Rocamadour Fete des Fromages

We set off in the chilly Auvergne light at 0715 to travel the almost three hours to one of the "Grail destinations" of the Foodivore European Tour 2010: the Rocamadour Fete de Fromages (Cheeese Festival). Granted, three hours seems a long way to go for cheeese....but not as far as we've really come. This day had been nearly two years in the planning.
By 1015 we'd parked and climbed up the unnecessarily-steep hill from Rocamadour to L'Hospitallet, where the festival proper was to be held (on the way in we'd seen exciting signs and canopies) by now it had reached about 32 degrees. We were passed by a herd of goats, all a-clanking of bells and bleating. They were on their way downhill to be blessed (this is a serious occasion, after all).
The festival grounds were an ideal field/park adjacent to the local rugby pitch. One side was lined with pavilions where the producers purveyed their provender; the other was a gently sloped grove of young oak trees within which were scattered numerous trestle tables and wooden chairs (none of this plastic muck). We were to be grateful for the grove later as the heat settled in. In between was a large fire pit for the cooking of meat (and there was plenty of that), a petting zoo, a chap doing woodcarving with an angle-grinder & chainsaw, and a kitchen area where they were preparing heroic quantities of aligot (cheesy mash potato). Having eaten truffade the night before (cheese mash with pork), aligot was out of the question.
How does one describe a cheeese festival? You gently make your way along the assembled pavilions, tasting the various wares (pouvons nous deguster les fromages/vins?...cheese and wine). You become aware of the nuances of fromage de brebis (ewe's milk) from between two weeks to fourteen months in age. Chevres (goats' cheese) that begin at barely-set cream to hard, nutty, well-aged items. Meanwhile, alongside you, the French go about their own tasting. To them the language of cheeese seems to come naturally. The typically French, fast-paced bubble of conversation is all around. Opinions are expressed, and all the stallholders seems to say the same thing: chacun a son gout (to each their own taste).
We grazed our way along half of the pavilions making the odd purchase here and there (chevre Rocamadour, tomme dur chevre, Lignot de Thomas). Having sourced a decent light white wine (for a bargain €4.50 a bottle) and some bread we retired with our trophies to the shade of the oaks. Armed with Opinel and tir-bouchon (knife and bottle opener) we made a fine pique nique . We were later joined by a couple (bonjour monsieur-dame!) who live about 15km up the road. The goats we'd encountered earlier were driven through the area, replete with traditional music from bagpipe-like instruments. The rest of the time accordion music gently rolled over the dining area. To describe it in this way runs the risk of making it sound like a stereotype - but in truth it was a crowd of local folk, doing what they like, in a most un-selfconscious manner. After all this is their way of life, and the cheeese is one of the things that gives tangible expression of that life and culture. Frankly you have to admire it: pick a good spot, fill it with bonhommie and good people, great food and sit back and relax.
Amusing moment of the day: having a stallholder ask a young Norwegian girl to translate French into English for the Australians. Perhaps our French was better than her English :-)
"We've made it" moment of the day: the stallholder who, upon learning that we loved stronger (pongier) cheeses, drew out a hidden brie de brebis (brie made from sheeps' milk) and offered us a taste. Naturally, we returned and bought more....and a slice is being eaten as this is written :-)

If you're unaware of the village of Rocamadour itself, there is much more on offer than just a cheese festival. It's a medieval village built on the side of a deep rocky gorge. Quite spectacular.