On an autumn Saturday, six years ago, I discovered the Perche. It was not a shock, but rather a caress, like a great softness that enveloped me. The morning sunbeams piercing through the mist over the valleys reassured me, the rhythm of the villages I passed through with their churches with leaning steeples, the magnificent horses scattered across the hills that seemed to be booted due to their imposing legs.

It’s a place that reminds me of my childhood because it is harsh, it is tough, but populated by people of the land who try to preserve their trade, to give meaning to a life that, two hours from Paris, seems from another century.

It is a land that reminds us of what France was like before everything moved too fast, it is a place of space and silence, spending time in the Perche, for me, is a true luxury…