Yesterday we left the Loire Valley and arrived in Dordogne, in Vézac, where George decided it was time to return to our roots. Our real roots. As in Cro‑Magnon. The region is full of painted caves, rock shelters, and archaeological sites; the Vézère Valley — nicknamed the Capital of Prehistory — is dotted with famous prehistoric landmarks. Lascaux, Les Eyzies, Roque Saint‑Christophe, Cap Blanc — all just a stone’s throw away. Here, every cliff seems to carry a story tens of thousands of years old.

The road from Langeais to Vézac is about 300 km, but we somehow managed to stretch it considerably. George made it clear that we couldn’t pass through the area without visiting “the two Poitiers”: the battle of 732 and the one from 1356. So we took a historical detour, checking off two battlefields, two eras, and zero open restaurants nearby. But George was happy, and apparently that mattered.

I have to make a parenthesis here: Paris and deep rural France have absolutely nothing in common. None. If Paris is chaos, honking, and constant rushing, deep France feels like everything has settled into a natural harmony: impeccable cleanliness, order, well‑kept landscapes, polite people, and genuine hospitality. The food here is remarkable — perfectly prepared dishes made with local products and culinary traditions preserved with care. In recent years, France has adopted strict rules on pesticides and chemical treatments, so ingredients are clean, authentic, and healthy. The atmosphere is so different from Paris that, if you didn’t see the country’s name on the map, you might think you’d crossed into a completely different world.

We arrived at our accommodation just as night was getting ready to pull the curtains. We were exhausted after wandering across battlefields until our batteries gave out. But when we arrived… total surprise. The house is enormous — six beds, four bathrooms, and enough space for a rugby team. We’re perched on a hill with a magazine‑worthy view, we have a pool, and — wait for it — a cat boarding house. Anna and George are ecstatic: so many cats to pet that I’m not sure they’ll ever leave.

We’ll be spending four days here. The only sounds are the buzzing of bees, birdsong, and the wind rustling through the trees. After the madness of Paris, it feels like someone pressed the mute button. Finally, silence.

Today we decided to slow down. We allowed ourselves a day of rest, with no plans and no rush. We only went out in the morning to grab something to eat, then retreated to the pool, in the sun, letting the fatigue of the past days melt away. We’ve seen tourists who pedal tens of kilometers to visit castles — it seems to be a national sport here — but also tourists who choose the relaxed version of vacation. I think it’s time we join the latter.