Monpazier

As a nightbird, I didn't fall asleep at the wheel as we bowled along the A1 at 3am - the only excitement was when I started spluttering, trying to cough and veering the motorhome to the left. Pat didn't know whether to grab the wheel or put her foot on the brake. Then she realised I had a bit of apple stuck in my throat, whacked me on the back and soon sorted that one out. 'It was only a lump that had somehow escaped my teeth,' I said.

Being van-sized, we found ourselves on the same 6.30am ferry deck as scores of hire vans. Each one had two male occupants (smoking despite the no-smoking order), obviously on their way to load up with gallons of cheap French booze and cartons of cigarettes.

Tired? Pat had slept a little up aloft as I drove on. I slept lying out on a comfy seat in the ferry's 'Posh' bar. We both slept for two hours in a quiet French layby on the way down.

Our beautiful route south and round the Dordogne was thanks to a marvellous book I had, Arthur Eperon's Travellers France, which details routes to seven major areas of the country, taking quiet scenic 'D' roads. From Boulogne, we went through Desvres, Montreuill, Hesdin, Abbeville, Blangy, Neufchatel, Totes, Yvetot, all the time going through forests, or by rivers, or along the magnificent avenues - long straight roads bordered with poplars - that are so typically French and through lovely untouched villages.

Just before we camped we crossed the Risle river on the biggest, tallest bridge we have ever been on, the Pont de Brotonne, a modern engineering marvel. We seemed suspended miles above the water. By 6 o'clock, we had in the one day covered some 500 miles and camped, after re-crossing the river on a ferry, near a charming village called Jumieges. We slept 12 hours that night!

Friday 9th
On we went through real rural France through Bernay to Orbec, a delightful old town in a wooded valley and near the village of Camembert, where in the 19th century a farmer's wife perfected a soft cheese that has become world-famous. While stopping for lunch in a layby, Pat was disconcerted to hear a scream of agony. The heavy passenger door had fallen shut on my ankle. But after careering round on the grass in agony for a few minutes, it turned out to be nothing serious.

After Haras du Pin, and now on single-lane roads, we passed two castles, one the 12-18th century Chateau d'O, which had pointed towers reflected in a moat with swans on.

Then through Ecouves forest of mixed trees and deer and wild boar. On the trip down, Pat has seen both a deer and a boar. Only thing was the boar was dead. It had been hit or something and dragged into a layby.

After Alencon, we entered the Parc Regional Normandie Maine to find a campsite in the Foret de Sille, overlooking a lake.

Saturday 10th
Only about 70 miles covered today along almost deserted roads that ran as straight as a dye. Who needs autoroutes? We're both getting much better at reading the map and the French road system - we only went wrong once.

We arrived at Saumur at lunchtime and made straight for a campsite on an island in the Loire, overlooked by a spectacular 14th century castle. This gave us the afternoon to explore on our bikes the delights of the old town and chateau. We rested our weary legs at great expense - £4 for two coffees at a cafe, sitting very pleasantly in the sun. The campsite was home from home - GB stickers surrounded us. The only others were a few from Germany and the Netherlands. So far we had seen very few British vehicles.

Sunday 11th
People still live in caves! Or so the leaflet advertising a 17th century Troglodyte hamlet near Saumur said. Intrigued, we went to look at these houses, farms and 'outbuildings' built into the rocks. We were amazed by all the holes in the ground, down which went grain, apples, and grapes (for wine), or out of which came water (from wells), or smoke from chimneys.

Loo with a view! This is in a cave house near Saumur

We followed a trail underground into where animals were still being kept - rabbits, ferrets and hens with little chicks - and where old agriculture implements were on display. That then led to the humans' living quarters, where there was a kitchen (with a modern fridge!), bedrooms, a schoolroom, a shower (a tap high in the wall) and a 'modern' bathroom which had a bath and basin - and a loo on a raised platform up some stairs: a real throne!

The doorways and corridors were extremely low. Perhaps the Troglodytes (Greek, a cave-dweller) were little people.

It was then back to the map and on with our journey south, from Saumur through single lane C roads to Chinon, an old town of alleys and turreted houses and where Charles VII listened to Joan of Arc's strange story, believed her and gave her an army.

