Despite being just an hour away by regional train from Bordeaux, where I live, the Dordogne, a département located in South West France, was until recently almost unknown to me. Yet, this region offers the kind of activities that I love: visiting ancient towns, exploring the hilly countryside of one of its part, Périgord Noir, by bike and discovering its gastronomy.
One of the reasons why I hadn’t been able to go before was that I didn’t have enough time. To put it short, my work schedule prevents me from taking a week-long break.
How can you discover several parts of the region when you can’t take a week’s holiday?
The answer came to me from a Lonely Planet guide. It suggests a train and bike tour in Dordogne that I could do over a weekend. Follow me on my adventure.
Cycling along the Dordogne river
I set off from Bordeaux on a Saturday morning to travel by train to Bergerac. Although tired, I didn’t sleep on the journey, which only lasted an hour. When I arrived in the capital of the Périgord Pourpre region, the part located in the Eastern Side of Dordogne, I went to a café for breakfast. I watch the people sitting around me on the terrace. Small groups of friends are chatting. Most are older men. Some are reading the local newspaper. I enjoy my croissant and a coffee in the friendly atmosphere.
Suddenly, a man sitting opposite a friend gets up and comes over to me.
– “Which brand is your bike?
– Kalkhoff, a German brand. It’s the first time I ride it.
– How many kilometers are you going to ride?
– I’m going today to the Tuilères dam, then I’ll take the train to Sarlat. I’ll explore the surrounding area. Tomorrow, I’ll go to Terrasson-Villedieu, where I’ll take the train back to Bordeaux. Around 120 km altogether.
– I live in Bergerac and I often cycle. I have a road bike and I cycle long distances. For example, I cycled the Canal des 2 Mers and the Vélodyssée with my wife.”
He also shows me a city bike tied up next to us, which seems old. He uses it for his daily commute.
This discussion puts me in a good mood. What’s more, I tell myself that the people of Bergerac are relaxed, thanks to the proximity of nature and the town size.
This impression is reinforced when, a little further on, I come across a man in his garden offering to help me because I seem lost. I find my way back to the Dordogne river. As I walk along the river, I admire the majestic bridge that spans it.
I’m so lucky to be able to do a long bike trip! I missed it. Generally speaking, doing sport in nature is one of the best pastimes in my opinion. It allows you to:
- Meditate: the repetitive motion of pedalling, in a natural setting, relaxes me and eliminates my distracting thoughts.
- Gain perspective: I can have new insights by riding long distances, and even make life choices.
- Being at one with nature: for example, when I’m surfing, I’m in a natural element and I admire the powerful waves. I sometimes even see fishes.
- Breathing pure air: physical activity goes hand in hand with a powerful, deep and, if possible, conscious breathing. It’s even more enjoyable when I’m in a forest, a field or beside a river.
Then I reach the quay where the Bergerac tourist office is located. A sign bearing the symbol of the Voie Verte V91 cycle route, which I’d been looking for, reassures me. I follow the route until I leave the town. Then I reach a tarmac cycle path that runs alongside the Dordogne river.
The trees on both banks, such as weeping willows, form a magnificent green landscape. From this elevated position, I can admire the river glistening in the sunlight. It reminds me of the Charente, as both rivers flow peacefully and are bordered by thick greenery. As I look down at water level, I notice dragging pieces of wood along. I finally feel immersed in nature. It was worth getting up at 6.30 am!
I like my bike, a trekking bike, because it shifts gears so smoothly. What’s more, it gives me an impression of power and sturdiness.
Suddenly I realise I’ve forgotten my saddle cover at home. Whatever, the saddle doesn’t hurt. Then I realise that I haven’t brought my swimsuit and towel either. If the water temperature of the rivers I’ll be stopping at this weekend is high enough, and if it’s hot outside, I’ll regret it.
Just as I have these thoughts, a still boat appears in the middle of the river. There is a man with a fishing rod in his hand sitting in it. How close nature is to the city here! The fisherman reminds me how patient one must be when fishing. The setting is beautiful, but I couldn’t do it because it’s not sporty enough.
I like the route. It’s paved and well marked. It climbs and then descends, always following the river. At mid-morning, most of the people I meet are not cyclists but walkers. Often older couples who, I imagine, are local. They’re lucky to be able to take their walk close to home, in this setting that combines water and greenery.
