Three places to find ‘la France profonde' – for those exasperated by the 21st century
If I had a fiver for every time I've been asked to indicate ' la France profonde ' (deepest France), I'd be a very rich man. Well, not really. I'd have about £245. But that's 49 people who have asked me directly. This suggests that there must be thousands, maybe millions, of people interested in the subject who don't know me, or don't dare ask.
So I'm assuming that this France profonde is a much-sought place. Why? It may be that it offers a misty promise of our own half-remembered past, when all villages were pretty, all butchers and bakers were family-run and front doors were left unlocked.
There were no smartphones, designer drugs or hysterical 24-hour news channels. Woke was what happened when you stopped being asleep.
So where is it? Both nowhere and all over the place, for la France profonde is as much an ideal as a destination. But some spots get close. Here are my top three for 2025.
Cher, Centre-Val de Loire
A good way to prepare for this département, or county – south of the Loire, west of Burgundy – is to tackle Le Grand Meaulnes, one of the best-selling French novels of the 20th century.
Alain-Fournier's only work (he was killed early in the Great War) mines the lurking sense of the arcane in a deep, green and much-bypassed landscape.
Thus will you be ready for narrow lanes which track through encroaching woodland, by rivers and half-seen lakes. Low-slung villages fold into their surroundings, apparently impervious to the 20th century, never mind the 21st. Strange beliefs infiltrate long, rustic silences – for this is also the traditional French capital of witchcraft.
Le Grand Meaulnes fits right in, a tale of adolescent love and adventure and the mysterious spaces in between. You may start by paying respects at Épineuil-le-Fleuriel, whose school Alain-Fournier attended, and used as starting point for the novel. Wonderfully, the old school has been restored exactly as it was in his time.
Moving north, headliners include Noirlac Abbey (near St Amand-Montrond) whose pure white Cistercian stones soar, decorated only by light and shade. The cultural season here, in pretty much the exact centre of France, justifies a trip.
Nearby county capital Bourges is a skip back to well-rooted bustle, its remarkable cathedral and half-timbered streets just a villein or two short of perfection. Linger a while, before moving further north, edging into the Sologne district which Alain-Fournier characterised as 'useless, taciturn and profound'.
One must, he said, 'pull aside the branches to discover this countryside'.
As fields and forest close in, one makes for La Chapelle-d'Angillon, where the writer was born, and then Nançay, where he spent youthful summer holidays. Round here, it's easy to believe that the fantastic and the rational are opposite sides of the same coin.
Later, we leave the universe of Le Grand Meaulnes for half-timbered Aubigny-sur-Nère. Here, la France profonde bumps into l'Ecosse profonde – deepest Scotland – in a gush of abundant jockery: saltires, kilts, whisky and a 10ft monument to the Auld (Franco-Scots) Alliance outside the library.
Why? The town was given to the Stuarts by French king Charles VII in payment for their help against the English in the Hundred Years War. Scottishness got a grip and, though the Stuarts were around for only 250 years, the links remain.
Aubigny revels in them, not least in the annual Franco-Scottish festival, this year from July 11-13. Should you be looking for irrationality, this is a splendid spot to start.
Where to stay
In Aubigny, the Hotel La Chaumière colonises a 19th-century post-house: bare stone, beams, the works, plus a good restaurant (doubles from £95). Nearby, the Logis Relais du Cor d'Argent at Argent-sur-Sauldre has practical rooms and an equally good restaurant (doubles from £64).
Creuse, Nouvelle-Aquitaine
If anyone says to me: 'I'll drive you to the Creuse', I say: 'Lead on, Captain. Take me there, that I might never return.' It's that sort of place. The county is found where the Massif Central cedes to the Limousin. Hardly anyone lives there and no-one visits. Well, a few. It is the least visited of all French counties, which indicates how daft tourists can be.
But it means you have it to yourself, and that's good. The Creuse is wild enough with moorland and heath, forest and pasture heavy with Limousin cattle.
