Near the Dordogne River, Southwest France, 14,207 B.C. - The inhabitants of a new settlement along the river have become ill. Several months ago they settled near the present-day village of Montignac after a long hegira to free themselves from the cold, not to mention the amateurish musical concerts of their erstwhile residence in the peninsula now called Denmark. While initially enjoying the more temperate climate of ancient Gaul, they now suffer from failing health. Many of the adults are too weak to collect the roots and fruits that form the staple of their diet. Their children are small and pale. Unable to understand the rudimentary language of the tribes around them, they cannot follow the advice of their ruddy, kibitzing neighbors. Their people languish, even in the midst of the bountiful supply of sustenance all around.
It seems that these Danish immigrants were ice fisherman in their native land and have rejected the piscine fare of the river as tasting too similar to rosenkål. They have spears but are reluctant to use them on the Bambi-eyed fawns frolicking in the fields around them. Desperate to maintain the Nordic vigor they once knew, today the tribe's leader makes a dangerous journey to the lair of the renowned "Wizard of Dordogne" for advice.
The chief cautiously makes his way down into the dimly lit cavern, where he is met by an ominous figure wearing the skin of what appears to be an enormous bison. The medicine man is unfamiliar with the patois of his visitor but is able to decipher the problem. He replies as follows:
"Onng hunna wango-tango pop-poppa novush," which loosely translated means "You moron! All of y'all are iron deficient! Quit acting like a schlimazel and get out there and hunt some red meat!" The poor suppliant only gives him a puzzled look, so the paleolithic physician grabs a nearby bowl of ochre and begins to paint. Within minutes the Danish chief gets the message and returns to his people, who follow the great wizard's advice and live long and prosper on the stags and bulls of this great new country.
The Sage of Dordogne smiles at his handiwork and inspired, decides to fire his interior decorator and do the job himself. Long forgotten by the French race, the rocky pied-à-terre remains unknown until that fateful day on September 12, 1940, when four spelunking teenagers discover the handiwork of the ancient doctor:
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LIES!
I feel a strong need to check that out. Looks like it's mostly river trips. Given that it's France I'll bet a bike trip is possible as well.
Isn't it the mission of Oncologists and "big pharm" to get us peons back in the saddle and pedaling around all the beautiful places in the world?
Hmmm. Iron-poor blood, you say? You suppose this contributed to the tendency of Northern Europeans to hemachromotosis? If'n you retained a high enough level of iron in your blood, missing a Bambi or two wouldn't cause so much distress.
Pretty pictures, though. The impulse for communication is always there.