We have decided - the Cantal is our favourite part of France. We take an autumn break there every year. As we drive towards La Roussière, we always feel we are coming home.

The house is changing all the time as more work is done to improve the exterior and gardens but Brigitte and Christian remain the same and their welcome is as warm as ever.

Christian is a fully qualified and accredited mountain guide, enviably knowledgable - and very fit!

We had the best weather imaginable for walking in the mountains. With Christian as our leader, we set off in a group of eight. Our aim was to find the wild mouflons (curly-horned sheep) which graze on the highest slopes.

First we drove for lunch to one of the oldest burons in the Cantal. This one is about 500 years old. One of the buildings has recently been furnished as a dormitory for groups of walkers. Formerly, these buildings were used in summer only. Cows were brought to the higher pastures and their milk was made into the famous Cantal cheeses.

 The walls are immensely thick and the roofs are covered with lauzes cut from phonolite, a silica-rich lava.

Inside the main building, constructed from an amazing 90 tons of stone, the ceiling - and the temperature - are very low.

A table had been set for us outside and the meal was ready. The Cantal (and the whole Auvergne region) has a reputation for excellent hearty food. We began with salad and pounti, a dish made from eggs, a little pork, chard leaves and prunes. This was followed by delicious sausages and the famous truffade: potatoes, cheese and garlic cooked together in fat and then fried! Next, some wonderful regional cheeses and, just to boost the flagging cholesterol, a perfect pear tart. Red wine, coffee.

Our walk took us first to a waterfall pouring over huge rocks to the forest and fields below.

For the first hour or so we trekked through the sloping forest, crossing streams by stepping stones (guess who got her feet wet) and over a pretty bridge built around several young trees which form partial support for its planks.

Emerging from the trees, we saw the higher mountain ahead. There were still many dips and rocky slopes to negotiate before we were to reach that open land, hoping all the time to see the mouflons we'd been promised.

Brigitte encouraged us with her pretend antlers but we weren't fooled!

Christian, Grit and Christophe were silhouettes, casually strolling up the steepest parts, as we struggled over the last section. No one spoke. We couldn't risk frightening the animals.

At dusk we saw them! A group of delicate little wild sheep, quietly moving across the mountainside. Hugh took this picture with a powerful zoom lens in poor light.

We didn't get back down the mountain until it was dark. There was more excitement to come when we drove further on by car to listen to stags calling loudly through the forest to other males. The moon was at its brightest and fullest. The stars were out. We had been walking for over four hours.

It was a magical day.

We took a day off this week while the glorious weather still held.

Fargeau is about 90 minutes away from our village by car. This little town is famous for its enormous castle, a Monument Historique. The Château de Saint Fargeau is over 1000 years old in its original parts. In 1653, Anne-Marie Louise d'Orléans, first cousin of King Louis XIV had the exterior walls rebuilt whilst she was in exile here.

The château has been home to many nobles, including our own Henri IV. In 1979 it was in ruins. Then a certain Michel Guyot bought it for 'a few thousand francs' and set about restoring it. I'll tell you more about him tomorrow.
 

This is only part of the 5-sided castle. Standing in the inner courtyard we felt overwhelmed by its splendour. So much roofing to maintain, so many window panes to clean, so much gravel to rake and keep weed free!

Many of these decorative plaques are missing from the walls, due to the ravages of the weather and various wars. Their delicate pink echoes the mellow colour of the brickwork.

The grounds are very plain, in the French style, with huge expanses of lawn on which a flock of white geese can be seen feeding.

The château was always used as a hunting meeting place. In this photograph from the 1930s, the hunt is being blessed on the outer staircase before setting off. There are even little altar boys in white surplices standing with the priest.

Only a short while later, the buildings were taken over by German troops.

As we expected, the interior is imposing, from the marble statue of Diana the Huntress in the entrance hall to the endless panelled corridors. 

A table is laid in a small dining room adjacent to the library. There are views from here across the lake.

There are many examples of ceramics made for the castle, probably in China and likely to be about 400 years old, each with a crown and the letter F.

Visitors are allowed in the vast attics. We walked through timber framework which resembles a forest supporting domes and roofs. It is actually a quite creepy experience since none of it is very well lit - and we were the only ones up there. It is possible to walk all the way round the building's topmost floor in a circular route.

I like the look of this gentleman. Who was he? Was he important or an obscure aristocrat, one of the many who have stayed within these ancient walls?

This intricate door furniture has outlasted them all.

Saint Cornély was Pope from 251-253. He found exile in Brittany where he is known as the patron saint of cattle. He is always shown, as here, accompanied by cows or oxen. A beautiful and unusual church dedicated to him stands in the square at Carnac. Its colourful gilded interior has painted panels and a vaulted ceiling showing the life of the saint. There is an octagonal bell tower and imposing entrance.