The landscape undulates with elemental interest sufficient to hold the attention entirely, yet bearing no risk of frenzy. After a few hours there, I sigh so happily that my nerves slacken. They barely stiffen for the duration.
Roads wind through countryside ruffled like yeoman England, but hotter. Aromas of flowers, hay and cows come in through the window and then you're in Crozant. The village – at the rocky junction of three rivers – had its own school of 19th-century painters, led in by Claude Monet. It's a good story, told at the Hotel Lépinat, once the artists' boozer, now an information centre.
Close by, La Souterraine is a grand little spot, its old stones warmed by sun, small-town commerce and a sense of self-sufficiency. Beyond, the granite Monts de Guéret rise forested and harbouring.
Set the car south, along lanes of little consequence, to Aubusson. Crouching below the rock-faces along the Creuse river, Aubusson has been weaving the world's most celebrated tapestries for 500 years.
In the past, this wouldn't have detained me very long. Now, though, I've been to the Cité Internationale de la Tapisserie, seen works by Picasso, Braque, Le Corbusier and Jean Lurçat and realised there's more to tapestries than faded fabric on château walls.
Thus to the Plateau de Millevaches, where moors and woodland tumble into remote villages and then down to Lake Vassivière. The possibilities for activity – hiking, biking, riding, sailing – are enticing for those with energy. The rest of us may stroll and look and reflect that this could be Canada, if only there were moose and maple syrup.
Where to stay
In Aubusson, the Hotel des Maisons du Pont has rooms scattered through venerable riverside houses (lesmaisonsdupont.com; from £77). In Roches, south-east of Crozant, head for the Domaine de la Vergnolle for chambres d'hôtes rooms and over-water cabins (lavergnolle.com; B&B doubles from £59).
Loire valley, Centre-Val de Loire
The Loire valley is where I dream of going when exasperated by the 21st century. It runs to rhythms redolent of gentler times, but with decent plumbing.
North of, and parallel to, the mightier Loire (the one with the big châteaux), this tributary flows into a past of forests, vines and wild flowers, of cliffs, meadows and white-stone villages bright with proper shops and deep-rooted confidence.
From light, green and watery Vendôme – where, as a schoolboy, Balzac read so voraciously that he would fall into 'a coma of ideas' – the valley meanders in and out of white-stone villages bright with proper shops and busy ladies bustling with baskets.
At Thoré-la-Rochette, you might tackle Côteaux-du-Vendomois wines, peppery from the local pineau d'aunis grape. Downstream, Lavardin – crammed between hillside and river – would be standing-room-only, were it in Provence or Tuscany.
Nip into the church for medieval frescoes (a Loire speciality) and move on to Montoire-sur-le-Loir. You may have heard of this town. On October 24 1940, Hitler and Pétain met to set the seal on their collaboration at the railway station right here. Presently, the station hosts a museum telling the tale.
At Trôo, as chalk cliffs edge the valley so, over a couple of millennia, locals dug homes into the rock-face, creating a vertical troglodyte village on four levels. Farm workers moved out by the middle of the 20th century.
Artier types moved in, for cave-dwelling is in vogue these days. But Yuccas Cave has been kept as it was when farm workers Zéphrim and Désirée Didé and their six kids lived there until 1965.
And so to St Jacques-des-Guérets, with the valley's best church frescoes, Couture-sur-Loir, where 16th-century poet Pierre de Ronsard was born, and Ruillé-sur-Loir, for Jasnières wines. In La Chartre-sur-Loir, the Hotel de France epitomises all that's best in provincial French hotels. On my last visit, it smelled splendidly of flowers and furniture polish.
But don't take my word. The hotel is quite near Le Mans, so has hosted key teams from the 24-hour race (Aston Martin, Porsche, Ferrari) plus associated luminaries: Steve McQueen, Jackie Onassis and Bobby Kennedy (lhoteldefrance.fr, doubles from £91).
