An unforgettable stay

During my TGV journey from Brussels to Nîmes, the landscape gradually transforms towards the Mediterranean. Shortly after Valence, I spot the first cypress tree! The trip continues from Nîmes northward to La Bastide Puylaurent in Lozère. The journey, made in an ultramodern train equipped with panoramic windows, offers splendid views of the Cévennes landscapes. A documentary couldn't have captured these scenes any better.

Upon my arrival at L'Etoile, I am welcomed by the owner, Philippe Papadimitriou, and his dog Billy. Philippe, European by his origins and convictions, a globetrotter, is a strapping fellow almost two meters tall. With his blue eyes and mischievous gaze, he immediately makes me feel welcome, as if he had been waiting just for me. (Let's not kid ourselves: he gives this impression to everyone who arrives!)

The guesthouse, formerly the Hôtel du Parc or Hôtel Ranc, is spacious and bright. At the front, a large veranda, and at the back, a balcony offering a beautiful view of the garden bordering the Allier River. In the large living room, where meals are served at the communal table, there's also a piano. Philippe settles there in the afternoons to play his improvisations. The centerpiece is the immense fireplace, whose warmth I greatly appreciate in this early June.

And then there's Billy, a mix of Labrador and Golden Retriever. Billy is an integral part of L'Etoile's concept. He greets new arrivals according to his own criteria: some cordially, others leave him perfectly indifferent. I think he knows what he's doing.

Billy occupies the strategic spots of the guesthouse: either in front of the desk (with a view of the hallway, the entrance door, and the living room), in the hallway just in front of the kitchen (everyone will understand why), or in front of or under the fireplace. Moreover, he likes to make himself comfortable in a wicker armchair by the fire. His technique is perfected: first, he places his muzzle on the seat, then the front paws, a final effort and the rear follows (after all, he's not so young anymore). Once all four paws are in the chair, he makes a slight rotation to the right, slips his front paws through the side bars, and finally delicately rests his head on the armrest—phew, there he is! At this point, you can push and turn Billy in his chair, photograph him; he won't budge for a while.

Between Billy and me, it's mutual love at first sight! As soon as I settle somewhere—and I admit, most of the time near the fireplace—Billy comes to lie at my feet, head on his front paws, letting out a big sigh of well-being. Then I scratch him behind the ear, telling him that he's a beautiful dog, even the most beautiful dog in the world. Billy accepts my words without further comment, but I think he agrees. As a reward, so to speak, he rolls onto his back so I can rub his belly, and he ends up lying on his right side, not forgetting to let out another sigh of contentment. He also likes to come and say good morning to me in my room by entering through the balcony door. He greets me with plenty of tail wags, jumps, and sneezes. I declare that Billy is "my" dog for the duration of my stay, which Philippe graciously allows.

Billy is no longer very fond of hikes, but he likes to accompany Philippe on errands in his minibus. However, he still hasn't learned to fasten his seatbelt. Let's not forget that I came to France to hike. We set out on beautiful walks of three to four hours. The possibilities for hikers are immense here.

The landscape is gentle and colorful; the passes, hills, valleys, and slopes are covered with a carpet of greenery in infinite shades. It makes my painter's heart flutter. You find vast bright yellow expanses formed by broom and dandelion flowers, large patches of dark green in fields of light green which, upon closer approach, turn out to be daffodils waiting for the sun to bloom. Along the paths, tiny violets, cowslips, orchids, and snowdrops tremble in the cold wind, awaiting better days.

I am fascinated by the hillsides that seem to have been carefully shaped by the divine hand. There are firs alongside pines and beeches, flowering trees and shrubs; broom grows among the rocks. There are tall and low forms, slender and round, long and wide—all variations of green, and the whole is in great harmony.

Driving on the narrow roads of this still-preserved corner of France, you get the impression of being in the kind of landscape created for miniature electric trains: valleys, hills, bridges, tunnels, railways, farms, rivers, sheep, goats—the view is in perpetual change. And above all, a sky shifting between blue and gray, mountains of clouds opening to reveal sunny blue and then reforming immediately. I am surrounded by silence, interrupted only by the song of birds and the sound of a river. Paradise...

It is with regret that I leave these places at the end of the week, harboring the ardent desire to return to these landscapes and to this beautiful home with Philippe and Billy. By Margit Huy