Gorging in the Dordogne

Early on in our seven-day walking tour through the hilltop villages of the Dordogne it dawns on me that this is actually an eating tour. Scottish company Macs Adventure has planned our itinerary, booked our hotels and will transfer our luggage. All my companion and I need do is follow the maps provided and hike between the officially designated ''Plus Beaux (Most Beautiful) Villages de France''. Our circular route will take us through the departements of Correze, Dordogne and Lot. ''Lot'' seems an apt description for the 20 kilometres we'll cover most days. Last stop will be Rocamadour, the spectacular mediaeval town after which the famous French cheese is named.

We begin in the tiny village of Sarrazac where the pre-paid courses at the Hotel de la Bonne Famille just keep coming: almond-flaked trout with buttery sauce; walnut-crumbed rocamadour and fig salad; pear tart followed by rind-flecked lemon sorbet, washed down with a 2009 merlot.

On the first morning we hike past paddocks of slow-munching cows to L'Hopital Saint-Jean, site of a former leper colony. In the main street two elderly women point out a stone tower where in ancient times a fire would be lit to guide pilgrims home.

In Collonges La Rouge the grey buildings of Correze are replaced by startling red sandstone dwellings, stained by iron oxide. In this eighth-century National Heritage-listed village, artisans sell everything from silver jewellery to fresh sorbets. We enjoy a glass of champagne in the sun before staggering to the next hotel in Meyssac.

In the Relais du Quercy we're rewarded with another four-course dinner: grated carrot, egg-onion-and-nutmeg tart and steamed beetroot with mustard sauce, followed by roast duck with baked potatoes, more sorbet, and a cabernet-syrah des larmes (of tears). A cheese platter is carted between tables - soft and hard, blue and white, wet and dry. The diners next to us look grief-stricken when the platter is lifted from their table and brought to us.

The route out of Meyssac meanders through sun-dappled forests and raked fields of walnut trees. I help myself to the stray nuts on the path and blackberries draped over moss-covered fences. Today's hike should be 17 kilometres but after 18 we're nowhere near our destination so we cheat and hitch-hike the rest of the way.

We've organised a rest day in Beaulieu-sur-Dordogne (beautiful place on the Dordogne river). In the 11th century abbey church there are intricate carvings of the Second Coming complete with angels blowing trumpets into Christ's armpits. We picnic beside the river where bemused locals stare as we brave the water, avoiding the boats that drift past in the glinting sunshine. On the terrace of the Hotel les Charmilles we sip kir royales while a narrow branch of the river rushes past. At the cafe Les Flots Bleus (The Blue Torrents) the highlight is an apple spring roll with salted caramel ice-cream. What better way to replace all that sweat?