le rêve de Pardailhan

“The world is a book and those that do not travel read only a page.”

     St. Augustine                                                                                                  I have returned to the other side of the world, to Gascony, the Gers, southwest France, 2 hours west of Toulouse, 2 hours south of Bordeaux, and 2 hours north of the Pyrenees. While driving through the countryside one Sunday afternoon, I came upon a vision through the trees. Camelot? Brigadoon?

I followed the sign for Pardailhan, a castle I had read about in a guide book of the area, but I was not at all prepared for the magical beauty that lay before me. Driving up a winding road I passed an old farm house with a deserted air and parked behind it.  The only sign of life was a clothesline, the few clothes blowing slightly in a humid breeze.

A fine rain was beginning to fall as I walked to the castle doors.  An old, faded sign from 1943 had a message in marking pen written on it in French – Do not let the horse out!…The horse?

In the distance a chestnut horse grazed.  A mirage?  I had walked into a place of enchanted fables larger than a football field, or so it seemed.

In this remote, untraveled French countryside I had entered the 12th century.  If place is a character in a novel, then this place was palpable and tangible.

The Gers alone  has over 200 castles – castlenau – the product of the year 1,000 which paved the way for the economically and culturally rich medieval period.

“We chase dreams and embrace shadows.”

  Anatole France

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