Gradually, I hear a thud that intensifies and announces my destination: the Tuilières dam. I’m impressed by its size.
I walk down to a canal near this structure and I see a succession of lock gates. It forms a symmetrical sequence. I then approach the site and discovered that the dam is managed by the French public electricity provider. It’s free to visit, but I don’t have enough time and, in any case, I’m not interested.
I prefer to admire the locks in the canal. An information board at the edge of it says that it was dug in the mid-19th century and pays tribute to the workers – around a hundred died during its construction. It’s a shame that the canal is no longer used today, given the effort required to build it. I picture the horse-drawn boats.
On this towpath, I see a square shape rising out of the long expanse of water. It reminds me of a boat park. Another sign tells me how this dry dock worked. Boats in need of repair would land themselves at the bottom of the dock, in which I notice wooden beams, when the water emptied. This ingenious system, using only the force of the water, fascinates me.
Then I decide to go back up near the ‘fish lift’, the system of locks I saw on the way in. I walk along the grass-covered slope down to the river. It reminds me of patience, as it used to take a boat several hours to get through the locks, which extend over several dozen metres. Way different from the fast Amazon delivery of our time. I can hear the sound of falling water on the lower level, in the canal. Old bricks and stones form the edges of the structure.
A blonde stone bridge marks the end of the canal. I get a thrill as I cross it, admiring the river water flowing beneath.
Back in Bergerac, now the sunshine, I go to the tourist office on the quayside. I want to take a walking tour of the town to see its attractions and places of interest. A member of staff shows me a QR code that links to a website showing a route through the town centre that takes past the main attractions. Perfect! But first, I’m going to eat.
After 10 minutes looking for a restaurant in the narrow streets, I spot Aux Cèpes enchantés. I’m immediately drawn to the place by its name and its shady terrace.
As a light rain falls, I sit down outside. The words “canard” (duck, a very popular meat in Dordogne) and “cèpes” (a mushroom typical for the region) abound on the menu. I choose a confit de canard with cèpes served with a cèpes sauce, accompanied by a glass of Bergerac red wine.
After finishing my hearty and delicious meal, I set off on the tour, which starts at the Quai Cyrano and runs through the centre of the little town. The guide tells me that Bergerac’s most famous person, Cyrano de Bergerac, is real, something I wasn’t sure about. What’s more, he had never set foot here. The man who inspired Edmond Rostand’s novel was originally from Paris. His father settled in the Paris region, on a property named Bergerac, in memory of a battle that took place there in the 14th century. I think that the town takes advantage of this link to attract and fascinate tourists.
Walking through the narrow streets and seeing buildings dating back to the middle age that are still inhabited, I’m amazed. Living in a historic house must create a solemn impression. What’s more, those who live in the small flats in front of me must feel like they’re in a museum. And as usual, I’m impressed by a building that was built by men centuries ago. It reminds me of the 2000-year-old stones in Israel.
Next, I head for the station, in the direction of Sarlat. I’m getting tired. It must be the after-effects of getting up at 6.30 am.
Diving into Périgord Noir by bike
When I got off the train, I join the green trail of Sarlat. It follows the route of an old railway line until the village of Cazoulès.
On the green trail of Sarlat: “the most beautiful landscape in the world”
On the tarmac road, I admire the golden wheat fields and rows of odd-shaped trees. These must be walnut trees, as they are typical of the Périgord region. They are small and have few branches. These emerge from the trunk at a height of around 1 metre to form a green mass.
The green trail passes through two villages close to the Dordogne river: Calviac and Rouffillac. I don’t stop there. On the contrary, I accelerate for about 200 metres, pushing my thighs. I focus on my legs while relaxing my upper body. My heartbeat quickened.
I see a shadow formed by a tree on the track. That will be my finish line.
I put all my energy into increasing my speed, before easing off when I reach the shadow. This exercise builds muscle in the thighs and calves, which helps prevent injury.
After about thirty minutes, I see a small single-storey building on my left. I stop out of curiosity and read the inscriptions. It’s the old Carlux station, which now houses a place dedicated to the French photographer Robert Doisneau. Its presence here surprises me.
On the facade, black and white photos show people posing in front of the station. They seem to be waiting for a train. On another, I see young people in canoes raising their arms and smiling.
