It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.
Well, ok, no it wasn't quite that extreme a polarity, but there was a distinct difference in the experiences we had at two different grottes: Grotte Roland and Pech Merle.
France has limestone caves formed by millennia of water erosion all over the country, some of which are very famous, and rightly so, for their prehistoric cave paintings and stunning calcite structures. Here in the Lot region, where the river carves a dramatic gorge through the soft sedimentary rock, they seem to have more than their fair share of these underground caverns.
There's one just up the road from where we are staying at Montcuq, the little Grotte Roland. Discovered in the 1920s, it's very much a family affair - we were shown around by the son of the farmer who stumbled upon the natural opening to the cave. Lacking any cave paintings, the Grotte makes a great deal of noise about the Cave Bear remains that have been found there and the scratch marks from their claws that are there for all to see. Not that they needed to in our opinion as we were far more enthralled by the wonderful stalagmites and stalactites that turned the grotte into this beautiful science fiction landscape, like Ridley Scott's imagination cast in miniature, which naturally meant my camera shutter was whirring away. It being the low season we had our extremely knowledgeable and enthusiastic guide to ourselves on the 200m promenade sous terre, explaining about the different levels and side passages and pointing out particularly interesting calcite structures and colours (as well as yet more claw marks). We both felt rather embarrassed that we didn't have any change for a tip.
Pech Merle is very much on the tourist trail with signposts all the way from Cahors, a 20-mile drive along the river past dramatic cliffs. With a museum, souvenir shop, ticket booth and cafe, it radiated pretensions to national importance mixed with conveyer belt economics. Shunted into an entrance room with 23 other visitors immediately after another tour group had departed. We were at least offered printed english versions of the guide's talk, though I rather wish we hadn't as then I might have been able to pretend not to understand when the guide explained that taking photos was forbidden. She didn't explain why, and so if it hadn't been for the guide at Grotte Roland telling us too much light encouraged the growth of algae and lichens which damaged the cave paintings, I would have assumed it was just an attempt to preserve the monopoly of the overpriced postcards in the souvenir shop. I was miffed especially when presented with the stunning rock forms and caverns that greeted us downstairs. The cave paintings were less interesting - partly because we were at the back, partly because the french guide didn't talk very loudly, but also because when faced with the glorious and magnificent sculptures made by rock and water, you couldn't help but feel that early man's efforts at art were rather put to shame. A few handprint silhouettes did produce a tingle as the realisation dawned that somebody not unlike us had made them some 8,000 years ago and thus grasped a kind of immortality, but otherwise we were content to stand at the back and gape at the towering spikes and columns until the lights flicked out behind us and we were forced to catch up with the group ahead.
It wasn't a bad visit, but after the permissiveness and personality of the visit to Grotte Roland I know which one I'd suggest you go to. Especially if you want to take photos, which you undoubtedly will.
After the wonderful hospitality of different generations of the Kuhfelds in London and Kent we arrived at Dover docks at 7.15am braced for a short crossing and then a mammoth drive. Rosie, who has proved a better flier than her mother and better sailor than her father, is not the world's greatest car passenger so we dreading the long haul from Calais down to Ste Croix in the Lot valley region. However, some judicious timing, several breaks on route and Kate's tireless entertainment efforts kept our PFB generally pretty chilled when she wasn't asleep, so when we finally arrived Chez Cathy & Jean at 10.15pm we were merely frazzled and not on the edge of mental breakdown as we'd anticipated. The warm welcome and soup we were met with at our home from home went a long way to restoring us.
As we were not the only visitors at Labouysse, Cathy & Jean's converted former tobacco drying house was at capacity. They had very kindly given us their double room, allowing us to be able to actually move around without tripping over various baby paraphernalia, while Kate's Aunt Frances was in the spare room we usually occupy, her cousin Erica was in the caravan that usually serves as Cathy's painting studio while our hosts themselves had set up a bed in the old oven room in one of the other buildings. Amazingly bathroom queues were at a minimum all week!
I only met Frances briefly at our wedding and had never previously met Erica (who Kate last saw over 10 years ago), but they were excellent company, taking to Rosie immediately (and vice versa), politely allowing me to win at backgammon and keeping the franglish flowing over the lunchtime banquets Cathy provided. Trips to the local swimming lake as well as various friends of Cathy's with swimming pools were very much on the menu. Rosie was rather lukewarm about swimming, unlike the pools which were generally a bit cooler, though with much patience she was generally enticed in.
Kate's sisters Anne-Marie and Claire were also in the area, staying with Kate's former step-dad Tim round the corner at Lebreil, so a trip round there for lunch was very much in order as was a delicious lunch (again) at fellow expats Mike and Brenda. 
On a slightly cooler day yesterday Claire and Mia walked round to spend the day chez Cathy and join us loafing around in Cathy's garden, eating her food and playing games. Frances and Erica have departed today, heading on to visit friends in Germany, and we are leaving tomorrow ourselves, thoroughly relaxed and fed-up (in a good way!), heading home to Madrid via San Sebastian.
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