One of the entrances to the walled town of Richelieu

Next we came to the small walled town of Richelieu in which, said Pat, you could not get lost. Just keep on turning left and you'd end up where you started. It was France's first planned town - by Cardinal Richelieu, of course. You entered and left by attractive, arched, narrow gates through the walls.

Down through Chatelleraut and Chavigny we went, ending up at Confolens, a quiet old town on the River Vienne where we decided to camp. Despite coming through rain, we unloaded the bikes and were off to explore the narrow streets with overhanging houses and a fine cobbled 15th century bridge across the river to a 11th century church.

Monday 11th
Sitting eating our breakfast, we were entertained by a green woodpecker feeding its young through a hole in a small copper beech tree. After stocking up with provisions - and diesel at 47p a litre cheaper than the UK - we headed on south, stopping at Brantome, a delightful old town in Perigord. There we sat on a wall beside the river Dronne and ate our bacon sandwiches while admiring the riverside houses with flowered balconies and vines, before setting off on our bikes to explore the narrow streets rich in old buildings.

The 'elbow' bridge at Brantome that does a right-angled turn in mid-stream

The very picturesque 16th century elbow bridge fascinated us, which until quite recently used to carry traffic into the town, but is now pedestrian only. Two heavy downpours interrupted our tour, but it was nevertheless warm.

Down past Perigueux, we were stopped in our tracks by the sight of half houses. They were built right up to a cliff face. Presumably the other half of the homes were in the rocks. This was just before a place called Les Eyzies and these houses - and bars and restaurants - had grown up since the discovery that prehistoric man lived in caves in these cliffs in the second ice age for tens of thousands of years. Archaeologists have found bones, tools, weapons, pottery and jewels. One important find of a cave with wall paintings of horses, bison, mammoths and reindeer was only found when a railway was being laid in 1868.

Who'd live here without sunlight? The houses built into cliffs near Les Eyzies

We headed for Sarlat arriving at 6pm rush hour and were disappointed with what seemed like a very ordinary town. Followed signs for a campsite that took us 3km of winding roads out of the town to a wet sandy pitch under some trees. According to the sites guide book, there were clothes washing facilities. This turned out to be a decrepit washing machine in a shed a quarter of a mile down the road. We did our smalls by hand!

Tuesday 13th
At breakfast we were entertained by another bird - this one a largish colourful pigeon-type one - flitting among the trees surrounding us. The closest we came to identifying it was as a jay.

We found what attracts people to Sarlat - the old town. This indeed was perhaps the most picturesque and charming centre we have been to, full of narrow alleys, stone stairs leading to all sorts of nooks and crannies, streets and squares crowded with medieval and Renaissance buildings. At every turn you wanted to say: 'Oh, this is worth a photo.'

Only trouble was, it had been discovered by tourists! And the locals and the authorities had taken advantage of this beautiful asset. The mansions had been restored and the lovely honey-coloured stonework cleaned up to look like it had probably never been. And walking around, you had to fight your way round multitudes of chairs and tables (every building seemed to have been converted into a restaurant that spread into the narrow walkways) and groups of people standing around as a guide spouted out the local history.

It was the same story at Domme, an old village clinging to a rocky crag, giving marvellous views over the lovely Dordogne valley. Here they even had one of those street 'trains' such as they have at amusement centres to take trippers around the sights. Still, both centres were well worth the visits. We had our lunch in a Domme car park, unfortunately walled so we could not gaze over the magnificent panoramic view.

Then it was on down along the valley bottom through places such as La Roque-Gageac (where the Tarde Manor, nestling into the cliff face was the home of 16th century humanist Canon Tarde) Beynac and St Cyprien, more extremely picturesque villages fighting for space between the large Dordogne river and the even larger cliff faces.

'Ferme camping': We had the site to ourselves

We followed signs to 'ferme camping' which turned out to be a very pleasant - and deserted - green field site with a volleyball net. Over this we played badminton in the warm evening sun, before eating our meal in the open air, watching the antics of a mother duck and her 13 ducklings touring the field. Lovely.