The fascination persists, not least at the Château du Lude – as imposing as most châteaux in the grander Loire valley to the south. So please don't hesitate. Or, as Pierre de Ronsard wrote: 'Live now, believe me, wait not until tomorrow. Gather the roses of life today.'
Where to stay
Apart from the Hotel de France (above), we favour the Auberge du Port des Roches – pleasing hotel, good restaurant – at Luché-Pringé (doubles from £80).
Hashtags
Try Our AI Features
Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:
Comments
No comments yet...
Related Articles
Times
2 hours ago
- Times
I've found the ideal cycling adventure ahead of the Tour de France
'Get through the forest. Get through the f***ing forest.' These are the words looping in my head as my stomach churns in perfect rhythm with my pedalling. Slowly. The fatal mistake? An Orangina at Pista Cycling Café, lured in by French nostalgia at its best. In the moment it seemed like the right thing to do; an ode to childhood summers, those glass bottles sweating in the sun. But while riding up Mont Ventoux in France — one of Europe's toughest cycle climbs with a summit at 1,910m (6,270ft) — it's sitting about as well as a flan in a spin cycle. The words haunting me belong to Simon Mottram, the founder of Rapha, the upmarket cycling brand. He is here in Provence leading a Rapha Summit — a fully supported, four-day group ride that is part pilgrimage, part test of endurance and Rapha's annual invitation to ride in a cycling mecca. We're covering serious distances — up to 188km on the longest day — and he is offering the kind of no-nonsense encouragement that cuts through gradient and fatigue alike. This trip marks a decade of the Rapha Cycling Club (RCC), a global community of members who connect online and in person via regular rides, events and perks at Rapha's network of 'clubhouses' around the world. As a keen rider who has done everything from local cyclocross races to mountainous sportives, I own more than a fair bit of Rapha kit but have never embraced it quite like this. Now in my fifth decade I had the chance to tackle one of cycling's most famous climbs with them, and it felt like a fitting way to test the legs — and the look. Among the 125 riders from 22 countries gathered, the crowd is much more mixed than I expected. The RCC might have a reputation for being elite, but in reality it's a collective of people who simply love cycling — and the finer things in life. Because let's face it, these trips aren't cheap. Neither are the bikes people have brought with them. The total value of bikes in the group is likely well over £1 million, a parade of Pinarellos, S-Works, boutique Italian brands such as Passoni and a few custom builds with bespoke paint jobs. Then there's Rob Gitelis, chief executive of Factor Bikes, rolling up on a Factor Ostro covered in a Louis Vuitton print — possibly the most Mamil (middle-aged man in Lycra) thing I saw all weekend. I can't say much, though, because I'm riding one of his bikes as well, a RCC club version in fluoro pink. Because if you're going to spend a weekend in full Rapha mode, you may as well commit completely. I do my best to fit in but I don't have to try hard. I shave my legs, partly because it's tradition, partly for the aesthetics, but mostly because I like the feeling of crisp bed sheets after a long ride. We are even provided with a chamois cream so that the high-end suffering of a rider's undercarriage is scented appropriately (lavender and pine needle, since you ask). We start from Capelongue in Bonnieux, a five-star Provençal retreat among cypress trees, dry stone walls and lavender fields. It's an almost-too-perfect setting but history lurks beneath the luxury. The hotel is built on the remains of a Roman amphitheater, which feels fitting. In a few days, the arena of Mont Ventoux will claim its own casualties. The first ride is a gentle 32km roll-out to Apt, a chance to shake off the travel stiffness and settle into the rhythm of Provence. We pass over Pont Julien, a 2,000-year-old Roman bridge, before an essential stop at Pierrot Blanc for lavender ice cream (£2.40; A cluster of fluoro-pink-clad riders gathers on a quiet backstreet, bikes resting against