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As we headed back
to Sarlat to take photographs we passed a large group of men
standing around their cars on the edge of some woodland. Despite the
blazing sunshine most of them wore the hunting / shooting / fishing
uniform of greenish sleeveless quilted tops and hats with feathers
in and many had bandoliers of cartridges.
So it's Sunday!
Let's
go and kill something!
All over France, because of the large areas
of woodland, we saw road signs warning us that wild animals were
likely to be crossing the road. A very large proportion of these
woodlands had signs indicating that they were hunting areas.
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We weren't out and about much
at dawn nor dusk, but we never saw any animals crossing. In
two urban areas within the Dordogne region we saw two red squirrels dead
on the road and one scrumpled thing which might once have been a pine
marten. But that was it - not even any more roadkill.
Two hunters are out in the woods
when one of them collapses. He doesn't seem to be breathing and his eyes are
glazed. The other guy whips out his phone and calls the emergency services. He
gasps: "My friend is dead! What can I do?" The operator says:
"Calm down, I can help. First, let's make sure he's dead." There is a
silence, then a shot is heard. Back on the phone, the guy says: "OK, now
what?"

Montignac is a handsome
little town, as smartly medieval as any other in the region, yet not so
frantically visited by tourists.
It has been said that the
French build only disposable cars. We certainly saw very few old ones
& only
a couple of my favourites, the Citroen DS, but at Thenon we discovered an
auto-jumble with a few fabulous classic cars and some pre-1930s as well.
Perigueux
in the Green
Guide didn't look much, just churches, but in reality it was most impressive.
Although as old in origin it seemed far more modern and purposeful than
other towns around here. It was evidently, even on a Sunday, a thriving
and important centre. It has a massive cathedral and spacious tree-lined
squares and it warranted more time spending there. But we're not retired,
like Mr and Mrs Mercedes, and until we are I guess we'll keep hopping
about like Mr and Mrs McManic instead.
On the N2089 we saw the
by now familiar black silhouettes of human figures set up to show the
location of fatal road crashes, but quite shockingly there were seven
spread out along a stretch of about two and a half
miles.
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