Shortly after arrival in Clermont-Ferrand, I learnt I was to be a second-row forward in a future life. Much to look forward to, then. And good news right now. There’s no better way of generating respect in the rugby-addicted capital of the Auvergne. Or anywhere else, as far as I’m concerned.
The revelation came from Clermont’s rugby museum, the ASM Experience. Nestled into a stand at the Clermont stadium, it’s the only rugby museum in France, therefore precious. As you walk around, you may answer questions at successive terminals: “Are you primarily tall, solid or fleet of foot?”, “Do you tend to push through or nip round?”, “Which national team do you most admire?” The answers are collated and, at the end, spit out your ideal playing position. Second-row forward, in my case. So that’s that sorted.
The thing is that Britons will be more easily able to find out their own ideal positions – and do quite a bit more in and around Clermont – from March 30. That’s when Ryanair’s direct flights from Stansted restart. Frankly, I’d jump at the chance. It’s a cracking place, and an oddity. Built on a volcano bump of mainly black volcanic stone, Clermont is a religious and industrial centre isolated in the middle of mountains in the middle of nowhere.
Overtourism is not yet a menace. People are surprised and delighted to see you. “We’ve missed the British,” said Emilie Bourdut of the city’s tourist board. All around, the Auvergne region urges you to reverse out of the 21st century to rounded uplands, sleeping volcanoes, lakes, wild flowers and sloping pastures bearing cows and sheep. This is the France of constancy, holding steady to rural certainties as the country elsewhere goes haywire with political mayhem and social media storms.
And then there’s Clermont-Ferrand – in the circumstances, a quite unexpectedly significant spot. In 1095, Pope Urban II preached the first crusade on Place Delille (which now hosts a Russian grocery shop and the best hotel in town). The cathedral up top is a black-stone stunner. Next door was the home of Blaise Pascal, 17th-century France’s cleverest fellow. Michelin, the tyre manufacturer, has been based here since 1889. The city is equally an HQ of candied apricots and, as mentioned, of rugby. ASM Clermont Auvergne XV aren’t doing as well as usual this season but will doubtless shortly return to rubbishing rivals.
Let us, therefore, romp rapidly through a representative weekend which will remain car-less – like, say, the one I’ve just done.
Day 1: ‘The past presses in, palpable and pleasing’
You’re staying on Place Delille, so nip up the steep Rue du Port to the 12th-century Notre-Dame du Port, a star among Auvergnat Romanesque basilicas. Revolutionaries tried to wreck the extraordinarily ornate south porch, but failed. And check the capitals inside. One shows Eve being tempted by grapes. Apparently, the Auvergne had vines back then but not apples, so, when told to feature fruit, the sculptor opted for grapes.
Further up, and topping out the town, the Gothic cathedral glowers magnificently black, as if still hankering to rule the region. Within, frescoes and stained glass add some light and colour.
Outside, the Place de la Victoire has all that’s required in the matter of bars, restaurants, terraces, and students and life coursing through the centre. A labyrinth of little streets leads every which way downhill past every kind of small-scale commerce including, on Rue de La Boucherie, a former tripe shop where my friend Dominique once worked. “Along with proper tripe, we sold udders and lungs. People said they were for their pets, but they weren’t.” It’s now a fair-trade outlet, and is right out of udders.
Beyond is the modern market and Olivier Nivesse’s cheese shop, a vital stop for all five Auvergne cheeses – Salers, Fourme-d’Ambert, Cantal, Bleu d’Auvergne and, finest of all, St Nectaire. Try it with a white from up the road at St Pourçain. Then wander some more. The past presses in, palpable and pleasing.
This afternoon, a choice of three museums. Tram line A whisks you to all three. The Aventure Michelin ranges over the tyre story, also embracing aeronautics, cars, gastronomy and the social history of a city most of whose families have had members working for Michelin. It does so with just enough verve for those entirely uninterested in tyres.
Should time press, mind, I’d go for the ASM Experience right opposite. But that’s because I prefer rugby to tyres. As well as predicting your future on-field position, it tells of the sport in general and, more particularly, of the club established by Michelin in 1911 to keep their workers fit and sober. There are many videos, much interactive stuff, a chance to have a crack at commentating and to measure yourself against proper rugby players. I was dwarfed by the 6ft 7in, 20st outline of second-row forward Sébastien Vahaamahina. Clearly, I’ll need to bulk up for the next life.
