There are at least three things you should know before tackling the
Lot-et-Garonne region of southwest France. Firstly, prune in French doesn’t
mean prune in English. It means plum.
The French word for prune is pruneau. This is vital knowledge. While
the almost embarrassingly fertile river plains and rolling hills round here
are awash with all sorts of fruit and veg, only the prune (pruneau)
has cult status.
It crops up everywhere — in sweet and savoury dishes, drinks, pâtés, spreads
and conversations, even as a design on baseball caps (if you need one, have
mine). Happily, this is not the soggy item that blights British breakfasts
in the interests of bowel maintenance. It is a much leaner, sprightlier
affair, particularly fine when dipped in armagnac, then covered with
chocolate.
The second slice of useful information concerns King Henry IV, the local lad
who founded the French Bourbon dynasty and who, four centuries on, still
excites quite as much enthusiasm as the prune.
In case you’ve forgotten, Henry became king in 1589, ended the country’s
religious wars and so became the most popular French monarch of all time.
His presence remains inescapable, notably in the south of the region, over
which he would ride, thinking royal thoughts and chasing country girls. The
French admire that in a leader.
The third thing you need to know is how to slow down. Lot-et-Garonne bills
itself as the “land of gentle adventure”, and this is correct, though it
wasn’t always.
The Hundred Years’ War rattled through the bastides (medieval
new towns) when the region was frontier territory between English and
French. Later, Protestants and Catholics set about each other in customary
fashion, and local rugby matches have traditionally led to a certain
emotional strain.
In general, though, this is a land of pleasing slopes and long views over a
landscape that looks prosperous in an old-fashioned way. It is populated by
nut-brown old blokes who know a thing or two about plums. And it is exactly
the right place for a late-summer or early-autumn break. Our trip is
timetabled for people arriving on the mid-morning flight into Toulouse
before hiring a car. But anyone can join simply by leaving the A62 motorway
at junction 8 and making for Lamagistère, then up the hill to Puymirol.
DAY ONE
Should you fancy blowing half the holiday budget in the first few hours, lunch
at L’Aubergade (52 Rue Royale, 00 33-5 53 95 31 46, www.aubergade.com; menus
from £46). Michel Trama’s cooking is among the finest in France. Otherwise,
stroll the village to get an early inkling of what a bastide is — you’re
going to be seeing a lot of them. Essentially, they were a medieval planning
ploy to drag scattered peasants in from the countryside, put them in one
place and make them easier to tax.
The town layouts — chessboard street pattern around a central arcaded square
and market hall — were so logical and harmonious that they’ve scarcely
budged since, except that, these days, they’re hit by an epidemic of craft
shops.
Still, that is the price of prettiness — and there is plenty of proper life
around.
Now head for the county capital, Agen, and, if you are on the cheaper lunch
option, make for the Brasserie de la Poste (82 Boulevard Carnot; from £8),
not only a lively town-centre spot, but the HQ of the local rugby-union
supporters’ club. Mention the Agen hero, Philippe Sella, and you are on safe
ground. Afterwards, a quick walk covers Agen’s main highlights: the mighty
canal bridge over the Garonne, the bustling centre and, best of all, a Musé
e des Beaux-Arts (Place Dr Esquirol; £2.50), with a handful of Goyas and a
Tintoretto they discovered under a dustsheet a couple of years ago.
()
Now move out of town to Nérac, the nerve centre of Henry IV territory. It was
here that his ferocious old mum, Jeanne d’Albret (“She was a woman in sex
only,” they said), championed the Reformation. And it was here that Henry
holed up after the St Bartholomew massacre, awaiting his stab at kingship.
It’s a good story, well told in what’s left of the great chateau overlooking
the River Baïse (£2.75). But skip the archeological bit. Instead, wander
down through the old town to the river and then along to the Parc de la
Garenne, where a gardener’s daughter, Fleurette, having surrendered her
virtue to Henry, committed suicide when she realised it wasn’t for keeps. If
the statue marking the spot is anything like the real Fleurette, then it is
at least clear why she caught Henry’s eye.
South now to Moncrabeau, slotted in among trees and gardens on a little hill
that overlooks the Baïse (pronounced Bay-eze). Against, you might think,
some pretty stiff competition, Moncrabeau is the French capital of lying.
Our Gallic chums can get heavy-handed about this sort of jape, but it’s done
wittily here. Every year in early August, competitors gather by the market
hall, sit on the stone Liars’ Throne and tell tall stories. Scarlet-robed
experts judge the event before the nation’s television cameras. This year’s
Lying King was a former political journalist — as he put it, “a liar by
profession”.
Meanwhile, visitors at other times may follow the Liars’ Circuit round the
village, learning (in French) completely erroneous information about the
place, before checking into the Hôtel Le Phare (05 53 65 42 08; doubles from
£33, menus from £14). If the accommodation is a bit basic, the restaurant
and food are not.
DAY TWO
Along the back lanes — between fields of maize and sunflowers — to Fréchou and
then Barbaste, for a peek at Henry IV’s rather striking fortified mill. It
provided flour, defended the river crossing and assured Henry a regular
supply of millers’ daughters. Dip into Vianne — an isolated bastide with its
walls intact — before crossing the Baïse and the Garonne to Port-Ste-Marie.