shop windows. It's all going well — until the owner of the adjacent wool shop storms out, huffing as she moves bikes away from her display, grumbling about Lycra-clad hooligans. The next day our group of a dozen riders includes Nina Kessler, a Dutch pro for EF Pro Cycling, and the Spaniard Felix Alonso Rodriguez, who has joined from Rapha's HQ in London. The 110km route rolls through Roussillon, where the landscape shifts between rolling farmland and jagged rock. One moment it's lavender fields stretching to the horizon, the next it's sun-bleached stone and rugged hills. Three riders, three different reasons to ride. Nina, the full-time professional, paid to suffer and push limits. Felix, fortunate enough to ride as part of his job working for Rapha. And me, grateful for any ride I can get, just happy to be here. This group doesn't do subtle. The RCC's motto is Ex duris gloria — glory through suffering. Everyone here has their own interpretation of what that means. Some want speed, some want stories, some of us just want to make it to the café stop without empty, albeit very smooth, legs. • 12 of the best cycling cities At Le Chapeau Rouge in Simiane-la-Rotonde we eat trays of quiche and swig bottles of Perrier ( Back in the day Tour de France riders would raid cafés mid-stage, grabbing whatever they could: beer, wine, champagne. Today we settle for mineral water, but the ritual remains. That night I share dinner with Erik and Sandra, a Dutch couple from the Hague. Erik casually mentions he has climbed Ventoux ten times over the years. Sandra isn't riding but is taking in the weekend with a quiet air of amusement, watching as the rest of us talk tactics and try not to think too hard about tomorrow. At Capelongue's La Bergerie restaurant the chef Mathieu Guivarch serves wood‑fired lamb and seasonal Provençal vegetables, and as plates are cleared, wine glasses emptied and the conversation turns to tomorrow's challenge, Aleda Fitzpatrick, the leader of the RCC, leans in with a simple, ominous truth: 'Ambition is not a dirty word.' There will be no easing into this one — 140km, 2,900m of vertical ascent and at the heart of it, the Giant of Provence: 21km long, with an average gradient of 7.5 per cent, gaining a lung-crushing 1,590m. Tomorrow the only way is up. It's easy to assume the RCC is all premium kit and curated suffering — and to be fair there's some of that. But since this trip I've dropped into RCC rides in New York City, Palma in Mallorca and Sydney. Each time I showed up solo. Each time I rode away with new friends and the same post-ride buzz. For all the slick branding the thing that lingers is the people — welcoming, obsessive and always up for a chat over coffee and cadence. The kit might match, but the vibe is far from uniform. • 13 of the best Alpine resorts for a summer holiday We roll out at 7am through Gordes, officially one of France's most beautiful villages. I'm feeling good and as we enter Bédoin, something quintessentially French unfolds before us — a Citroën 2CV rally, a parade of charming, sputtering relics from another era. We roll past, grinning at the contrast — classic horsepower on one side, modern carbon fibre and electronic shifting on the other. All groups stopped at Pista Cycling Café at the foot of Mont Ventoux and, in a moment of blind nostalgia, order that Orangina ( It tastes amazing but turns out to be a mistake. The first 6km of Ventoux are fine. Then … the forest. Ten unrelenting kilometres at a gradient of 10 per cent, with nowhere to hide. It's a switchback purgatory, every turn revealing another stretch of tarmac carved into the trees, every shadow offering false hope of respite. The chalked names of past Tour riders are still faintly visible on the road, ghostly reminders of who came before. Not far from the summit, the Tom Simpson memorial comes into view. The British rider died here in 1967, collapsing just 1.5km from the top, his body wrecked by exhaustion and a deadly mix of amphetamines and alcohol. • 10 of the most beautiful places in France (and how to see them) To the French, Simpson was a showman and there's no doubt he would have approved of the Rapha aesthetic that now rolls past his monument today — not least because the team he once rode for later inspired Mottram to take the name for his cycling brand. This summer the Tour de France returns to Ventoux once again and a reminder that this mountain remains one of the sport's most important proving grounds. A quick pause, another deep breath, a moment of reflection. Then the final push. The top of Mont Ventoux is a barren, windswept moonscape with bleached rock, brutal wind and nowhere to hide. The final stretch is agony, but then, suddenly, it's over. A quick photo, a jacket zipped tight and I roll into the descent towards Sault, where a slice of pizza and a hit of salt taste glorious after a day of nothing but energy bars and gels. Then, after a 10km drag, the road tips downwards into the Gorges de la Nesque — suffering behind us, pure joy ahead. The tarmac snakes through sheer limestone cliffs, suspended high above the valley. We form a fast-moving group, each turn flowing into the next, tunnels flashing by, the wind rushing past. No brakes, no effort, just speed, momentum and one of the best roads I've ever ridden. As the burn in my legs and the Orangina in my stomach finally settle, we roll into Villes-sur-Auzon and the ride is done. I upload my ride to Strava, the numbers confirming what I already suspected: 15 minutes slower than my last ascent, a decade ago. Mont Ventoux is a hors catégorie mountain. So difficult it's considered beyond classification, a climb so brutal that, according to legend, even a Citroën 2CV wouldn't have the gears to make it up. The legend, it turns out, is just that. Because towards the final stretch of one of the hardest climbs in cycling, one of the 2CVs we passed earlier overtook me, puttering steadily toward the summit, unfazed by the gradient, the wind or my suffering. I wonder if the driver glanced in the mirror and thought the same as me — that time catches up with us Sikkema was a guest of the Rapha Cycling Club, which has annual membership from £70 and bike hire from £55 a day ( and the Capelongue, which has B&B doubles from £306 ( Fly to Marseilles
Daily Mail
13 hours ago
- Daily Mail
TRAVEL: How to spend a weekend in sunny St Tropez
FRIDAY 4pm An hour's drive from Nice airport, I arrive at my hotel Arev (from £495 per night, in St Tropez. The name is a play on the French word for dream, rêve – and what a dream it is. My room has a garden view, Japanese Toto toilet and Dyson hairdryer. 7pm At Fondugues Pradugues, a natural wine domain in the neighbouring village of Ramatuelle, we try organic red and rosé wines at Le Chai, its restaurant overlooking the vines. Chef Valentine Costuna whips up a four-course tasting menu (£105pp, SATURDAY 8am The view of the heated outdoor pool tempts me out of my canopy bed and into my swimsuit. After working up an appetite, I slip into something a little more breakfast-appropriate, grab a table in the shade and enjoy the eggs benedict (served on a waffle). 11am A stroll away, at place des Lices (from the medieval word for jousting ground), is the town square's famous market (held on Tuesdays and Saturdays, from 8am to 1pm), where I check out the local delicacies and browse the antiques, linen wear and basket bags. 1pm Lunch is at The Strand, an old St Tropez favourite brought back to life by Arev with the help of famous French hospitality brand Bagatelle. I opt for the avocado salad with raspberries, and leave room for the tarte tropézienne, a cream-filled brioche bun. 3pm Time to recline by the pool while I await a full-body massage. With just two treatment rooms and a hammam, appointments at the spa are coveted. I tell the therapist about my 'tech neck' and she adapts our 50-minute session. Afterwards, I feel re-energised. 8pm Insta-hot bohemian interiors, plenty of outdoor seating and live music – there are lots of reasons locals flock to Le Café, but its unpretentious brasserie food tops the list. I have the shredded crab (£30) and filet de bœuf with peppercorn sauce (£45, SUNDAY 9am Anyone for padel? After brushing up on my backhand skills on the hotel's courts, I walk into town to enjoy a delicious, if pricey, iced vanilla matcha latte (£6.75) and pain suisse (£10), from Cedric Grolet & Airelles ( to tide me over until lunch.
