In the public garden, where we walked between showers, the trees had poems in Occitan — the spruce, the Spanish fir, the Sequoia (such a long way from home). And when it became dark, we ate dinner in the same place we ate on our first night here: duck in walnut sauce, sarladaise potatoes, walnut cake, with a pichet of brisk Bergerac wine. Wish you were here.
...Theresa Kishkan 
Wonderful! And is Montaigne’s tower close enough for you to visit?
His tower is near Bergerac and we won’t get there this time. But every day we walk down the little street named for his dear friend Etienne de La Boetie who was born in Sarlat.