Then up and over, and across the Lot into the bright-eyed market town of
Clairac, where both the lightning conductor and tobacco first appeared in
France.
In the Abbaye des Automates (Place de l’Eglise; £5.60), tableaux stuffed with
vaguely moving figures give more information on these events. The display of
matchstick models (including Chartres cathedral in 65,000 matches) instils
wide-eyed humility.
()
After coffee, go to Le Temple-sur-Lot, and don’t miss, just off centre, the
Latour-Marliac water gardens (£2.75). In season, these are glorious — the
oldest aquatic nurseries in the world, with a park, a lake, pools and
hundreds of water lilies bursting through the surface like so many love
songs.
From there, it is a short hop and sharp climb to Pujols, which commands the
surrounding countryside and is quiteconscious of its medieval integrity. It
is buffed up as for a royal visit. If you’re feeling plush, lunch at La
Toque Blanche (Bel-Air; 05 53 49 00 30; from £25.) If not, eat light within
the walls at the Aux Délices du Puits snackery (from £5).
Back down the hill and straight into Villeneuve-sur-Lot, an industrious spot
best known as the rebellious 1930s birthplace of French rugby league. Walk
the riverside and the old centre, then head out through the Porte de Paris
and into any of the bars (Le Globe, Le Glacier) on the boulevard; unusually
in France, you might meet people who share your interest in Wigan.
Penne-d'Agenais is another must-see medieval village, tumbling steeply down
its hillside in a vertical chaos of titchy old streets. Right at the top is
the Basilique de Notre Dame de Peyragude — built early last century, when
French church architects were bonkers about neo-Byzantine. It fits in here
like a Transit van at a veteran car rally.
Follow the Lot to Fumel and out along the wooded valley to the Cháteau de
Bonaguil (£3.15). Up on its rock, this is a colossus, fortified between the
13th and 17th centuries, mainly by a bilious seigneur who needed protection
from his own subjects. It would still keep out the Foreign Legion.
And so to Monflanquin, finest of the hilltop bastides. But stop below first,
to check in at the Hôtel Monform (Route de Cancon; 05 53 49 85 85; doubles
from £32), a neat scattering of chalet-style rooms across a park. The
on-site gym and swimming pool were good enough to tempt the Leicester Tigers
over for a training stint. Good, simple food, too (from £9), in the
restaurant, which overlooks a lake.
Then romp up to a lively old town progressively restored to a state far more
pristine than it ever was during the middle ages. Then again, we can't
really expect them to open up the sewers or start slaughtering sheep
alfresco. And, if the Black Prince might not recognise the glowing stone
cleanliness, his house is still there — on the sloping, arcaded square. Best
bet is a guided tour of the place, from the tourist office next to the
prince's house.
DAY THREE
A gentler day, initially dedicated to tracking through more bastides
— Villeréal and Castillonnès — and noting, once again, the timelessness of
their design. Perfect for their medieval function, they remain well adapted
to the purposes of a contemporary country town — and profoundly satisfying
to contemplate from a cafe seat under the arcades. Architects probably have
a word for all this. After dropping into Allemans-du-Dropt (pronounced
Dreau) for the frescoes in the church, move on and up the slope to Duras,
where you will note that you are not the only English-speaker. Half of
holidaying Britain has discovered the place, and rightly so. It's what we
seek in a small French town: interesting little streets, proper shops,
ladies with wickerwork baskets and blokes hailing one another from sunny
cafe terraces. And there's a cracking castle with king-of-the-world views.
Lunch at the Hostellerie des Ducs (Boulevard Jean Brisseau; from £15), a
classy spot in a former monastery near the castle. Then move south, skirting
Marmande, towards Tonneins, and off right, over the Garonne, to Le
Mas-d'Agenais. Beautifully sited in trees above the river, this seems a
neglected little settlement — surprisingly so, for there's a superb Christ
on the Cross by Rembrandt (yes, the real one) in the village church. Get a
€2 token from the tourist office or local bar to work the lighting and the
English-language commentary.
And so you weave your way to Buzet wine country. The most interesting place
for a tasting is through Buzet village to Feugarolles, then up a long,
winding road to Cháteau de Salles. Henry de Batz-Trenquell&eactue;on,
a direct descendant of d'Artagnan, is one of the few private Buzet
producers. Call ahead on 05 53 95 27 49 to ensure that there'll be someone
around. Later, backtrack to St L&eactueger and a final-night treat at
the Cháteau de Grenier (05 53 79 59 06, www.chateaudegrenier.fr.st; doubles
from £47), a farm manor house transformed into lovely chambres d'hôtes. If
you've booked, eat there (£16, including wine). If not, drive into Buzet to
Le Vigneron (Boulevard de la République; from £10) for some of the best
value food in the French southwest.
Travel Brief
Getting there: Easyjet (0871 750 0100, www.easyjet.com) flies
to Toulouse from Gatwick (from £43), as does British Airways (0870 850 9850,
www.ba.com; from £69). Three days' car hire starts at £114 with
www.europcar4easyjet.com . It takes about an hour to drive from Toulouse to
Puymirol.
