half-a-mile along the east bank of the green, slow-flowing river Vézère, prettily situated at the base of an undulating, three-hundred-foot-high wall of honey-colored limestone cliffs. In the Middle Ages it had been little more than an unwelcoming cluster of mean stone houses huddled beneath the great, brooding chateau of the barons of Beynac, built into the very face of the cliffside, but today, with the lords long gone, the village hums with activity. Visitors come because of the region's celebrated prehistoric finds, the local gourmet shops and restaurants, and the refreshing mixture of commercial bustle and open-faced country simplicity that is the essence of village life.
Charming in the daytime, it is spine-tinglingly evocative at night, when the modern shops and cafés are dark, but the ancient, cobbled streets are lamplit, and strategically placed floodlights illuminate the bony ruins of the chateau on its rock-cut terrace, the medieval stone houses that still remain around it, and above, all, the dramatic cliffs themselves that rear up only a few yards from the main street, brilliantly lit at their base but disappearing into blackness above.
It had been light when they went into the restaurant; it was dark when they came out, and for a few minutes the three of them stood in the parking lot without speaking, their faces turned up to the light-bathed curves and hollows of the cliffs. Gideon and Julie turned down Joly's offer of a lift back to the Hotel Cro-Magnon, preferring to walk the quarter-mile, and started slowly on their way.
"Lucien speaks better English than I do," Julie said after a while. "It hardly seems fair."
"Well, his father worked for the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. Lucien spent most of his adolescence in London. "
"Ah."
"He sure knows how to order a meal too, doesn't he?"
"It was
wonderful
, but my God, I don't think I'll ever be able to eat again. Look at me, I'm waddling, not walking. You know, this answers a question I've had for years."
Gideon cocked an eyebrow. "Oh?"
"Well, I couldn't help wondering why your on-site research has always focused on early man in Europe, especially here in the south of France, rather than on Africa, where the remains are so much more ancient. I think I'm finally beginning to see why."
"Well, of course," Gideon said. "It's pretty tough finding a three-star restaurant in the Rift Valley. I thought you figured that out a long time ago." He reached an arm around her shoulder and pulled her close to kiss her soft, fragrant hair, and then they fell silent, walking hand in hand through the near-deserted streets.
When they came to the hotel, Julie started in but Gideon tugged her along. "Not yet, I want to show you something."
"In the dark?"
"I'm equipped," he said, taking out a pocket flashlight and flicking it on.
He led her to an unlit, nondescript alley that turned toward the cliffside half-a-block beyond the hotel, at the end of which, aided by the flashlight, they threaded their way between a couple of parked cars and pushed through a rusted, unlocked, waist-high metal gate, ducking their heads—or at least Gideon had to duck his—to enter a small, shallow
abri
, one of several that dimpled the base of the cliffs here, one beside the other. The next one over held a propane tank; the one after that, considerably larger, formed the rear wall of the Hotel Cro-Magnon. The one in which they stood, however, the smallest of the three, held nothing at all.
Julie looked around, puzzled. "This is what you wanted to show me?"
Gideon smiled. "Yes." He shone the flashlight onto a weathered marble plaque bolted to the stone immediately above the opening.
Ici furent decouverts en 1868 les hommes de Cro-Magnon par Francois Berthoumeyrou.
Julie's lips moved as she worked her way through the French. "Here… something… discovered in…" Her eyes widened. "Gideon, is this actually the original Cro-Magnon Man cave? This little place?"
That was exactly what
Charming in the daytime, it is spine-tinglingly evocative at night, when the modern shops and cafés are dark, but the ancient, cobbled streets are lamplit, and strategically placed floodlights illuminate the bony ruins of the chateau on its rock-cut terrace, the medieval stone houses that still remain around it, and above, all, the dramatic cliffs themselves that rear up only a few yards from the main street, brilliantly lit at their base but disappearing into blackness above.
It had been light when they went into the restaurant; it was dark when they came out, and for a few minutes the three of them stood in the parking lot without speaking, their faces turned up to the light-bathed curves and hollows of the cliffs. Gideon and Julie turned down Joly's offer of a lift back to the Hotel Cro-Magnon, preferring to walk the quarter-mile, and started slowly on their way.
"Lucien speaks better English than I do," Julie said after a while. "It hardly seems fair."
"Well, his father worked for the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. Lucien spent most of his adolescence in London. "
"Ah."
"He sure knows how to order a meal too, doesn't he?"
"It was
wonderful
, but my God, I don't think I'll ever be able to eat again. Look at me, I'm waddling, not walking. You know, this answers a question I've had for years."
Gideon cocked an eyebrow. "Oh?"
"Well, I couldn't help wondering why your on-site research has always focused on early man in Europe, especially here in the south of France, rather than on Africa, where the remains are so much more ancient. I think I'm finally beginning to see why."
"Well, of course," Gideon said. "It's pretty tough finding a three-star restaurant in the Rift Valley. I thought you figured that out a long time ago." He reached an arm around her shoulder and pulled her close to kiss her soft, fragrant hair, and then they fell silent, walking hand in hand through the near-deserted streets.
When they came to the hotel, Julie started in but Gideon tugged her along. "Not yet, I want to show you something."
"In the dark?"
"I'm equipped," he said, taking out a pocket flashlight and flicking it on.
He led her to an unlit, nondescript alley that turned toward the cliffside half-a-block beyond the hotel, at the end of which, aided by the flashlight, they threaded their way between a couple of parked cars and pushed through a rusted, unlocked, waist-high metal gate, ducking their heads—or at least Gideon had to duck his—to enter a small, shallow
abri
, one of several that dimpled the base of the cliffs here, one beside the other. The next one over held a propane tank; the one after that, considerably larger, formed the rear wall of the Hotel Cro-Magnon. The one in which they stood, however, the smallest of the three, held nothing at all.
Julie looked around, puzzled. "This is what you wanted to show me?"
Gideon smiled. "Yes." He shone the flashlight onto a weathered marble plaque bolted to the stone immediately above the opening.
Ici furent decouverts en 1868 les hommes de Cro-Magnon par Francois Berthoumeyrou.
Julie's lips moved as she worked her way through the French. "Here… something… discovered in…" Her eyes widened. "Gideon, is this actually the original Cro-Magnon Man cave? This little place?"
That was exactly what
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