Ever since the first day I set my daintily shod (new pale pink flats, holla! [sadly, now stained and wrinkled]), albeit sweaty feet on the narrow, cobblestoned streets of central/old Cahors, I’ve had an insistent yearning for photographing the ancient doors that front the rocky walls of these mostly still inhabited homes that date back to the Middle Ages. This yearning was burning like the urgency one feels when they are stumbling around with a full bladder, and continues to ignore it, hoping it will go away, but it only gets stronger. Not that documenting doors is an emergency, but as it’s said, “tomorrow never comes,” and if I kept putting it off, I would never get around to taking these photos by the end of my seven month long stay.
So, today, graced with a beautiful, cold, sunny December dimanche and a half charged iPhone battery (hint: a portentous sign of regret), I set off to meander the maze of skinny little streets that surround my neighbourhood. Here is the amazing collection of door(way)s that I’ve stolen the souls from today (Minor caveats: Some of the doors are photographed crookedly, because it is impossible to get a good photo head on, the streets are too narrow, so unless I were to back into somebody’s home, I couldn’t take an ideal photo. And/or, the street was on a hill, and I can’t change physical geography, so tilt your head and pretend you were standing on the street with me, d’accord?) :
This first set of photos are of doors from my street, whose sign is visible in one of the photos – Rue des Soubirous! Each one is marvellously old and unique and betrays the significance of what they are called in French – portes, since they seem to have the power to act as portals to the past.
This next set is from my downward stroll towards Vieux Cahors, and I could barely hold back from drooling over these delicious doors that I found on my tangential quests onto side streets. The many variations in style and colour made me think of The Gammage Cup, one of my favourite childhood novels, in which the rebels or “Outlaws” of the Minnipin (hobbit-like people) village, “Slipper-on-the-Water,” defied the law requiring them to paint their doors green, and instead, painted their doors, red, yellow, or blue. Know what else made me feel like a Minnipin? The closeness of the buildings, coupled with their height, left me wandering often in the shadows despite the sun still shining overhead the mossy, tiled roofs. (I need to learn to walk on stilts one day). That, and the fact that some doorknobs are located smack dab in the middle of the door, like those of a hobbit dwelling! (Aren’t they aDOORable?)
It’s a good thing that it is Sunday, and relatively quiet, because it must have already seemed bizarre to the rare passersby, to see a little Asian girl zigzagging back and forth along a street, taking photos of doors! I can’t help it, the doors where I come from are so boring in comparison! Good thing I can play the “I look foreign, so I’m obviously just a harmless tourist, not a spy (please don’t take my camera away from me)” card.
And that wasn’t far from the truth, when my errant feet took me into tiny streets entirely new to me, and I nearly got lost. I noticed that as I got further into Old Cahors, the streets and doors became smaller, and I apologetically but truthfully wondered if the average American would be able to make it into those buildings, a.k.a. the only time I considered feeling smug about being short.
Then my battery died on me, and my freezing feet, now warm from walking, began to feel the blisters developing from breaking in my new boots, so I high-tailed it home like the technologically dependent addict that I am, so I could turn on my laptop and write all about it on my blog, while charging my phone at the same time. (Home is where the wifi is!) Also, my analogical urgency of stumbling around with a full bladder was replaced by a literal urgency, and though the streets were deserted, I had no wish to be caught squatting by someone yelling, “Urine trouble, mademoiselle!” Though, come to think of it, this is France, and “urine éliminée difficulté,” as suggested by Google Translate just doesn’t have the same ring to it. Ah, Sunday Punday. Merde, it’s Monday tomorrow.
auds & ends 
I love doors too, and these are gorgeous!