A Morning in Aubeterre-sur-Dronne

 A Morning in Aubeterre-sur-Dronne

There are some mornings in France that do not need much of an itinerary. You arrive in a small village, start walking, find a cup of coffee, discover something extraordinary, and eventually realize it is time for lunch.

That was my morning in Aubeterre-sur-Dronne.

We arrived near the Place du Champ de Foire, with the map on my phone confirming exactly where we were. From above, Aubeterre looks like a tiny cluster of buildings surrounded by an enormous patchwork of farmland, woods and the winding Dronne River. On the ground, however, it feels wonderfully intimate.

A sign for the Plan Charente Vélo greeted us, a reminder that this quiet village is part of a much larger network of cycling routes through the Charente countryside. But I was perfectly happy exploring on foot.

The streets immediately began to drop away beneath us. Aubeterre is a village built on a hillside, so walking through it means following narrow lanes, stone walls, stairways and little passages that continually reveal another view.

One street descended between old pale-stone buildings toward a traditional charcuterie. The morning sun illuminated the upper stories while the roadway remained in deep shadow. It was one of those scenes that feels unmistakably French. There was no grand monument in sight, just shutters, tiled roofs, weathered stone and a shop that has probably been part of the rhythm of village life for generations.

And there were wonderful little shops to discover.

One particularly beautiful storefront was painted a deep blue-green and simply called Signature. Its windows were filled with jewelry, textiles and small creations, while lettering on the façade advertised natural cosmetics, perfumes and home fragrances. Beside it was an equally beautiful old door decorated with delicate white ironwork.

A little farther along, I found an antiques shop that looked almost like a photograph from another century. The word Antiquités stretched across the stone façade above tall, dark wooden windows. Through the glass I could see old objects, glassware and treasures waiting for someone to discover them.

That may be one of my favorite things about these small French towns. The buildings have not been polished into sameness. Their age is visible. Wood fades. Stone changes color. Doors lean a little. Signs remain where generations of people have seen them before you.

Eventually, of course, there was coffee.

I found a table beneath the trees in a shady village square and ordered a cappuccino. The cup arrived with its soft layer of foam and a little dusting of cocoa on top. Sunlight filtered through the leaves and moved across the wooden tabletop while the café slowly went about its morning business.

I have become very fond of these pauses.

At home, coffee can be something you drink while doing something else. Here, coffee seems to become the thing you are doing.

You sit.

You look around.

You listen.

And for a little while, there is nowhere else you particularly need to be.

Then came the great surprise of Aubeterre.

We visited the remarkable Église Monolithe Saint-Jean, the enormous underground church carved directly into the limestone hillside. Stepping inside was almost disorienting. After the bright streets outside, suddenly we were standing inside a cavernous space of stone.

It is difficult for a photograph to communicate its scale.

Massive pillars rise from the floor toward an extraordinarily high ceiling. Walls show the marks and colors of centuries. Portions of the rock have darkened with moisture and age, while other areas retain pale ochres, greens and warm earthy tones. Along one end stands a stone reliquary structure carved from the rock, looking almost impossibly delicate against the monumental cavern surrounding it.

The church does not feel as though it was constructed in the ordinary sense. It feels excavated, revealed, as though someone somehow discovered a church waiting inside the hill.

After spending the morning wandering, photographing, drinking coffee and exploring underground, we were ready for lunch.

And lunch was substantial.

My salad arrived in a huge black bowl, overflowing with crisp greens, tomatoes, croutons, shaved cheese and pieces of bacon, all dressed generously with a creamy sauce. On top were large pieces of beautifully crisp breaded chicken, golden and crunchy on the outside, tender inside. Crowning the entire creation was a soft, creamy cheese that made this considerably more than an ordinary salad.

It was one of those French salads that makes the word salad seem rather inadequate.

And then there was dessert.

A crème brûlée arrived in a simple dark ceramic dish, its surface perfectly caramelized into that thin sheet of burnt sugar that begs to be cracked with the edge of a spoon. Beneath it was the cool, rich custard.

Coffee in the shade. Ancient streets. Little shops. An extraordinary church carved into a hillside. A very generous lunch. And crème brûlée.

Not a bad way to spend a morning in France.

What I continue to love about these excursions is that the famous sights are only part of the experience. Aubeterre-sur-Dronne certainly has something spectacular to show you underground, but I will also remember the blue shopfront, the faded antiques sign, the tiled rooftops, the staircase leading down toward the valley, the changing light on the old stone, and that quiet cup of coffee beneath the trees.

Sometimes travel is about seeing something extraordinary.

And sometimes it is simply about having enough time to notice everything along the way.