Telegraph
15 hours ago
- Telegraph
Three places to find ‘la France profonde' – for those exasperated by the 21st century
If I had a fiver for every time I've been asked to indicate ' la France profonde ' (deepest France), I'd be a very rich man. Well, not really. I'd have about £245. But that's 49 people who have asked me directly. This suggests that there must be thousands, maybe millions, of people interested in the subject who don't know me, or don't dare ask. So I'm assuming that this France profonde is a much-sought place. Why? It may be that it offers a misty promise of our own half-remembered past, when all villages were pretty, all butchers and bakers were family-run and front doors were left unlocked. There were no smartphones, designer drugs or hysterical 24-hour news channels. Woke was what happened when you stopped being asleep. So where is it? Both nowhere and all over the place, for la France profonde is as much an ideal as a destination. But some spots get close. Here are my top three for 2025. Cher, Centre-Val de Loire A good way to prepare for this département, or county – south of the Loire, west of Burgundy – is to tackle Le Grand Meaulnes, one of the best-selling French novels of the 20th century. Alain-Fournier's only work (he was killed early in the Great War) mines the lurking sense of the arcane in a deep, green and much-bypassed landscape. Thus will you be ready for narrow lanes which track through encroaching woodland, by rivers and half-seen lakes. Low-slung villages fold into their surroundings, apparently impervious to the 20th century, never mind the 21st. Strange beliefs infiltrate long, rustic silences – for this is also the traditional French capital of witchcraft. Le Grand Meaulnes fits right in, a tale of adolescent love and adventure and the mysterious spaces in between. You may start by paying respects at Épineuil-le-Fleuriel, whose school Alain-Fournier attended, and used as starting point for the novel. Wonderfully, the old school has been restored exactly as it was in his time. Moving north, headliners include Noirlac Abbey (near St Amand-Montrond) whose pure white Cistercian stones soar, decorated only by light and shade. The cultural season here, in pretty much the exact centre of France, justifies a trip. Nearby county capital Bourges is a skip back to well-rooted bustle, its remarkable cathedral and half-timbered streets just a villein or two short of perfection. Linger a while, before moving further north, edging into the Sologne district which Alain-Fournier characterised as 'useless, taciturn and profound'. One must, he said, 'pull aside the branches to discover this countryside'. As fields and forest close in, one makes for La Chapelle-d'Angillon, where the writer was born, and then Nançay, where he spent youthful summer holidays. Round here, it's easy to believe that the fantastic and the rational are opposite sides of the same coin. Later, we leave the universe of Le Grand Meaulnes for half-timbered Aubigny-sur-Nère. Here, la France profonde bumps into l'Ecosse profonde – deepest Scotland – in a gush of abundant jockery: saltires, kilts, whisky and a 10ft monument to the Auld (Franco-Scots) Alliance outside the library. Why? The town was given to the Stuarts by French king Charles VII in payment for their help against the English in the Hundred Years War. Scottishness got a grip and, though the Stuarts were around for only 250 years, the links remain. Aubigny revels in them, not least in the annual Franco-Scottish festival, this year from July 11-13. Should you be looking for irrationality, this is a splendid spot to start. Where to stay In Aubigny, the Hotel La Chaumière colonises a 19th-century post-house: bare stone, beams, the works, plus a good restaurant (doubles from £95). Nearby, the Logis Relais du Cor d'Argent at Argent-sur-Sauldre has practical rooms and an equally good restaurant (doubles from £64). Creuse, Nouvelle-Aquitaine If anyone says to me: 'I'll drive you to the Creuse', I say: 'Lead on, Captain. Take me there, that I might never return.' It's that sort of place. The county is found where the Massif Central cedes to the Limousin. Hardly anyone lives there and no-one visits. Well, a few. It is the least visited of all French counties, which indicates how daft tourists can be. But it means you have it to yourself, and that's good. The Creuse is wild enough with moorland and heath, forest and pasture heavy with Limousin cattle. The landscape undulates with