We visited the citadel of Port Louis which stands on the estuary of the river Blavet, opposite Lorient. The Spanish began the original building in 1590. Later, the future Napoléon III was imprisoned here. 

We walked into the impressive Powder Magazine, built by Vauban in 1683. Gun powder was stocked inside its thick blast walls. No one was allowed in without wooden clogs for fear of causing an explosion from sparks.

We didn't stay long in the dungeons and underground accommodation. Damp seeps in from the surrounding sea and makes everything dank and gloomy. There are still traces in the chapel of paintings of saints. The bread oven would have been in constant use, serving the hundreds of men on duty here.

The naval museum is fascinating too with its replicas of sailing vessels, its artefacts and paintings. A plaque given to the citizens of France by the grateful citizens of Boston commemorates voyages made by Commodore John Barry on the frigate Alliance in 1781. The Marquis de Lafayette, among others, accompanied him on 'missions of succor for our revolutionary campaign.'

Next, across the courtyard to the Musée de la Compagnie des Indes. During the 17th and 18th centuries, France traded with India, Asia and Africa from the port of Lorient. This beautifully executed model shows how cargo, passengers and crew were packed into one of the Company's vessels.

The museum is holding an exhibition of treasures connected with voyages to India and beyond: Mémoires d'éléphant. The rooms are softly lit to protect the exhibits. There are ivory carvings, of course, porcelain, sumptuous embroidered dresses and wall hangings. Replicas of some of these were on sale in the museum shop.

The maritime museum has an exhibition showing sea rescues made by the voluntary Société Nationale de Sauveteurs en Mer over many years. I am always moved by the heroism of those men who devoted their lives to helping boats and sailors lost at sea.

A shipwrecked person was undressed and rubbed down with a horsehair glove to warm him. He was then wrapped in one of these woollen robes, laid on a bunk and tied down so that he would not be lost overboard if the ship capsized.

There would always be two of these robes on board, one for an adult, one for a child, and they were always very large so that the person would be warmly wrapped up. Such care is very touching. The robes are over 100 years old.

Just outside the walls of the citadel is a memorial to resistance fighters who were brutally executed here in June 1944. Just trying to imagine the horror of that day made me cry.

The plaque above reads: Passers-by - stop to remember that we 69 patriots were shot here in June 1944 by the Nazis.

The islet of Saint Cado, which was once a sardine fishing port, is named for a Welsh 'prince' who came here in the 6th century. The chapel was built in the 11th and 12th centuries and is one of the most curious structures in Brittany (not that I know much about ecclesiastical architecture, just the little I have read on the subject).

The stained glass windows show women in traditional dress and fishermen, watched over by the saint himself.

The site, which includes this calvaire (a roadside cross) outside on the green, is a classified Monument Historique.

In the square at Carnac, a cyclist takes a break. I think he's nodded off.

Waiting for chickens to roast on spits (a familiar sight in markets here in France) this stall keeper follows one of the Rugby World Cup matches on a portable television. We stayed for a while to watch Tonga play Japan. 

Another way to relax. This artist is painting the harbour at Plouharnel. He has everything he needs in one simple piece of folding equipment.

I admire the elegant way this dog owner throws a stick for his beautiful retriever. His muscles are worth a second look too!

What are you thinking of as you watch the waves, Hugh?

How do they do that? A perfect understanding of the behaviour of waves matched with practised balance - not to mention stamina.

Way past his ankles in mud, bent double. He's looking for shellfish, probably cockles.

Still at Plouharnel, near an army firing range, these soldiers look on the point of collapse as they round the path along the sea wall.

Adolphe Delannoy was a life boat captain at Calais. Among his many medals he wears the Légion d'honneur. His photograph was shown with dozens of others in an exhibition in the Citadelle of Port Louis.

Here is one of the region's unsung heroes: a firefighter pulling one of the dinghies which were used in a rescue exercise off the Quiberon coast.

I am quite a reserved person and I love photographing people at a distance. Discreetly.

There are dolmens, menhirs, cairns and stone burial chambers all over Brittany, some in isolated fields, others on estuary beaches or enclosures. The Carnac Alignments are about 6,000 years old and can easily be seen from the road.

These Neolithic standing stones are still a mystery to scientists and archaeologists. Because they are so dramatic and beautiful, they attract thousands of visitors at all times of the year and this classified Heritage Site is now protected by low fences and walls.

There are 1,050 stones on the Ménec section covering 950 metres (1.038 yards) of land. They range in height and stand in carefully placed rows.

Each stone has acquired a character of its own with lichens and natural indentations.

