Getting away from it all is surely the idea behind every holiday, yet as I drive through undulating countryside towards the village of Salers in France’s Massif Central, I wonder whether I’ve ever felt quite so away from everything.
This is the appeal of the Cantal, the rural heartland of the Auvergne-Rhône-Alpes region, in which the Massif Central is nestled. If you continue east from the Dordogne and Lot, you’ll discover a land of volcanic peaks, hot springs and welcoming auberges in one of France’s least populated departments. And, as I learn, it makes for a refreshingly different destination for a springtime road trip. The snow lingers on those peaks until early April, but I’m here in early May and the meadows abound in an extraordinary display of wildflowers, such as arnica, narcissi, orchids and myriad other species that thrive in that volcanic soil. The landscape is one of the most richly biodiverse in Europe.
The flavours of this land transfer into the local cheeses, too, for it is on these meadows that the capricious Salers cows graze and are then milked for Salers Tradition cheese (the cows will only yield milk if their calves are present). The semi-hard cheese is thought to date from the second century and is one of France’s rarest, with fewer than 10 producers left.
The villages around here are picture-postcard pretty – Anglards-de-Salers, tiny Saint-Bonnet-de-Salers and Salers itself – a rambling series of grey stone buildings with cows grazing in the fields around it, jangles of cowbells carrying on the breeze. All is quiet but for a few hikers tramping through the central square, though it isn’t long before my wandering leads me to the heart of the action at Le P’tit Comptoir, a wine and cheese bar where diners feast on huge boards of local charcuterie and cheese, and quaff bottles of wine. Madame gives me a table and I tuck into a small platter, postponing a glass of wine until later when I reach my destination, Pailherols, an hour and a half away.
The afternoon’s route takes me over one of the Cantal’s most vertiginous peaks, Puy Mary, but first I stop just outside Salers to stand in the afternoon sun and take in the heart-soaring view of the glacial valley. It cradles farms and hedgerows, overlooked by craggy peaks on the horizon whose shadows creep gently downward, swallowing hamlets into their darkness. Below me on the hillside are two burons, small stone huts that are a local feature. They were built by cowherds who, while their cows grazed on the higher pastures, would reside in them each summer, making cheese and surviving on the local speciality la truffade, an unctuous concoction of stringy tomme cheese and sliced potatoes – a hearty and sustaining dish for those working this rugged land.
From there, the route winds up and up with the triangular form of Puy Mary ahead of me, its rust-coloured slopes dotted with the remnants of snow. The narrow road skirts around it, with a steep drop to my right. It gives me palpitations, but the views are worth it; the route continues across more valleys and peaks, and my knuckles are white from the careful steering, until I eventually arrive at Pailherols just after dark.
In winter, this village of 152 inhabitants is a cross-country skiing hub, but in spring it brings the hikers and road-trippers who check into the cosy Auberge des Montagnes and its sister hotel, Chez Marie. The owners, Vincent and Marie, welcome me like a long-lost friend, and soon I’m seated in the wooden-beamed dining room primed for Marie’s menu of locally reared, honey-roasted pork and blond lentils from the commune of Saint-Flour. “Just wait till you see the view in the morning,” says the ebullient Vincent as he pours me a glass of volcanic wine. “Your room looks out over a small lake and it is wonderful.”
The next morning is bright and sunny, and the view over the lake is indeed superb, but even better is the vista as I drive away from the village. I’m stopped in my tracks by the sight of vast meadows carpeted with yellow dandelions and cowslips. There isn’t a cloud in the blue sky, and the only building I can see for miles around is a buron; a pertinent reminder of when people’s lives revolved entirely round the summer transhumance and making cheese.
It’s just half an hour to the charming town of Pierrefort, where newly flowering wisteria creeps across its grey-stone houses, and the central square boasts a volcanic stone statue of a horned Aubrac bull – the breed that produces beef and milk for Laguiole cheese, which was also made in the burons. The locals are so proud of these bulls (which they say “wear eye makeup” owing to the white fur around their eyes) that in the early April festival La Fête des Tersons the animals are paraded through the town, and there is food, music and entertainment. The restaurant at the Hôtel du Midi has the best menu in town, thanks to chef Gilles Charbonnel, who runs the place with his two sisters. My dish of tender beef with artichoke and potatoes is superb – filling and hearty, but with a flourish of sophistication.
If Charbonnel is spoiled for local produce for his menus, so too is Aurélien Gransagne, chef at Hôtel Sodade and Serge Vieira restaurant, which has two Michelin stars, both in Chaudes-Aigues, a further 30 minutes south. Yet, the food isn’t the only appeal of this small town on the edge of the Aubrac plateau – it’s also where you find Europe’s hottest springs. Although the volcanic peaks are far behind me, their 11m-year legacy still bubbles beneath the landscape and surfaces in 32 springs across town.
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The easiest to find are those at the Source du Par, which I discover via an archway off the main street that leads into the market square. At the side of the pavement, La Fontaine de la Place au Beurre is a modest tap that dribbles water at 65C (150F) into a stone trough. I dangle my fingers into the steaming water and am reminded that for full immersion the Caleden thermo spa with its jets, pools and spa treatments is only five minutes away.
My curiosity leads me further up the lane to find the other spring, this one a scorching 82C (180F) and sputtering from a spout in the wall into a drain, emitting a slightly sulphurous whiff.
The closing time for the nearby Geothermia museum of geothermal energy and thermalism (therapeutic use of hot springs) is approaching, so instead I follow a trail that explains, via information boards, points of interest relating to the town’s history and how it has harnessed this volcanic warmth. In Place Pierre Vialard, I learn how, from 1332 onwards, the houses were built so they could harness the geothermal heat and in so doing created one of Europe’s first central heating systems with about three miles of pipes made from pine.
Before dinner, I drive up the hill above the town to see it from the extraordinary setting of the Serge Vieira restaurant, built around the ruined tower of the Chateau de Couffour. The restaurant is closed until late May, but the view from its grounds is worth the detour as the landscape really opens up – with Chaudes-Aigues tucked in the valley below and the Cantal landscape coming alive with trees laden with bright white and pink blossoms.
I head back down to Hotel Sodade, where I’m spending the night, and get to taste chef Gransagne’s refined dishes – steamed asparagus with mousseline and poached egg, followed by tender pork, fennel puree and confit carrots. When I spot a side of la truffade on the menu, I can’t resist ordering it; my chance to discover – having seen the burons and the flowers of this curious volcanic landscape – a dish that has been served here for centuries.
The trip was provided by Cantal Tourism; for more information see auvergne-destination.com. Amuse Bouche: How to Eat Your Way Around France by Carolyn Boyd is published by Profile (£18.99). To support the Guardian and the Observer order your copy at guardianbookshop.com