elemental interest sufficient to hold the attention entirely, yet bearing no risk of frenzy. After a few hours there, I sigh so happily that my nerves slacken. They barely stiffen for the duration. Roads wind through countryside ruffled like yeoman England, but hotter. Aromas of flowers, hay and cows come in through the window and then you're in Crozant. The village – at the rocky junction of three rivers – had its own school of 19th-century painters, led in by Claude Monet. It's a good story, told at the Hotel Lépinat, once the artists' boozer, now an information centre. Close by, La Souterraine is a grand little spot, its old stones warmed by sun, small-town commerce and a sense of self-sufficiency. Beyond, the granite Monts de Guéret rise forested and harbouring. Set the car south, along lanes of little consequence, to Aubusson. Crouching below the rock-faces along the Creuse river, Aubusson has been weaving the world's most celebrated tapestries for 500 years. In the past, this wouldn't have detained me very long. Now, though, I've been to the Cité Internationale de la Tapisserie, seen works by Picasso, Braque, Le Corbusier and Jean Lurçat and realised there's more to tapestries than faded fabric on château walls. Thus to the Plateau de Millevaches, where moors and woodland tumble into remote villages and then down to Lake Vassivière. The possibilities for activity – hiking, biking, riding, sailing – are enticing for those with energy. The rest of us may stroll and look and reflect that this could be Canada, if only there were moose and maple syrup. Where to stay In Aubusson, the Hotel des Maisons du Pont has rooms scattered through venerable riverside houses ( from £77). In Roches, south-east of Crozant, head for the Domaine de la Vergnolle for chambres d'hôtes rooms and over-water cabins ( B&B doubles from £59). Loire valley, Centre-Val de Loire The Loire valley is where I dream of going when exasperated by the 21st century. It runs to rhythms redolent of gentler times, but with decent plumbing. North of, and parallel to, the mightier Loire (the one with the big châteaux), this tributary flows into a past of forests, vines and wild flowers, of cliffs, meadows and white-stone villages bright with proper shops and deep-rooted confidence. From light, green and watery Vendôme – where, as a schoolboy, Balzac read so voraciously that he would fall into 'a coma of ideas' – the valley meanders in and out of white-stone villages bright with proper shops and busy ladies bustling with baskets. At Thoré-la-Rochette, you might tackle Côteaux-du-Vendomois wines, peppery from the local pineau d'aunis grape. Downstream, Lavardin – crammed between hillside and river – would be standing-room-only, were it in Provence or Tuscany. Nip into the church for medieval frescoes (a Loire speciality) and move on to Montoire-sur-le-Loir. You may have heard of this town. On October 24 1940, Hitler and Pétain met to set the seal on their collaboration at the railway station right here. Presently, the station hosts a museum telling the tale. At Trôo, as chalk cliffs edge the valley so, over a couple of millennia, locals dug homes into the rock-face, creating a vertical troglodyte village on four levels. Farm workers moved out by the middle of the 20th century. Artier types moved in, for cave-dwelling is in vogue these days. But Yuccas Cave has been kept as it was when farm workers Zéphrim and Désirée Didé and their six kids lived there until 1965. And so to St Jacques-des-Guérets, with the valley's best church frescoes, Couture-sur-Loir, where 16th-century poet Pierre de Ronsard was born, and Ruillé-sur-Loir, for Jasnières wines. In La Chartre-sur-Loir, the Hotel de France epitomises all that's best in provincial French hotels. On my last visit, it smelled splendidly of flowers and furniture polish. But don't take my word. The hotel is quite near Le Mans, so has hosted key teams from the 24-hour race (Aston Martin, Porsche, Ferrari) plus associated luminaries: Steve McQueen, Jackie Onassis and Bobby Kennedy ( doubles from £91). The fascination persists, not least at the Château du Lude – as imposing as most châteaux in the grander Loire valley to the south. So please don't hesitate. Or, as Pierre de Ronsard wrote: 'Live now, believe me, wait not until tomorrow. Gather the roses of life today.' Where to stay Apart from the Hotel de France (above), we favour the Auberge du Port des Roches – pleasing hotel, good restaurant – at Luché-Pringé (doubles from £80).
