runs through lush water meadows, deep, wide valleys and picture postcard towns and villages. Such a place is Bergerac, surrounded by hills and lying on both banks of the bewitching Dordogne.

And in the year 1619, Bergerac's famous son Cyrano was born. The author and duellist who gave his name to the famous play Cyrano de Bergerac.

The large 19th century Gothic church of Bergerac.

Forever linked with England's history, the town saw the start of the Hundred Years War, and in the year 1345 was captured by the Earl of Derby.

Standing amongst prolific vineyards, the castle of Monbazillac, where famous white wines are pressed. Today the castle is a wine museum.

Dominating the Dordogne River, and a true castle in the air, is the great medieval structure of the Chateau de Montfort.

Set on a needle's eye cliff overhanging the river, the castle of Monfort is inhabited, and what a fantastic home it must be! Though altered many times since it was first built in the 15th century, it still has its original outer wall and gate.

As everyone who has read history knows, the castle saw time pass it by. It knew Simon de Montfort and the wars with England.

One of the strangest ecclesiastical buildings in France is the Cathedral of Périgueux. Built on the plan of a Greek cross with five magnificent domes similar to that of St Mark's at Venice, the original church goes back to the sixth century. Périgueux itself is an ancient city that shows fewer signs of age than many other French provincial capitals. Time and again, the city was destroyed in its troubled history. Time and again, it rose richer than it was before. A pleasant city, and one to which its natives are devoted.

Leaving Périgueux and its cathedral behind, we pass the 500 year old Chateau L'Evecque on our way to the island town of Brantome.

Delightfully situated on an island between the arms of the River Dronne stands Brantome.

This area is known as Périgord Vert, a country of forests, rivers and lakes. Away from the lush and fashionable resorts. Living almost in a world of its own.

En route to another of our castles in the air, is Rastignac, standing uninhabited in its overgrown parkland. A replica of Washington's White House, and no one knows who copied which.

And so to the Chateau de Puymartin. This castle also played a constant part in the Anglo-French wars of long ago. The interior still contains the paintings and remarkable furniture of the 16th century.

Through the dignified little town of Montignac flows the River Vézère. And at Montignac stands the Chateau de Losse, picturesque and tranquil.

But once these castles were not so tranquil. Though fine homes they undoubtedly were, they were fine fortresses to. From the battlements, of which the arrows of the bowmen rained down, and later the cannon fire.

At Le Molin, the Vézère meets the Dordogne, where in spring, flowers succeed each other so fast that the hillsides change colour daily. It's a countryside where light plays strange tricks on the eyes.

Only the road divides the cliff of Beynac from the River Dordogne, and high in the air is the Castle of Beynac, one of the most spectacular of the region. It has stood here for almost 700 years.

Perched on its limestone cliff, Beynac overhangs the Dordogne. Without doubt one of the most beautiful rivers in the whole of France.

At Les Eyzies, under the flanks of the cliff faces, are rock shelters, where prehistoric man built his huts and lit his fires.

For thousands of years, the ashes from their fires, their flint tools and armaments accumulated, forming layers of rock which, like the pages of a book, scholars have learned to read and so reconstruct timeless stories of the ages.

We follow the River Dordogne and arrive at the Abbey of Cadouin. Majestic and austere, an abbey and a church of Cistercian Romanesque times.

The severity is modified by a decorated cloister set in a well-kept garden.

What was said to be the holy winding sheet of Christ was once housed here, and drew saints and sinners in their thousands on holy pilgrimages to the shrine. But one day, a learned monk decided to decipher the inscription woven into the margin of the sheet. He found it was a Muslim text. After that, the pilgrimages ceased completely.

Many nations have a word for their countries. England, merry; Scotland. bonnie; France, la belle, the beautiful. And it's easy to see why.

Hautefort is completely dominated by its immense castle. Today in private ownership, standing in the midst of a superb park, the castle of Hautefort was once owned by a friend of Richard Coeur de lion, in the 13th century, when King John of Magna Carta fame was on the throne of England.

Not less than four architects were concerned in the construction of this gigantic dwelling of square pavilions and dome surmounted towers.

The Chateau de Hautefort, with its beautiful gardens, terraces, air of mystery, tradition and history, is something that one cannot easily forget.

A fairy tale land where it's difficult to believe all you see, and seeing is not believing. Plastic flowers look exactly like the real thing.

Deep is the natives love of colour, and where nature does not oblige, other means are found to adorn their homes and villages.

And so to Sarlat, our last port of call in the country of the Dordogne.

Sarlat, with its picturesque winding streets that have existed since the fifth century.

Not far from the marketplace, and down one of the narrow streets, are bistros, where the locals, in their locals, drink the wine of the region and play the ancient game of pétanque. Bowls and skittles combined.

Sarlat is a village of precious stones. Every house here is old. Not one strikes an architecturally discordant note.

He plies his craft far from the pressing tempo of life in the towns and cities.

Some use nets, others a line.

Life is slow, peaceful and relaxing.

The villagers looked like this in the days when castles in the air were filled with the sounds of warrior knights. When the tables in baronial halls groaned under the weight of food from the four corners of France. Strange times indeed. For most of the Europe which disappeared so long ago.

In Sarlat, was born a close friend of Montaigne. His name La Boétie. A man who championed the rights of his people against the tyranny of the 16th century. He became a source of inspiration to the forerunners of the revolution.

In 1317, Pope John the 22nd made the city the head of the diocese, and the Cathedral of Sarlat is his testimony.

Hundreds of years ago, adjacent to the cathedral in the lanterne des morts, the dead were taken before being laid to rest.

The Dordogne flows on through the beautiful countryside. Our journey seems somehow as unreal as the castles in the air.

[The End]