Wednesday 14th

One of the delightful alleys of the unspoilt village of Limeuil

Woke up to clear skies and a warm sunny day. First stop was nearby Limeuil, a village set on a steep hill. What a contrast to Sarlat and Domme. Here the medieval houses squeezing close together within a boundary wall were untouched, the tourists few, and the restaurants and cafes none at all. The alleys were often just grass - be it cut and well kept - bordered with well-watered geraniums, roses and other colourful flowers.

We followed a non-tourist trail that took us through Tremolat (where Le Boucher was filmed) and along the valley top seeing the Dordogne winding like a serpent through the pine forests. Wending our way down along one-lane roads, we came to Monpazier, a fortified town built by Edward I of England. We loved it. As you could only enter through narrow arches through the town walls, we walked in along the alleys between old buildings to a delightful square, surrounded by ancient arcades. Again, it was so uncommercial.

Then we were following the River Lot coming eventually to the town of Cahors where we hunted out what is reportedly one of the world's most beautiful bridges. From the side of the river we were on, it was so unromantic.

Described as one of the most beautiful bridges in the world - Valentre - over the River Lot

Industrial, busy with workers heading for home with difficult-to-find places to park, there was certainly no special effort to attract the tourists! But despite its setting, Valentre, a fortified medieval bridge with three slim towers, was worth finding. It had only recently been closed to traffic, so we could walk across the narrow way - there was no pavement.

It was time to find a campsite, so we headed on up the Lot, manoeuvring at one stage past a horn-blowing minibus towing a trailer full of canoes going round and round and round a roundabout in some sort of victory celebration, then past fields of sunflower and sweetcorn until we followed a camping sign up the valley side to find a small site in a wooded area.

Thursday 15th
The French around here like to live life on the very edge - many of the houses perch at the top, and even slightly over, cliff faces. Or they are not bothered about having back gardens, their houses built right up to the base of cliffs.

This was the scene again and again as we toured up the gorge that was the Lot valley, in search of reputedly the most beautiful village in France. This is St Cirq-Lapopie and the first signposted turning indicated a road across a very long and very narrow bridge across the wide Lot river. Up there, I said to Pat, who was driving. As it was a right-angled junction from the narrow road we were on, it took some three-point turning to manoeuvre into, much to the amusement, or impatience, of the French car driver behind.

Just halfway into all this, we noticed the width restriction sign on the bridge. We weren't going to fit! There followed more three-point turning to extricate ourselves.

We carried on up the D662 which hugged the cliff face, half burrowed into it and at one stage tunnelled through it. It was a quarter way into the tunnel that we came to a full stop. Pat couldn't find the headlights switch!

After the most beautiful bridge, France's 'most beautiful village' - St Cirq-Lapopie

We eventually found another bridge to cross and then climbed the far side of the valley to reach St Cirq-Lapopie perched on rock high above the dreamy river with beautiful old houses, narrow steep streets, artisan shops, a fortified 15th century church and the remains of a 13th century chateau.

We had the plat de jour for lunch at a restaurant in the shade of its vine overlooking the red-tiled old roofs.

We skirted Figeac as it was rush hour, and found a fairly commercial campsite next to the river just outside town. And after re-adjusting their computer records, they agreed to let us change from our shady allotted pitch into a sunny one.

Friday 16th
Decided to head for the Pyrenees, so pointed ourselves south and after a few more medieval towns and villages perched on hilltops, we were into rolling wheat-cropped hills. While we have been meandering around the Dordogne and Lot area, we were doing a very respectable 34 miles to the gallon of diesel. On the straighter, quicker, roads today, that has dropped to about 27 miles to the gallon. The 2.5TD Fiat engine has so far gone sweetly all the way.

Decided to camp early in a very pleasant municipal sight next to an old watermill and fast flowing river at a place called Larrazet, an hour south-west of Montauban. The place was deserted except for the odd fisherman. Later that evening one other lot of campers arrived - a British couple.

Part 2

These articles were originally posted to the Motorhome List. They appear here, with the addition of the photos, with the kind permission of the author, Tim Sinclair.

[Travelog : Intro]
[Into a Stone Wall and Beyond : 1993]
[Novices in France : 1994]
[From cave dwellers to elbow bridges : 1995]
[To Mistakenly Go : 1996]
[How I only just missed the apocalypse : 2002]