Inside, a friendly woman at the reception desk tells me that the museum will be closing soon. I’ll take the time to visit it tomorrow. For the moment, I need to find somewhere to sleep:
– “Do you know where I could pitch my tent tonight in the area?
– No, I don’t, but you’ll find somewhere. Stay close to the green trail.”
On my way to my bike, I notice a café terrace on the other side of the old station. I will have breakfast here tomorrow morning.
After passing the village of Peyrillac, I start looking for somewhere to sleep. The fields along the green trail would be ideal if they weren’t exposed to the view of anyone who might be passing by.
At a crossroads, I turn right and join a dirt track. The dust settles. As I drive along, I look at the surroundings. The areas around the path are too densely vegetated to pitch a tent.
Suddenly, the Dordogne river appears. At the end of the path, I reach the river. No houses are visible. I hear fishermen, but don’t see them. I walk along the river to find a suitable spot. It must be out of sight and easy to get to.
I notice a small path leading to a tiny beach overlooking the water. A sublime stone railway bridge is just a few metres away. I settle down off the path. The tranquil river and lush green vegetation form a gorgeous setting.
I eat by the river while admiring the sunset. Looking on Google Maps to see where I am, I notice that the border with the département Lot is close by.
When I wake up the next day, I hear the birds singing and frogs croaking. Or is it toads?
From time to time I hear the sound of diving. It’s fish leaping out of the river. I marvel at this symphony and feel immersed in a natural cocoon. What’s more, I hear words that seem to be coming from the river. They must be fishermen.
Since it’s too early to get up and I’m feeling tired, I go back to sleep. When I wake up again, it’s 9.30 am. A grey sky greets me as I leave the tent.
The minutes I spend on the green trail until the café seem long, as I’m not used to making any physical effort without first eating my breakfast. When I arrive at the terrace, I’m surprised to see that it’s empty. The place is well laid out, however, so that it’s protected from the sight and sound of passing cars on the road behind the station. Plus, the surroundings, with the Dordogne river flowing by surrounded by majestic rock faces and covered in lush green trees, are attractive. The weather must explain the lack of visitors this morning.
In the first room of “La Gare: Robert Doisneau”, I hear the sound of a documentary film. I see the photographer in black and white images. What do I know about him? That he lived in the 20th century and that he took many black and white pictures of people in Paris. The exhibition will help you to understand why he chose this place, right in the middle of the Périgord Noir. He spent his first paid holiday in 1937 in the Dordogne and the Lot. The previous year, a law allowed paid leave to every employee as standard.
The photographer confided that he found these landscapes to be the most beautiful in the world. At the time, there were no means of travelling far, which gave a different perspective on the world. In other words, I think that nowadays, we have more elements of comparison before describing a place as “the most beautiful place in the world.” But that doesn’t mean you can’t prefer a little corner of nature in your home region to a tourist site on the other side of the earth.
The small room is well laid out and I appreciate that there is not a lot of content to read. The black and white photographs show Doisneau’s friends canoeing on the Dordogne river. In an enlarged one, I can see young people posing in graceful boats. They are all smiling and raising their arms, paddles in hand. I put myself in the photographer’s shoes. He must have heard the shouts of joy from the paddlers. The natural setting visible in the photos, which is where I am today, probably hasn’t changed much. Were the photos taken for professional purposes? It’s unlikely.
The room upstairs is dedicated to the daily lives of the people who lived in the region when Robert Doisneau stayed here. The faces and clothes of the people immortalised in his photographs fascinate me. They remind me of a carefree time and place. Suddenly, I notice a picture of huge baskets full of plums lying on the ground. It’s the market square in a local village in the 1930s. Further on, a shot shows a woman sitting on a stool, force-feeding a goose. She appears to be filling a funnel fitted with a grinder with grain.
Suddenly, I see a digital photo development workshop. I practise this technique by placing virtual negatives in successive baths.
This building must have been recently converted into a museum. I’m delighted by this surprise along the way, which is why cycling is such an ideal way to discover a region. In other words, I find that on long bike journeys, the likelihood of discovering cultural or historical attractions is high. Grateful to the people who made it possible to create this place on the green track, I set off again.
Périgord Noir by bike, from Sarlat to Terrasson-Lavilledieu
This is my first visit to the famous medieval village of Sarlat, the capital of the Périgord Noir. So I need to be guided to find out where the places of interest are.