Although it would be fascinating to know how these enormous stones were carried and installed, I like the mystery that surrounds them. It has defeated past generations and will probably never be solved. Just as I prefer not to look at the moon through a telescope, so I enjoy the megaliths for themselves.

In winter, gates in the fences are opened allowing visitors to wander among the stones. I'd like to see them by moonlight. In summer, notices like this ask people not to climb the walls. This allows the vegetation to grow and keeps the site green and beautiful.

A protected site encourages wildlife like this robin perched on one of the highest stones. The little black cat was hunting mice in the long grass.

Another 71 large stones encircle the village of Ménec which was built within the enclosure. One of these, the Ménec Giant, stands 3.5 metres (almost 12 ft) high. That's more than twice as tall as these two smaller ones.

If one theory about the Alignements' origins is correct, the rows could have formed an open processional area leading to the enclosure. In this case, these are  the most ancient preserved temples in the history of mankind!

When the night is warm and the skies are full of stars, no one wants to stay indoors. After a long day in the pottery, we decided that we needed a magical evening in our nearby town of Bourges, capital of the Cher department.

The pavement tables of every restaurant and café were full. Families with very young children, couples like us and groups of friends were dining out. We ate at Le Jardin d'O in the Place Gordaine where pizzas and salads are served without fuss or delay and are truly delicious.

Someone nearby was playing an accordian. There was a light warm breeze and a buzz of conversation - perfection.

During the summer months, Bourges holds its famous Nuits Lumières. As soon as night falls, blue lamps come on to guide you round the ancient streets. Here and there you leave the cobbled pavements and enter subtly lit courtyards where medieval music is playing softly.

My favourite of these is the fabulous Italianate Hôtel Lallement, built 500 years ago. Its rich architectural detail is just as fascinating by night as by day.

We entered by the sloping arched passage which leads to a triple courtyard. The thrill of passing through a space used many centuries ago by the rich and powerful of France (Bourges was once the country's capital) never leaves me.

A projected pageant of painted Bourgeois dancers moves across the old stone walls as lilting music plays. We sat on benches in the dark and imagined ourselves part of the scene.

The Cathédrale Saint-Etienne (unfortunately never without scaffolding somewhere on its facade) drew us uphill.

On certain nights, concerts of organ music are given but last night we could hear loud rock music bouncing off the cathedral's exterior walls. Shri Blues, a band from Arizona, were performing for the fifth summer in Bourges. Shri play R&B and Delta blues blended with a bit of rock and roll.

The noise was tremendous, the audience very appreciative. The French (in the provinces anyway) don't dance much at concerts, although many were moving a little in time to the music, but during the last couple of numbers the leads singers persuaded people to stand up and clap as they played.

The trail of blue lights ends at the Palace of the infamous Jacques Coeur, son of Bourges and disgraced Master of the MInt.

Bourges is not really famous for anything - except its annual spring music festival Le Printemps de Bourges - but for me its richness lies in the splendour of the many well-preserved buildings and monuments which line the narrow streets of the old district.

There are some good restaurants too!

We need to drive for only an hour and a half to visit Briare. Here a magnificent 57km (35 mile) canal linking the Loire and the Seine valleys begins. Boats and barges must navigate 36 locks along its length.

Small islands in the Loing river and the canal are criss-crossed with bridges and lined with magnificent plane trees.

This lock-keeper's cottage at the opening of the canal has seen many crues, the highest flood recorded here happened when water from the river Loing rose on 20th October 1846. Other floods occurred in 1825, 1856 and 1864.

Rogney-les Sept Ecluses is a short distance from Briare. Its staircase of 7 locks is now a Monument Historique.

Henri IV, one of France's most loved kings, ordered the construction of the Canal de Briare in 1604. The project was begun a year later under the direction of civil engineer Hugues Cosnier but was interrupted in 1610 when Henri was assassinated. Work was resumed in 1638 and the seven lock staircase was opened to waterway traffic in 1642.

Since the locks were too narrow for 19th century barges and it took many hours to bring vessels in the upward direction, they were closed in 1887, barges having 'climbed this hill for 245 years'.

This postcard is over 100 years old.

Looking down to the village of Rogny, pine trees still line the paths next to the locks - perhaps some of the same trees.

The old canal has been cut off from the river and a new one laid next to it.

We were fascinated and moved to be able to examine iron hinges and solid stone steps which were installed during the early 17th century, only one year after the death of Elizabeth 1st. The precision of this feat of civil engineering is outstanding.

The 'new' branch of the Briare canal has a lock (No 17) which is operated electronically by one keeper. We watched boat owners guiding their boats between the narrow walls as the water slowly fell to the canal's level. The owners of this one waved to us as they went on their way.