My Getaway to Brantôme: The Gentle “Venice of the Périgord”
There are places you plan to visit, and then there are the ones you stumble upon by chance — the ones that end up leaving a lasting mark.
Brantôme, in the Périgord, falls firmly into that second category. I didn’t really know what to expect, but I left with the feeling that I had stepped into a little corner of paradise, cradled by water, stone, and the gentle passing of time.
Arriving in the Heart of the Périgord Vert
Leaving the main road, I took small lanes lined with pine and oak trees. The air was fragrant, the sky a brilliant blue, and as I rounded a bend, the Dronne river appeared — clear and serene, wrapping around Brantôme like a precious jewel. They call it the “Venice of the Périgord,” and believe me, it’s no exaggeration.
As soon as I arrived in town, I felt that special atmosphere: lively terraces, locals greeting each other, and a blend of tranquility and warmth that makes you want to put down your bags and stay a while.
Water — The Soul of Brantôme
What strikes you here is how water is everywhere. The Dronne encircles the historic center, as if protecting it. Stone bridges connect the banks, weeping willows trail their branches in the current, and small boats glide silently along.
I found myself slowing my steps, simply watching the light dance on the water. It’s a constant show — calming, almost hypnotic.
The Stone Treasure: The Benedictine Abbey
It’s impossible to miss the abbey. It leans against a cliff, as if the rock itself had been holding it for centuries. Legend has it that Charlemagne laid its first stone in the 8th century.
Inside, I looked up at the bell tower — one of the oldest in France — and felt that mix of grandeur and simplicity you find in places steeped in history. But the most fascinating part lies behind: caves carved into the rock where monks once lived, prayed, and sometimes hid. I ran my hand over the smooth stone, thinking of all the lives that had passed here.
Friday — The Beating Heart of the Town
I was lucky enough to be there on a Friday, market day. What a buzz of activity! The colorful stalls stretch along the river: goat cheeses wrapped in chestnut leaves, duck confit, sun-soaked strawberries, honey fresh from the hive…
I chatted with a walnut producer who offered me a taste of his oil — fragrant, smooth, with that typical toasty flavor of the Périgord. I left with my basket heavier than I’d planned and a smile on my face.
Lunch by the Water
For lunch, I chose a small terrace with a view of the abbey. On the menu: a Périgourdine salad with confit gizzards, walnuts, and fresh goat cheese. Pure delight. The waiter told me the secret was in the local walnut oil, and I believe him.
I treated myself to dessert — a thin apple tart — while listening to the bells strike noon. No rush, just the pleasure of the moment.
What Brantôme Left Me
This isn’t a place of grand, flashy monuments or mass tourism. It’s a place that teaches you to savor the small things: the coolness of a fresh fig, the golden glow of a sunset on the water, the smile of a stranger at the market.
As I left Brantôme, I felt as though a part of me had stayed behind — sitting on a bench by the Dronne, watching the light play on the stone.
