La librairie parfait

Not long after we got to France, a friend back home sent me this link to a short Facebook reel. Yes, yes, I thought. Lovely chubbly.

After the heat of last week it was a bit of a relief to wake up yesterday to grey skies, rain and cooler temperatures. Destination? Najac, another on the long list of fairy tale villages to be investigated.

The downpour had, happily, transformed into a light drizzle by the time we arrived. So, photos could, of course, be taken.

Interesting bee ride in the square.

Interesting cross.

Interesting whatever this is.

Here’s the museum.

Oh, what’s this I see at the next building along?

Okay, that lined up into a pretty cool photo.

Maybe we should check out the museum. Oh, turns out it’s two buildings, not one, and look what’s upstairs in the second.

Oh, look, you can see the castle from here.

Maybe go somewhere and dry out a little? This place is obviously open.

Oh, my god, what does the sign say?

French and English books? Coffee, tea, hot chocolate? Nibbles selection that includes a scone with jam and actual clotted cream?

Oh, mon dieu!

Carolyn has been running the place for three or four years now and it’s obviously popular. She’s open six days a week, year-round – including Mondays when every single other fucking place is closed!

I think about this after we leave and continue to investigate Najac. It’s Sunday. Things are open. Unlike Cordes and other places we’ve been, this village has a lived-in feel. There are lots of things going on that have nothing to do with tourism.

Before we get in the car, I pop back into the café. Carolyn asks if I forgot something. No, I say, I was just curious about this lived in feeling I got about Najac. Was that truly the case? She says yes, she believes it is. She asks if we are thinking of looking for property there? I surprise myself by saying I hadn’t been thinking of it until that moment. She says she can recommend an agent. I say we’re not really there. She says Najac is a very welcoming place. A Brit sitting at one of the tables, looks over his shoulders and says he’d second that.

Although Dirk has already said he could just about imagine living here, setting up a hot shop and blowing glass, neither of us is really thinking about it. But if we were…

And then it hits me. Najac is, like Cordes, not in Languedoc, as I’d thought they were, but in the south eastern corner of the Dordogne, which has for many, many years been attracting ex-pat Brits, some of whom have practically taken over small villages.

D’accord, peut-être pas.