Text 33574, 58 rader
Skriven 2015-11-24 09:50:08 av MICHAEL LOO (1:123/140)
Ärende: sightseeing 540
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And on to the Grotte de Rouffignac. The skies had cleared a bit, and
I wondered if we should have found a more openly scenic destination, 
but by  the time we arrived, half an hour later, they had clouded up 
again and the now-familiar dreary rain had returned.

The fare is reasonable, and what used to be an audioguide was only
a couple Euro more, so I got three of each. The desk lady said,
it's a videoguide now, is that okay, and I shrugged and said okay.
It's a crummy guide, and I should have cheaped out and paid for 
one at most, especially as I could understand at least half of
what the real guide was saying.

You take this mine-train-like thing along with the rest of the
25 or so tourists, and the guide stops at various places and
shows you the paleolithic rock art, some of which is pretty
amazing. And it's real, which Lascaux II, under an hour away,
isn't - the originals there have been sealed to preserve them,
and instead you go see simulated caves covered with painstaking 
replicas that must have kept a number of art school graduates 
in beer and skittles for a long time.

The site is more developed than when I was last there almost a 
couple decades ago. It's better lit, and my glasses are better,
and I actually saw some stuff that was mere blurs last time.

When we got out again, the rains had returned in earnest, and
it took longer than it should have to get home. Especially as
I wanted to get some wine and stuff, maybe breakfast bacon,
so we stopped at the Carrefour in Brive, where, as luck would
have it, there were no parking spaces in the giant parking lot,
because of all the people hanging out to avoid the rain, plus
there was a pop concert starting right then in the mall attached
to the store. It took years off my life. There was a Fiefs de
Lagrange at a quite advantageous price, but what was on the
shelf was the wrong vintage, and I wondered about shenanigans,
and I didn't feel up to arguing with a cashier over a vintage
in my rusty French, so I got an almost-as-good Connetable
Talbot instead.

We unpacked our treasures back at the house, and guess what?
No duck fat. Either the guy had forgotten to give it to me, 
or while paying I'd handed it back to someone I thought was 
Swisher but who wasn't. This meant that the cracklings appetizer 
I'd meant to make wasn't going to happen, and there was no way 
to make that confit de gesiers unless I found a place to buy a 
quart of duck fat (days later, I did find a quart of goose fat in 
the Casino supermarket of all places but ended up not using it).

Dinner was magrets with a cider-thyme-honey-stock-red wine 
reduction sided with local vegetables. Quite good, if I do say 
so myself.

The Connetable Talbot 13, was a tasty wine but a pale imitation 
of its parent, which had been the best wine I could afford back
in the '70s and '80s and which thus has great memories for me.
Good with duck.
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