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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.