The Art of Wandering in France

A week in Saint-Antonin-Noble-Val, small towns nearby, and why the best travel plan is no plan at all

I am a long-time fan of Annie Sargent’s Join Us In France travel podcast. I highly recommend it to anyone interested in France. She likes to focus on the small towns not on everyone’s radar, and I am the same. I like going places not everyone else is going to. In this time of mass tourism, it’s nice to encourage folks to spread the love around. If you LOVE Paris, like so many do, then you’ll love the rest of France too. Annie did an episode on Saint-Antonin-Noble-Val, and I thought to myself, “I’ll go there!” So that’s exactly what I did.

The wandering portion of my small-group walking tour business is a real thing. When people ask me what I do on my repeated long visits to France, I reply, “I just wander around.” I don’t need an itinerary packed with the greatest hits. I just like being in France, no matter where I am. Even when the mundane crops up, my mind goes right to, “But I’m in France!” Hungry? Tired? Lost? “I’m in France!” There’s a joy there that gets me every time.

I like to base myself for at least 4 days, but preferably for a week, in a new-to-me place and find out what’s around. Annie made St. Antonin Noble Val sound like a great small town to visit. She also did episodes on Penne, Bruniquel, and Puycelsi that are near SANV (I don’t want to have to keep typing out that very long name), so right away I knew I would have some great spots to check out to fill my time for a week.

I landed at Toulouse, which has been my go-to airport for some time now. It requires an additional connection in Europe—usually Brussels (which I am not a fan of), or Munich or Frankfurt. The extra connection means I land in Toulouse at noon, which is a more reasonable time to arrive. I can pick up the rental car and drive to my hotel and usually get right into my chosen hotel room (this is always in flux), and to sleep. I sleep until 5–6, and then I’m up like it’s a new day. I wash my face, brush my teeth, and head out to look for dinner. I go to the nearest grocery store and gather provisions to eat in for the night. Then I’m back to sleep around 10 and sleep 12 hours straight. My French grocery store provisions:

The next morning, when I’m all rested up and on France time, I’m ready for what’s next. I headed out of Toulouse and drove slowly through small towns along the way to SANV. The sun was shining, and it was rather warm for the October day it was. Lunchtime found me rather quickly at Bruguières. I passed a busy restaurant that had a lot of outdoor seating and people eating, and I decided to give it a shot. I didn’t plan any of this—I love the adventure.

I was seated right away under the shade, looking at the restaurant in front of me. I ordered a local beer and one of my absolute favorite meals in France—what I call “meat salad.” It had a fancier name, of course, but it escapes me what they called it exactly. In general, it’s called Salade Périgourdine from the Dordogne. Since I wasn’t in the Dordogne, they had chosen their own name, but the elements are: salad greens with tomatoes and vinaigrette topped with foie gras on toast, dried duck breast slivers that I call duck breast prosciutto, duck gésiers (which are confit gizzards), and sometimes duck hearts too, if you’re lucky.

This one was one of the best I’ve ever had. I reveled in my good fortune, and I was so happy to be in my dearly beloved France. We make a good pair.

I went on my way and next found myself in the most beautiful little town, L’Isle-sur-Tarn. I parked and walked around the little square. I mean, wow…

I arrived at my destination and home for the week at Saint-Antonin-Noble-Val. There’s a parking lot at the main entrance to town lined with trees. Even parking lots can be beautiful in France, and this one certainly was.

I drove over the bridge over the Aveyron River into town and drove around the perimeter road a couple of times to get a feel for it. It’s very small—smaller than expected—which isn’t a bad thing.

I found my rental and met the owner there. Online it sounded perfect—it was just on the edge of town with parking nearby, and it had a fabulous view of the rocky cliffs that shroud the surrounding hilltops. However, whew, it was the dirtiest rental I’ve ever seen. The bathtub had dirt rings, the toilets hadn’t been cleaned in a very long time, the beds (not made up yet) showed how filthy the mattress cover was, the shower curtain was molded, there was previously prepared food in the fridge from who knows when—I could go on! I travel with house shoes, thank God; my feet never touched those floors. But I cheered myself up rocking some French stripes I found in a thrift store in Ohio.

I called friends, I complained, and thought about what to do. I didn’t have many options. So I found exactly one cleaner in the house—I didn’t even know what it was—and I went to work. I cleaned everything myself so I could at least feel comfortable and try to sleep on a clean bed. I didn’t clean the floors, though.

I went out to the small Carrefour Contact grocery store across the river to gather supplies for the week ahead. I’m not a confident person by nature—I’m shy and introverted. I’ve grown, though, and after 50 years, giving fewer f*@k’s has been coming naturally. I quite like it. In my early days visiting France solo, I would avoid any time I would have to speak my level of French, which I felt was embarrassing. But now? I love any chance to speak with anyone. Quelle surprise!

