The A62, the “autoroute des deux-mers” runs from Bordeaux on the west coast to Narbonne on the south east coast of France. About half way along lies the insignificant Junction 8 which takes you along the D953 to Valence d’Agen and paradise!
If you turn off at Junction 8 you will enter the little known region of Tarn et Garonne, bounded by those rivers on the south and their more famous brother, the Lot some 20 miles to the north. But beware! This landscape is unlike any other in France. Ignore the French road signs, squint perhaps just a little and you are in Tuscany.
The towns of Lauzerte, Montcuq, Montaigu de Quercy, Tournon and Penne all rise up like inebriated wedding cakes, white stone buildings with terracotta rooves clinging to precipitous mounds above field after field of regimented vines. Tarn et Garonne has even stolen Tuscany’s favourite tree, the slim cone shaped Cypress which stands in threes or fours by the side of winding Italianate roads.
Look a little closer and you can see the cobbled streets, alleyways winding up between sun-scorched shuttered houses, flowers on every windowsill and even the odd bird cage in the shade. If you reach the top of the town you will be rewarded by a huge church and open square festooned with bunting, a small dimly-lit café-bar with perhaps even a few tables outside. It will be quiet and if you walk to the edge of the hill the view will astound you, ten or fifteen miles of uninterrupted beauty - are there really that many shades of green in the world?
What you won’t find here is people! Locals - yes, tourists - no! It is undiscovered, untouched by coach loads of humanity or satellite TV. No-one speaks English apart from the few ex-pats, a man who sells HP sauce on Montaigu market and the odd elderly lady who is “making” evening classes. The Plan d’Eau - the French equivalent of our Lidos but better - are all deserted and their imported St. Tropez sand is untouched by all but the few who know the secrets of Tarn et Garonne.
But there is life here. A visit to Moissac with its extraordinary abbey - reveals an interestingly chic subculture - the dimly-lit bars contain ladies who lunch and men with Psion organisers. There are galleries of exquisitely expensive glass and pottery, antique shops and small design houses. The newsagent has more yachting magazines than a stall at Cowes week and after all you can commute to that ultimate centre of chic - Toulouse - in about 30 minutes with a following wind and a french attitude to driving.
Go to Tarn et Garonne, you wont be disappointed - but don’t go yet because I saw it first!
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