Mountainous, marvellous and magical

FIRST impressions of the Ardche are a twisting road, precipices on one side and log-carrying articulated lorries revving in the rear mirror.

Plateau pastures festooned with flowers and herbs. From May onwards sweet- smelling stunted broome everywhere.

In Lalevade the local syndicat d'initiative found us a gite in Montpezat which was a few miles as crows fly, but roads in these parts are rarely as direct as crows.

We were welcomed by Monsieur and Madame Chomiac, aperitifs ready.

Monsieur Chomiac's uncle had written a history of the village, and he lent us a copy for the week, together with three sketch maps of suggested walks. "Remember," said Monsieur Chomiac, pointing out through the window as I drained my third glass of Pastis, "if ever you get lost on that mountain, follow those pylons down to the trees."

Our gite had a chestnut tree shading the door. The chestnut is part of life in the Haute Cvennes. They are roasted, stewed, fed to pigs, and the wood used to make everything from cradles to coffins, furniture to houses, baskets to carts.

The hollowed trees hid persecuted Protestants between 1702 and 1704, and Resistance fighters between 1940 and 1945. These woods, with their maze of muleteer paths, are a haven.

Montpezat has a fine ancient Romanesque church, and from there, up through the trees to the mountain, was one of the recommended (six-kilometre) walks. En route is Les Plantades, a compact hamlet, its houses linked by Roman arches. Stop a moment to enjoy the view, suggested the sketch map. I was more concerned about which way next.

Luckily a woman appeared. "Straight under that arch and follow the path," she said. Alongside a vineyard, scramble up a stony path, across a stream, and I was out of the woods and on the mountain. The paths kept splitting and I tried to make sense of them.

Turn left by the grange, said the map. I came to an abandoned farm, but was it the grange? Somewhere to my left was the valley I wanted to get back to. But there was a mountain between me and safety, and all paths and valleys flowed in the opposite direction.

Far above I saw what looked like a farm track contouring the mountainside. I scrambled up the scree, through heather and ferns, and got to an un-used track. It was a relief to be on level ground. A mile ahead of me I could see electricity pylons and I remembered the words of our host.

A fence across the track had a sign declaring that the land was the private property of EDF (Electricit de France). I ignored it. I came over the ridge and could now see the tiny village of Montpezat in deep shadow far below.

Scrambling from pylon to pylon brought me back to the forest. I found the lane and arrived at the gite as it got dark.

We saw a poster advertising a fete at Nieigles on Whit Monday, and went hoping to see people in folksy dress. But everyone was soberly dressed for mass. Then a magnificent gilded black Madonna was carried into the church.

A number of these black Madonnas are found in the Auvergne and the Cvennes. The story is that (Saint) Louis IX was captured in Egypt while on a crusade. The sultan, as was usual at the time, let him wander freely while awaiting the ransom, and in one of the temples he saw what he assumed to be a statue of a black Madonna and Child.

When the ransom arrived, the Sultan offered Louis any gift he chose to take with him. He chose the statue, and took it home, where several copies were made of it.

Where the road joins the main road through the Ardche are the ruins of a large castle, Chateau de Ventadour. And on the other side of the road there's an excellent campsite, Camping de Ventadour.

It is a great site with excellent facilities in an area with beautiful bridges and excellent museums, such as the silk mill at Chirols.

From Aubenas to the Rhone, the Ardche gorge is infested with canoes, but away from the river there are lots of old towns and vineyards to visit, and some incredible underground caverns.