Where have all the Brits gone? How I had the Dordogne all to myself

Kayaking on France's loveliest river is a delight in early autumn, says Amelia Hill. Best of all, there's still plenty of availability in September
Chateau de la Treyne
The riverside facade of Chateau de la Treyne, on, the banks of the Dordogne. Photograph: Michael Busselle/Corbis

Serious kayakers would probably think it a poor show to place the paddle on one's lap and lean backwards with eyes closed, letting the current take you where it will. They might also be moved to a sharp intake of breath on observing a kayaker gently twisting downriver - often backwards and occasionally bumping into the riverbank - so slowly as to be overtaken by leaves bobbing in the gentle swell.

But having spent a week drifting down the Dordogne with such a complete lack of intent that dragonflies mistook my boat for an inanimate object and used it as a mid-river resting point, I can state that such fecklessness is one of the best ways to approach the sport.

I don't use the word idyllic lightly, but floating down the Dordogne in the absolute solitude that descends on the river in mid-September, comes close. And that's before adding the silence in which we spent our days - a peace broken only by birdsong, the occasional hunting horn and the lowing of cattle as they splashed their muddy fetlocks by the riverbank - or the exhilaration of clambering out of the kayaks to swim in water so icy that it set every nerve in our bodies tingling.

Then there was the joy of an unexpected, golden Indian summer, the iridescent flicker of kingfishers and the bobbing flight of goldfinches as they crossed the river, or the lunchtimes spent in ramshackle riverbank cafes which served food of a quality any London restaurant would be rightly proud of.

My friend summed it up perfectly one day, when I halfheartedly suggested that perhaps we might try actually paddling. "No," he replied. "I don't want to take a stroke because I don't want to shorten this experience or lose a single second of it." He was right.

The holiday looked so simple on paper: an eight-day journey down the Dordogne, from Souillac to Sarlat. Holidaymakers spend every other day on the water, kayaking - or canoeing - for between four and five hours. The "rest day" is spent walking, cycling, swimming or simply lazing around.

I'm more comfortable with independent travel, and the concept of an organised holiday initially raised my hackles. But this was organisation with the lightest of touches. We flew into Toulouse and found our own way to Souillac by train, where we were picked up at the station and taken to our first hotel. There we were given a skilful but simple introduction to the single-seat kayak and double-seat canoe, plus a map of the river and a list of hotels in which we would sleep and eat, and bidden a friendly farewell.

Every other day, our bags and bikes would magically disappear from one hotel and reappear at the next. Eight days later, we were picked up and returned to the train station. Other than that, it was left entirely up to us how we chose to get from one base to the next. There were two other couples following the same itinerary, one of which took a similarly relaxed approach to us. Each morning they would hoick a fresh crate of beer into their double-seater canoe; each evening they rolled up to dinner, looking extremely content.

Choosing to travel at the tipping point of autumn was a gamble. Fortunately, it paid off: every morning had a chilly autumnal bite to it, with lashings of Keatsian beauty - all mists and maturing sun. By mid-morning, however - about the time we began thinking of heading down to the river - the weather reliably morphed into a perfect summer's day. Had we hit a more uncharitable weather vein, however, the charm of messing around in boats and soaking ourselves with icy river water would have been considerably less.

But travelling earlier in the year carries risks of its own. We spent days awed by the sheer solitude and silence of the river. Apart from the shrieks of the occasional small child living out the last moments of a Swallows and Amazons summer or an old woman contentedly knitting on a stool on the riverbank, we often didn't see another soul.

In comparison, over two million tourists descend on the area at the height of summer. At these times, the river traffic is so heavy that canoes and kayaks have to stagger their journeys to avoid watery gridlock. The two other couples on our tour could be as many as 15 in high season.

Over one of many wonderful dinners, I tried to conjure up the profile of someone for whom this holiday wouldn't be the acme of relaxation. As we've established, it's perfect for the less energetic holidaymaker. It is, however, also suitable for the more high-powered: one couple, apparently, recently used the kayaking as a warm-up to their day's activity, completing the four-hour river journey in two hours flat, before striking out for long hikes.

In addition, young children would be ecstatic at the sense of risk the holiday offers, while parents would enjoy the lack of any real danger. Groups of friends and couples would love the freedom and loose structure to the week. It is only single travellers who might find the holiday less than perfect. Even in busy mid-season, it is not a trip that yields many opportunities for the sort of unstructured socialising that leads to new friendships.

Those wanting a luxurious experience might also be discontented: the hotels are chosen more for their location and the quality of their menus than for five-star comfort or the beauty of the rooms. Shower heads sometimes failed to work. Some rooms lacked hairdryers and one was "en suite" only by virtue of the Portakabin-like bathroom jammed into the corner of each bedroom. But this is nit-picking. Such minor discomforts are a small price to pay for those halcyon days spent drifting through the Perigord Noir (the easterly part of the Dordogne region) passing high gorges, tall poplar trees rising from the river, and medieval chateaux and clifftop hamlets set in lush, rolling countryside.

And they are an almost negligible price to pay for the days spent walking and cycling in Sarlat, Carennac, Fénelon, Saint-Sozy and Souillac, with its fantastical and fascinating Musée de L'Automate, a collection of automatons and mechanical toys from the 19th-century workshop of Roullet-Decamps.

These were days spent striding and cycling across mountaintops and heavily wooded valleys, lunching on blackberries, figs and apples picked straight from the trees.

They were days spent strolling in warm, honeystone labyrinths of medieval streets - passages and stairways leading to unexpected squares, each one lovelier than the last, and restored and maintained as if put up the day before yesterday. They were, in short, extremely happy days.


Headwater (01606 720199; headwater.com) still has availability on its Canoeing on the Dordogne trips next month. The eight-night trip costs from £899 half-board, including equipment hire and transfers, including baggage transfer between hotels, or from £949 including flights to Toulouse. Departures run every two days until 24 September.