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| Borie |
By Maryanna Gabriel
In groggy haze I walk, not quite acclimated to the nine hour time change. I note how polite the Europeans seem to be. We shove. They say "pardon" if you bump into them. I am also grateful for the lack of signage and advertising. The muted and conservative tones heightened by soft pastels in the buildings are a visual reprieve. It is all so tasteful. We have French guides to steer by and at times we have to work as hard at communicating with them as they do with us. As we climb into the hills we are immediately assaulted by a torrential downpour and most of us are ready for it. Striding along, I take in the stone walls, the limestones on our path, the scent of the earth with rosemary, mint, and thyme. I am grateful for this kind of interface with the land and the elements. We come across a "borie". It is a stone house that is circular and very old. They were used for shepherds, travellers, and maybe truffle hunters, I am not altogether sure. I decided after being in one it wasn't really my thing as a wave of claustrophobia assailed me. A rather pronounced fear swiftly arose as I stared dubiously at the ceiling. It was certainly clear that the centuries old sleeping accommodation of choice was not for me. These bories were something we frequently came upon on our walks.