The next day was spent in the neighbouring Lot départment, where we felt it would be foolish not to try its most famous produce. We set about an assiduous tasting of Cahors wine, a rich, dark red made from the Merlot vines that cover the banks of the River Lot. We were struggling to make swilling and spitting look good, however, so we headed to the city of Cahors itself, where cruising the impossibly narrow alleyways, cobbled streets and medieval bridges was supposed to lend us all the polka-dot chic of the Papa and Nicole Renault Clio ads.
Nothing, however, could beat the drive to Saint-Cirq-Lapopie, a small town some 20 minutes east of Cahors, to which we had been directed in the pursuit of an interesting place to eat. For a start, we nearly didn't make it there, having underestimated the frequency of petrol stations in rural France. Driving a cute little MG turns out to have its advantages, one of them being that we only had to pull over and look helpless for a few minutes before a very nice man ran into his garden to fetch us a jerry can.
But that little episode paled beside the sheer drama of the approach to the town itself. Saint-Cirq is perched precariously on the top of a cliff, and the meandering route towards it means that you first sight the town a good quarter of an hour before you arrive there. From far off, you can see the church, jutting dangerously out over the brow of the hill; then it dips out of sight behind forests and railway lines before you're suddenly stunned by a jumble of houses that appear to be tumbling down the cliff face.
Sweeping up the road in the last light of the day was possibly the single most satisfying moment of the trip, especially as I caught at least one envious glance in our rearview mirror from the tourists following us up on foot. Saint-Cirq is a real foodie destination – in a village of only 207 people, every other family seems to own a restaurant. We ate at Le Gourmet Quercynois, which combines a homely, country-kitchen decor with an ambitious menu that leaves you in no doubt as to the local delicacies. (Specials include duck in nut oil, duck in truffle oil or truffle and nut salad with four different kinds of duck.)
By the final day we felt ready for a challenge. We had become both expert at putting the car's hood up and down (personal best: 35 seconds) and immersed in character as golden-age screen goddesses on vacation, waving flirtily as we overtook army convoys or, more often, unimpressed cyclists. Now we wanted to know what this car could do. Could it get us to three different sightseeing locations, a total of 253km apart, on our homeward leg to Angoulême?
This should be fun - follow the Classic car tour of France with the Guardian; first stop was the Dordogne
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