And so to the Musée d’Art Roger Quilliot (a little further along the same tram track) which fills a well-renewed convent building with art as good as it gets in the provinces. This year, a temporary Chinese show running to Nov 2 introduces us to much of the beauty from the Qing dynasty, and the notion that, in those times, transgression could be as valued as conformity. I took particularly to Budai, a fat dissolute monk and patron, apparently, of happiness and laughter. He’d slot seamlessly into the Auvergne.
Day 2: Time to tackle volcanoes
Take the shuttle bus from the station and aim for Vulcania. The Auvergne isn’t really about 21st-century attractions – except at Vulcania, a terrific volcano-themed theme park. Opened in 2002, it was good but too earnest. So they’ve spiced it up with the sort of attractions that require you to be strapped in, fly over and into eruptions, get hurled about and wear 3D glasses. Now it’s a blast, and I use the term advisedly. No space here to do it justice. Please believe me and allow four to five hours.
If that sounds excessive, then the same shuttle will drop you off at Lemptégy, where quarrying slag has gouged out a couple of overlapping volcanoes, revealing their workings and geo-history. A little train whisks you through the heart of the volcano, followed by simulations of eruptions which might not have convinced veterans of Pompeii but will chuck you about with enough shuddering for most tastes (Auvergne Volcan).
Day 3: Lunch with a view
Another shuttle from the station, this time to the Puy-de-Dôme, the Auvergne’s emblematic volcano which you’ve been seeing ever since you arrived. At 4,806ft, the dormant item dominates the horizon. Topped with what looks like a giant syringe but is, in fact, a TV transmitter, it appears to have recently thrust through the earth’s crust – which, in geological time, it has. It’s only 11,000 years old. The volcano will, a guide once told me, blow again some time and wipe out Clermont. “So buy your radials while the going’s good, eh?” I said. And he thought: “Imbecile.”
You could walk up, but I wouldn’t. Stepping onto the electric rack railway – it circles its way to the top – amply fulfils my mountain hiking needs. The summit rolls this way and that, from the ruins of a Roman temple to Mercury to the edge from which hang-gliders fling themselves. The main thing though is the cor-blimey panorama over 80 other volcanoes lined up northwards. They look as proper volcanoes should – conical, soft-sided, and quite obviously welcome signs to the underworld. There’s nothing like them anywhere else in Europe. Lunch at the Epicure restaurant will be another main thing, food coming with a side-order of eye-smacking splendour (Panoramique des Domes). But, if possible, go for the proper restaurant – Resto-d’Epicure – rather than the cheaper Table-d’Epicure. In the latter everything comes in jars, which aren’t easy to deal with.
Back in town this afternoon, you might take in the vast Place de Jaude – it’s also on tram line A – where le tout Clermont gathers to celebrate anything, but mainly rugby victories. The fellow on the horse overseeing the square is Vercingetorix, the Gallic king who leathered Caesar just outside Clermont in 52BC. He too would have made a useful second-row forward.
A couple of big posh modern shopping centres flank the square while, just off it at Number 3 Rue Blatin, the Vieillard enterprise has been selling crystallised fruits and chocolates for almost 250 years. I’ve no idea whether they’re the best, but they are jolly good.
Later, backtrack along the tram track to Rue St Dominique. A mildly conspiratorial district by night, it boasts, in the Mayerling, as bustling a bar as anyone requires. I was there for way too long.
Getting there
Flights from Stansted (Ryanair). From the airport, take the number 20 bus to the stop “Roger Quilliot”, then pick up tram-line A to Place Delille and the hotel (see below).
Staying there
The four-star, literary-themed Hotel Alexandre Vialatte gets my vote (special offer double, room-only deals from £74; Hotel Vialatte). Vialatte was a Clermont writer, the first man to remark that, because it shone at night, the moon was more useful than the sun, which shone only during the day, when it was light anyway.
Eating there
Clermont has an abundance of excellent restaurants, many selling stomach-sustaining local dishes like truffade (spuds, cheese, lardons, garlic, more cheese) or potée auvergnate (pork shank, sausage, cabbage, garlic, any other veg you care to throw in). Among the most interesting are the Stéphane Fernandez’s contemporary Bistro Murmure (three-course dinner £30; Bistro Murmure), La Fille à Papa overseen by Claude Muetton, a figure of reference in Clermont catering (three-course dinner from £28; Restaurant Fille à Papa) and the Michelin-starred L’Ostal (dinner menus from £80; L’Ostal).