A short hop from Saint-Come-d’Olt, set on a meander of the Lot River, is the Les Plus Village of Sainte-Eulalie-d’Olt. Best of all, we learn that otters live here! Otties!!!
Built around a 15th century chateau, now a hotel, the village prospered through the 15th and 16th centuries and features many beautiful homes built throughout this period. Most are built from local river stone with Lot shingle roofs. Look at that glorious rose arch over the hotel’s entrance! I’ve spent many a happy moment with my nose buried in roses on this trip. Rose, wisteria and vine arbours are very popular entrance features in southern France.
Today Sainte-Eulalie-d’Olt is known for being a craft and art epicenter with woodwork, painting, metal work and glass workshops. I quite like these low maintenance sheep.
This handsome young man perched on a first floor balcony busts every move possible to steal a smooch but despite his best efforts to stretch paws and mine, we’re about a foot short. Much disappointment and meowing on both our parts.
Many doorways are marked with the building’s date – the oldest we see is from 1660. A little love nest perhaps?
The church meanwhile is cited in records dating back to the 900s and has has what appears to be a rendering of Rocamadour’s black Madonna. Not on view is a reliquary chest allegedly holding two thorns from Christ’s crucifixion crown.
The village mill had been restored but try as we might, we can’t find it. Ancient millstone, check, mill stream, check, active mill rumbling away, mmm, no.
We see a quirky private display of 12,500 owls that takes up every inch of a two storey home, a life long commitment I expect. At least their owner would be easy to buy presents for. (Trying very hard to resist saying that it was ‘a bit of a hoot’).
Day’s end sees us settled in the square for a glass of red and a Kir Royale, a very civilised end to the day as the locals drift in. We learn that the village flooded in 2003 – where we sit was under water. Quite a feat, given that the courtyard is up a steep incline from the river’s edge.
I make a thorough sweep checking for otters on the way home, while Himself walks ahead pretending to not know me. They’re being elusive, of course. Probably just as well – I’d seriously flip out if I saw one.
Miss Baci Travels 