The village of Clelles (south of Grenoble) nestled in the hills.

To the south and west of Grenoble, the Vercors is the magnifique of the French Regional Parks. The French Alps, of course, are able to achieve the dramatics – plunging waterfalls, elusive wildlife, hectares of pine forests, grottoes dripping with stalagmites and plunging gorges so narrow and deep they block out all but a sliver of the cobalt sky. I’m observing the spiral perfection of a hawk, scoping for vermin, silent, masterfully exploiting the warm currents of the summer’s day, and in turn the pockets of crisp, cold mountain air. The Vercors was a key base for the French Resistance during World War II. In July 1944 the Germans launched an aerial attack on the region, reducing several of its villages to stone rubble and landslides. In response, on D-Day the allies flew in with engineless gliders, and like the soaring hawk, silently sailed over the beaches of Normandy until the last minute. Today these mountain roads are pristine. Alfi’s smooth and cool and happy, her muffler less than four inches from the pavement, lugging our belongings cheerfully, taking in the mountain air as giddily as we. She changes gears with ease and her front brakes are no longer smoking from the absence of rear partners. She takes it easy. From her, the panoramic valleys pass by like a moving picture – sagging farmhouses, soaring outcrops and cliffs, plum trees, and always, the opportunity for a picnic – in the pastures of the chevre.

Seville