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Some places take you by surprise. Or feel familiar when they’re not. Auvergne-Rhône-Alpes catches you that way, without warning.
In the Auvergne volcanoes, silence takes over everything. The air feels sharper. At times, the wind almost carries echoes of what’s long gone. Around Lake Annecy, the mountains sink into the water, quiet, outlines so crisp they hardly seem real.
Lyon shifts the rhythm. A passageway, a courtyard, a dish still steaming... and then the traboules. You wander almost aimlessly, along old walls. And then Fourvière, up above. A view that spills over the horizon.
A few bends further on, the mood changes. In Pérouges, time tilts. Cobbled streets still creak with the past. Nothing hurries here.
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Caught between the Dore Mountains and the Cantal Mountains, the Cézallier stretches out in vast open spaces as far as the eye can see. You feel alone there, but free. This harsh land, almost deserted in places, recalls the steppes of Mongolia.
In summer, the meadows are covered with wildflowers, and the burons, sometimes still in use, dot the horizon. In winter, the wind sweeps everything clean, leaving behind a bare landscape made for solitary walkers.
Along the road, you pass peat bogs like those of Jolan or La Godivelle. Further on, the rivers Sianne and Allanche carve out quiet valleys. And between these ridges, a striking silence, almost mineral. It’s a land of slanting light and unhurried herds.
Just steps from Besse-et-Saint-Anastaise, Lake Pavin rests in its crater. Its dark waters stand in contrast with the light on the peaks. Deep blue or nearly black depending on the sky, they intrigue and captivate.
Local legends speak of mysterious depths and sunken villages. In the morning, a light mist can cover the water, giving the landscape a suspended air. When the sun breaks through, every reflection sharpens.
A loop trail follows the shoreline, easy and calming. You linger to listen to the birds, breathe in the pines, or simply absorb the atmosphere. Fishermen and canoeists cross paths here. And for the curious, the basalt flows of nearby Montchal are well worth the effort.
In the Allier, the Tronçais forest stretches out like an ancient green dream. Here grow some of the oldest oaks in Europe, once shaped for the royal navy.
With the seasons, the colors change dramatically: translucent young leaves in spring, deep shade in summer, a rain of golden foliage in autumn. In winter, bare branches let a gentle light filter across the paths.
Trails wind between ponds, clearings, and old trunks twisted by time. You’ll come across the Stebbing oak, close to four centuries old. On foot, by bike, or on horseback, the forest invites you to slow down. You might hear the black woodpecker, see a deer dart away, and then silence takes over again.
As you approach Tournemire, the Château d’Anjony dominates the landscape. Imposing and intact, it watches over the village like a lord from another age. Round towers, dark walls, battlements… a striking sight.
Through the seasons, the light shifts the color of the stone, while the surrounding hills take on softer or deeper shades. Misty mornings add a touch of mystery, as if the village were still hesitating to reveal itself.
In the flowered lanes, stone houses appear, some with slate roofs. The place has soul. You wander without hurry, searching for forgotten details—a carved lintel, an old doorway. It’s the history of Cantal you sense here, quiet and dignified.
The Puy de Sancy hasn’t held fire for a long time, but it remains alive in memory. Rising above 1,800 meters, it’s the highest peak of the Massif Central—a landmark, a goal for hikers.
In spring, snow patches still cling to the slopes while alpine flowers push through the rocks. Autumn brings warm tones that highlight the ridges. In winter, snow nearly erases the trails, and the wind gives the summit a wilder face.
Trails climb in switchbacks from the valley floor. For the less daring, a cable car carries you almost to the top. Up there, the horizon opens wide, the ridges ripple into the distance. On clear days, Mont Blanc peeks through. And down in the plains, the Dore and the Dogne are born, flowing together to form the Dordogne. A simple place, yet immense.