TAKE ME TO THE RIVER

Caroline Mills journeys through Périgord in search of one of France’s most popular tourist destinations, the Dordogne

The water surged, forcing its way between the stone pillars of the bridge across the Vézère at Les Eyzies and creating ringlets of bubbles as it made its way downstream.

Riverbanks vanished. Yes, that was an entire tree going past at a sprint, its exposed branches like a tangle of antlers from duelling stags.

I'd hunkered down in my campervan while a storm passed through the valley. I'd listened to the noise of the river beside me in the night - not the soothing sounds that riverside pitches can so often provide, instead, a rather concerning roar.

This was the first time I'd ventured out in more than 24 hours, eager to stretch my legs during a lull in the tempest, with a walk over the bridge.

Close to day's end, the sun erupted behind parting clouds and nature's angry outburst was forgotten.

To tourists, the Dordogne is an area of France. To residents, it's a river - one of many within an administrative département of the same name, otherwise known as the Périgord.

That can be divided by colour: Périgord Noir in the south-east of the département, known for its dense holm oak forests and truffle hunting; Périgord Pourpre to the south-west, named for its grapes and vineyards; Périgord Blanc, a central zone distinguished by its chalky white stone; and Périgord Vert, the least-known of the quartet, which was where I began my tour.

Verdant woodland

Périgord Vert is, as its name implies, green and lush, thanks to the oak and chestnut forests of the Parc Naturel Régional Périgord-Limousin.

Mist and the sound of bells from the little church at Saint-Pierre-de-Frugie seeped through the woods as I enjoyed an early morning stroll from the village. Historically, feuillardiers worked in these woods, handcrafting barrels from chestnut. A sculpture in the village honours their work.