A whole Lot of love – but not for the road hogs

In his latest expedition through his adopted country, Anthony Peregrine heads south to a river valley blessed with creative impulses and a rich cast of characters

Let’s put it this way: I don’t wish camper vans to be swept from the face of the earth, merely from wherever I happen to be. Earlier this summer, that was in the Lot valley in south-west France, east of Cahors. This is beautiful, but the road is narrow. There’s the river down below on one side, and cliffs rising on the other, frequently with overhangs. So camper vans, usually full of jolly Dutch people, would pull into the middle of the road to avoid the overhang, thus edging oncoming traffic towards the drop to the river. This was no place for a person with the head for heights of a halibut.

I would get past, just – and with my wing mirror cracked. I would swear vigorously. Then I would stop, because there was another one coming on. Oh yes.

Apart from that I love the Lot, both the river valley and the country flanking it. Deeply rural, it offers light geo-drama: the Lot river and its tributary, the Célé, slice deep enough into the Causses limestone plateau for most tastes. And the region is shot through with courage – farming has ever been tough around here; so was the Resistance – and intelligence, at once entrepreneurial and artistic. The Lotois have been painting for 30,000 years.

Down from the plateau, Figeac is where you start. Where I started, anyway. It appears a rustic spot (pop: 10,000) whose principal concern should be sheep. But this is the Lot, so the town has a vast aeronautics set-up, memories of the fellow who founded Egyptology, and also of one of Hollywood’s key Latin lovers.

I have long claimed Figeac to be the finest small town in France, small towns themselves being the best way to experience a country. Villages may be beguiling but are shut by 7.30pm. Cities are invigorating but avoid eye contact and steal your wallet. Smaller towns – population from 2,50015,000 – have a human scale. There’s much hailing of one another from café terraces; it takes two hours to chat your way through the market to the strawberries. But, being towns, they are also vital, will provide fun and a drink at midnight, and don’t stare at strangers. Best of all worlds, then.

And Figeac is the best of the best, not least because monks and merchants, peasants and nobles have been dropping down into the place since the Middle Ages. Wandering the centre is ambling through the structures of French history. Naturally,

Horses depicted in a prehistoric painting at Pech Merle cave, near Cabrerets, above