perigord

Even for somebody well-acquainted with the nature of international travel, there’s something remarkable about the fact that a plane can be boarded in the grim satellite that is Stansted Airport, flown for a mere eighty minutes, and disembarked somewhere that feels worlds away.  Such is the case with much of France – especially when one meanders away from the equal measures of wonderment and stress that Paris offers, and heads instead to the expansive tranquility and elegance offered by much of the rest of the country. As if to prove that genuine escapism is far, far closer than many realise, a paltry fifteen-minute drive from Limoges airport in France’s central-west…