One autumn Saturday, six years ago, I discovered the Perche. It was not a shock, but rather a caress, like a great sweetness that invaded me. The rays of the morning sun breaking through the fog on the valleys reassured me, the rhythm of the villages I passed through with their churches with leaning bell towers, the superb horses scattered over the hills that seemed to be booted because their legs were so imposing.

It's a place that reminds me of my childhood because it's harsh, it's hard, but it's populated by people from the land who try to preserve their trade, to give a meaning to a life which, at 2 hours from Paris, seems to be from another century.

It is a land that reminds us of what France used to be before everything went too fast, it is a place of space and silence, spending time in the Perche is a real luxury for me ...