Saint-Yrieix-la-Perche
Let me tell you about a small place. It’s a place only found by accident. To get there the traveler rides through the middle of a country, rather flat, with gentle rolling hills of trees and pasture. Taking the normal road, the traveler finds herself passing castles and monasteries, vineyards and farms. But from that road, when you peer across the landscape, you see right past Saint Yrieix-la-Perche, which is tucked down below the horizon in a little hollow, a small fold in the hills. Only by a wrong turn or aimless wander will you ride down a nondescript lane and suddenly find yourself in this little village hidden beneath the horizon.
Maybe by virtue of being so often overlooked, the people of Saint Yrieix are unreservedly friendly. They all share that uncommon attribute, so rarely found in the towns on the main road above; they are genuinely happy. And happy to meet a traveler and to share the things they have and love. In that way they are like the seals in the waters of the Galapagos– never having been hunted or exploited, they delight in meeting a stranger and inviting them to play and to dance.
So the life there is full of simple and good things. The conversation is direct and unironic. A wholesomeness begins to wrap you like a blanket. Every day that the sun shines you’ll find the young people down at the lake, playing and making all variety of sport. They’ll beckon or cajole or drag you down to the water to swim, kayak, paddle board, wind-surf, canoe, or just float around. On the shore they jog and bicycle and race around on little motorbikes, careening past the good-humored campers.
A great obstacle course was built high in the trees to climb and jump around on, and, best of all, everyone takes turns on the TeleSki. It’s a fantastic machine that pulls people around the lake on water-skis and wakeboards, catapulting them into flips and pirouettes in the sky. They delight in these playful acrobatics, and love nothing more than to share what they know, so you can learn to fly, too.
I should also mention that they are unfailingly kind and patient teachers, generous with their time and expertise. So unlike the world above, it seems that in Saint Yrieix-la-Perche one’s success is everyone’s success, and one’s failures a reflection on the whole. For that reason they look out for each other, and for you too.
Time slips by easily. If not for birthday celebrations and festivals, the seasons would pass by unremembered. The days, though, have their rhythms. Early to rise, la Perchians greet the sun and set out to play or work, though the work resembles play. It’s not long, however, until it’s time for a slow lunch with friends and with colleagues, who resemble friends, and afterwards a few hours rest. In these resting hours the streets are quiet, the shops shuttered. Nothing stirs. There’s not a desire or a crisis that will rouse the people till their siesta is through.
In the late afternoon these enlightened villagers return to work or play for a small time, but it’s not long until the bell strikes five, the hour for apéro. To celebrate another day well-lived, the people all gather in the café for drinks and small bites to eat. They relax, banter, share the day’s triumphs and travails. In these rhythms you find a continuity of values and traditions that make this humble place remarkable.
The beauty and charm of Saint Yrieix-la-Perche can also be felt to lure or tempt the traveler. To threaten a hold on the mind and body like a quiet island of Calypso. For there is nothing Great about Saint Yrieix, there is no greatness there. It is true that all manner of things grow well there, fed by the sun and sheltered from the winds that blow above. But in some way the place is a trap, a place to abandon ambition. A place to take your gaze off of the horizon. Indeed, there is no horizon to be seen from down in that bowl, just the trees and sky. As the days pass, the seasons change, and the traveler is left with an impossible choice.
Dedicated to the memory of Yvan Branly