At the tourist office, I buy a leaflet showing a walking tour of the old part of the town. I get out and push my bike along the busy streets. A few metres further on, I reach the Place du Peyrou. It’s a lively place with restaurants and cafés.
Saint-Sacerdos cathedral is the first stop. When I step inside, the pentagonal shape of the choir surprises me. However, I’m not interested in visiting the cathedral. I leave through a side door, which opens onto a garden away from the hustle and bustle. The leaflet tells me about the history of the place. That’s what interests me most. With my eyes on the texts, I learn that this was the first cemetery in Sarlat, in the middle age. As I walk along, I notice tombstones lying on the grass all around me, bearing the marks of the centuries. At the top of a hill, I enjoy the view of the cathedral, before taking the path back to the square.
The setting reminds me that in the middle age, religion was very much a part of people’s lives. On my route through the old town of Sarlat, I see one monument after another from this period. Most of them are located in narrow streets. I’m surprised to see such well-preserved buildings. Did you know that its conservation area has the highest density of protected buildings in the world?
One of the stops on the route is a medieval town house that has been converted into low-cost housing. I note that the premises have the same function as they did in the past. Not everything can be turned into a museum.
Next, I stop off at the goose market square. 3 statues represent this animal. I like the place because it’s more intimate than the first square I saw. I sit down on a low stone wall and eat my picnic while admiring this sublime old setting.
After this half-day of cultural visits, I’m intellectually tired. I enjoy reading the historical explanations of each site, but I’m losing concentration. What’s more, the effort of cycling is causing fatigue.
To recharge my phone before leaving, I sit down at a café terrace in the main square. While my battery recharges inside, I hear a British accent. Since my arrival, I’ve been impressed by the number of English tourists I’ve come across. They have a reputation for loving the Dordogne, but I never thought I’d see so many. Why do they come to the region? The greenery must remind them of home, but in my opinion, when you travel, you enjoy seeing landscapes that are different from where you live. There are historical links between England and the South West of France, which was under English rule for 3 centuries. But they can’t explain the attraction that the British have shown for the Dordogne over the last few decades.
Leaving Sarlat, I set off on the Flow Vélo, a 400 km-bike route leading to the Ile d’Aix, in Charente-Maritime. The first stage is roughly the same as the route I plan to take this afternoon to Terrasson-Lavilledieu.
I reach the hospital in Sarlat and, in the middle of a hill, I seem to have taken a wrong turn. Yet I’d just passed a sign bearing the Flow Vélo logo. I turn around. What a great start!
Following the route suggested by Google Maps, I drive along a road that passes through the middle of the hospital centre, but I don’t see any Flow Vélo signs. As a result, I end up back in front of the last sign I saw. Going round in circles wastes time and annoys me. I can’t miss my train. Then a solution occurs to me: I look at the itinerary on the official website of the bike route. I stop, grab my smartphone and open their map. Everything becomes clearer: with relief, I found the route to follow.
It starts to climb as you leave the town. Fortunately, there are very few cars and I can zigzag to reduce my incline. My legs are aching and sweat is pouring down my back. Plus, the road is forming a bend in front of me, so I’m not sure how far the climb will continue.
The trekking bike s harder to get going on hills than my old gravel bike. That’s one of the drawbacks of this type of bike. In a moment of great effort, I think about getting down on the ground. This thought quickly goes out of my head as I feel able to keep pedalling.
Suddenly, I see the road flattening out. The landscape changes too. I’m still on a tarmac road, but this time I’m riding past fields and green areas. The Flow Vélo signs reassure me, like the pebbles of Hop-O’-My-Thumb. If I take the wrong route, I could miss my train. That’s why I check the map on my smartphone from time to time.
And yet, I suddenly notice that I’ve been driving on the wrong road for 5 minutes. How could I have made a mistake when I was following the route? Did I miss a Flow Vélo sign at a junction? No time to think. I’ve got to pick up the pace and get back to the bicycle route as quickly as possible, a little further on.
As soon as a descent is in sight, I shift up a gear. My bike, stable and powerful, accelerates.
It’s a relief to see the Flow Vélo signs again. Then I reach a dirt track. No-one in sight. I marvel at the golden fields all around me. I prefer this setting to the hilly, green areas I’ve just driven through. This attraction to barren, even desert-like, spaces goes back a long way. It reminds me of my trip to the Alpujarras and Sierra Nevada 2 years ago.