I confidently approached the butcher, who was quite cute, and after the requisite “Bonjour,” I asked for a slice of the faux filet en français. He was eyeing me—I wasn’t sure why—but he grabbed the meat and looked at me for confirmation of how thick to slice it. And then he started giggling to himself. Now, the before me would have wanted to run away and hide. But the give-less-f*@k’s me said, “Ha ha ha Monsieur, c’est si drôle! Une Américaine qui parle français avec un accent. Ha ha ha.” He stopped and looked at me with a surprised expression. And with the eyes of a doe, a scrunch of his brow, and a slight shake of his head, he said, “Non, pas du tout, c’est si jolie.” (No, not at all, it’s so pretty.) Umm, huh? What? Lord! I almost fell down right there. I have, for all time, thought an American speaking French must sound like the most crude, rude, obnoxious version ever. But pretty? Said by a cute French butcher to my face? No, I wasn’t expecting that. He asked me where I was from and what it was like. We chatted. I told him I was from Ohio, etc.… and then he surprised me again. He nodded in response and said, “Buckeyes.” The Ohio State football team! I couldn’t believe it. He said he follows American football. He handed over my single faux filet for one with a smile, and I walked off in a state of shock and disbelief—most of which was that I had just had a normal conversation in French.

The next day, I walked around town, which you can do in under an hour. My first and most important stop is: where is the boulangerie? There was only one, and it didn’t blow me away, but I was in France and there was a boulangerie I could walk to. So there’s that. The tourist office was closed, but they had a paper map of the town and a numbered walking tour placed outside. I decided to do just that to get a lay of the land. It was a great way to get acquainted with this tiniest of towns.

The Aveyron River Gorge isn’t too far away, so the next day I walked to it. I didn’t take an actual hike, but a simple walk there and back. There were people paddling down the river, which would be a lot of fun. The gorge is beautiful, and the road runs through it in a tunnel.

I struck up a conversation with a lovely man walking his dog. He was English but had worked for an American company. He showed me pictures of the town Najac that he had taken with a drone. He said it was worth a visit. Duly noted. I love traveling solo and meeting people. Being an introvert, it’s just not something I do in my regular life. But solo in France? I’m like, “Hey! I’m Meghan, what’s your name?”

Back in town, I ate outside at a great restaurant that had a view of town across the river. The owner’s dog was making his way table to table with a stick in his mouth and it thrilled me to no end.

I love the acceptance of dogs in France. I am very much a dog lover with my two, Lascaux and Tartine, and my current foster named Heart.

SANV is known for its artist community and its celebrated, much-visited Sunday market. The market didn’t disappoint. I was a kid in a candy store. My eyes are as wide as saucers at any French market, and this one was no different. It was packed, and some sections of the narrow roads were wall-to-wall people. Being October, my favorite cèpes were there, and I bought some, but I prefer hunting them myself if possible.

Aligot was made on site.

I saw the most glorious salad greens I’d ever seen and perfect haricots verts that I dream of in the States. Why can’t Americans commercially grow these perfectly sweet, tender green beans? I’ve tried growing them myself to varying degrees of success.

I bought a package of ready-made sweetbreads in sauce—they are a guilty pleasure I eat whenever they are on offer. They are never on offer in the States.

During my stay, I visited the Abbey Beaulieu-en-Rouergue, which blew me away—it’s so pretty, and the grounds were filled with blooming roses. The only time the monks were allowed to talk was when they were seated in a stone room with stone benches once a week. Talk about self-flagellation.

I went to Penne, Najac, Puycelsi, and Bruniquel. Thanks to Annie Sargent and Join Us In France! I would never have known about Bruniquel, with history so deep it goes back to the Neanderthals. Bruniquel was hands down the best place of all of my visits during this month in France. I can’t wait to write all about it.

Now, the question is… would this week make it onto an itinerary for a small-group walking tour with me, Meghan, and We Wander France? Very possibly so. I didn’t get in too many walks, but they’re there to be found. There are certainly a lot of great places to see that not many people make it to. It’s stunningly beautiful. I would probably run into a lack of housing with it being so small, but it’s worth finding out.

SANV is at the heart of the movie The 100-Foot Journey, starring Helen Mirren, from 2014. I re-watched it the following week when I got to my friend’s house in the Dordogne. It was neat to see the place where I had just been.

If you are interested in traveling in France with me on my Countryside Walks and Storybook Villages Tour, you can find the dates on wewanderfrance.com I’d love to share this dream with you. Don’t forget to follow your dreams! I’m so happy you’re here. Thanks for reading!

P.S. Yes, I’m kicking myself for not following up with Sébastien the butcher… what in the holy hell, Meghan!