The large rusty iron gate which marks the entrance to the site emerges from the mist like a specter.
A muffled silence reigns on the vast plateau restored to brambles and ivy.
Is it the damp cold that penetrates the leprous buildings through the broken windows?
The hooks of the long-gone gutters hanging from the roofs like claws, the smashed partitions, the doors closed by twisted electrical wires?
Unless it is the swimming pool filled with greenish water on which the remains of a “Hotel” sign drift.
Planted at an altitude of 557 m, in the heart of a sea of chestnut trees, on the heights of the village of Bussière-Galant, the hamlet of Courbefy seems straight out of a horror film, at the beginning of November.
Subscribe
Already subscribed?
To log in