My bike jolts over the stones. Suddenly, my wheel hits a stone. I feel a jolt in my hand and change course. I manage to straighten the handlebars, but I have to slow down to avoid falling. I concentrate on my gear changes and my legs, to move forward as quickly as possible without falling.
Then I reach a path that slopes upwards and is covered in large stones. It looks more like a hiking trail than a bike path. Without a mountain bike, it seems impossible to climb. I look at the Flow Vélo map: once again, I’ve taken the wrong route even though I took my time at junctions so as not to miss the markings.
Google Maps tells me that I’m 6 km away from Terrasson-Lavilledieu and that the path in front of me leads to my goal. It would take me too long to retrace my steps. I decide to take this technical route. However, I know that anyway I’ll arrive at the station too late. Off we go!
I get out of the saddle and push my bike, which jolts under the stones. Suddenly, I see my floor mat rolling down the slope behind me. I run after it. I have to buy a new tensioner because the current one is torn and so it’s not holding my floor mat firmly enough on my luggage rack.
Progress is slow. My only hope is that the train will be late. And then, when I reach Terrasson-Lavilledieu, I’m driving as fast as I can. A long straight stretch, which seems endless, leads to the station.
On the platform of the small station, I learn that my train to Périgueux left 10 minutes ago. I’m overwhelmed with disappointment, but I know I’ll find a way to get back to Bordeaux. The question is: when?
An unexpected stay in Périgueux
I have two options: take the last regional train to Périgueux and then hope there’s a train left to Bordeaux, or book a bus. The latter seems preferable, as Flixbus has a connection between the two cities late in the evening. The problem is that you can’t take your bike on the bus. You’ll probably have to spend the night in Périgueux. On a positive note, I tell myself that I’m in good health. That’s the most important thing.
After waiting for 1 hour, I get onboard. On arrival, I learn that the next trains to Bordeaux leave very early tomorrow. I go to the station’s passenger rest area to recharge my mobile and take stock. If I sleep here, I risk a bad night. It’s better to pitch my tent away from the city. Should I book a hotel room? No, I want to avoid another expense after having to buy two extra train tickets.
Eyes on my smartphone, I leave the station, where I plan to be back at around 7 am. I’ve decided not to leave too early on Monday morning to get enough sleep, as I’ve got a day’s work ahead of me. On Google Maps, I notice an area that looks rural. I pass a large field covered in tall grass. In the middle, a path leads to a house. I decide to stop at the side of the road to eat, because I can’t take any good decisions when I’m hungry.
Suddenly, I see a man walking his dog approaching.
- Do you know where I can pitch my tent for the night in the area?
- I think you can go anywhere you like. At the bottom of this field for example, hidden behind the forest. In any case, that’s what I’d do. Apart from the wild boar, there’s not much risk. Nobody’s going to come and bother you!
– “Do you know where I can pitch my tent for the night in the area?
– I think you can just go anywhere you like. At the bottom of this field for example, hidden behind the forest. In any case, that’s what I’d do. Apart from the wild boar, there’s not much risk. Nobody’s going to come and bother you!”
This exchange reassures me. Let me explain: I’m in a state of stress and getting help from a friendly local gives me back my self-confidence.
The sun is setting. I hurry down the path. The view of the rural setting is magnificent. It’s amazing to see this rural landscape just 15 minutes from the city centre.
At the entrance to the forest, I settle down. Here, it’s impossible to see me from the road. I hang my bag of food about 20 meters from my tent, on a branch, so as not to attract wild boar. Like always when camping, animal noises resonate. Birds singing, small mammals and, in the distance, howling.
At 3 am, other sounds wake me up: the rain is falling on my tent. They are low first, then intensify and accelerate. It’s impossible to sleep. Suddenly, I feel drops of water on my face. I have to get out to avoid getting soaked. So I decide to go to the station, 2 hours earlier than planned. As soon as I get out of the tent, I realise how heavy the rain is. In the darkness, it’s hard to see where my stuff is. In the deluge, I fetch the bag of food, then hurry to pack up my tent and, after checking that I haven’t left anything on the ground, I cross the tall grassy field. Then, at last, the awakening station welcomes me.
I’m bitter about this mishap. On my next trip, I’ll plan more time before departure so that I arrive at the station on time.
