Rocamadour is a village. A medieval village. Like so many here in the valley of the Dordogne. It is situated on different levels, connected by stairs - and by two elevators that transport people up and down.
In principle, in Rocamadour there is only one road that gently winds up from the bottom of the valley. It is easy to meet people here, because is crowded. We came here in September, because in high season it is here ... not only for us ... too crowded.
The people who flock towards us and also those who move with us are tourists who want to see if Rocamadour is really as beautiful as the reputation that precedes this place claims. Among these travelers are also modern pilgrims who are interested in the abbey, the relics kept there and sometimes travel on another part of the Route of Saint Jacques. More information about the village, its history and the abbey, you will find here, since we are on the road to meet locals.
Our path uphill takes us past an ice cream store. "Past" is not quite right, because where there's ice cream, a stop is always an option. At least for us. Here we meet Roland Manouvrier. He is a master ice cream maker, he owns the store, he comes from St. Léon-sur-Vézère, where our campsite is and his brother runs our favorite restaurant there. It's such a small world - in France, too.
He also supplies regional restaurants with his ice cream creations, for which he also took inspiration from the Côte d'Azur, from Grasse from the perfumers there, and adapted composing scents for his flavors. Our stop at this store was not only crowned by really delicious ice cream, but it also gave an interesting insight into his craft, which thrives on creativity.
A little outside, small villages belong to the commune of Rocamadour. So is the village of Les Alix, where Rachel's family runs a farm and grows lavender. And the sheep we encountered in the fields keep the weeds down. And since they don't like lavender, the plants are safe from being nibbled.
As surprising as we found it at first, it's not at all, because lavender has been grown in this area for a long time. As a sideline, especially. But the Soulayres family continues to develop the lavender, because here in the valley of the Dordogne, the climate is different from the well-known lavender fields in Provence, for example, on the Plateau Valensole.
We continue our stroll on the Rue Roland le Preux, the main street of Rocamadour, where houses line up to the right and left, nestled against the towering cliffs or well secured against falling into the depths on the other side of the road.
At the top, just by the Porte du Figuier gate, is the small store of Sacha and Basile Cremoux. They offer ready-made dishes that only need to be warmed up at home, are made of fresh ingredients from the region and would actually require time-consuming preparation if you wanted to prepare them yourself. This is a fine alternative to ready-made meals from the supermarket freezer.
Who says corner stores are dead? Here in Rocamadour, as in most smaller towns and villages in France, they exist. One of them is the Crèmerie du Roc, where we meet Marie-Gabrielle Goumaud, who sells cheese, nuts, nut oil and many other products made by small farms in the region.
The store belongs to a small family business that, together with its suppliers, implements exactly what has been discussed in Germany for years: Sustainability. In production, short transport routes, excellent quality. The prices are of course not like in the supermarket, but also not so high that you could not afford to buy here.
The last stop on our stroll through Rocamadour takes us to the Cave d'Aveline. This is a small store outside the town, on the top level of the cliffs, in the district of L'Hospitalet.
Here you can buy wine, cheese and everything else you would expect to find in a connoisseur's store. Except for one thing: Benjamin Blanchard is the only remaining producer of raisin wine, as he told us. The exciting thing about this "wine" is its low alcohol content, making it a soft drink by definition and great for refreshing, especially in the heat. ... and this discovery is not a theory.