L

Light rain was falling as I drove through the foothills of the aptly named Montagne Noire (Black Mountain), a mountain range in the southern French Occitanie region characterised by dark forests of oak and pine. As the rain softened to mist, a rainbow appeared, illuminating Montolieu's medieval Saint-André church. It seemed like a promise that something magical awaited. And for a bibliophile like me, it did. Montolieu (population: 833), is home to no fewer than 15 independently owned second-hand bookshops, making it southern France's only official Village du Livre (Book Village). Montolieu isn't the only book town in the world. Wales' Hay-on-Wye, home to more than 20 bookshops, was first recognised for its bibliophilia in 1963; Belgium's Redu, which once counted 26, earned the status in 1984. Montolieu isn't even the only book town in France; Brittany's Bécherel became the country's first in 1989 and has since been joined by seven more, including Montolieu in 1990. But France's second-oldest official book town stands out for a simple reason: unlike its sister villages, Montolieu's focus was never meant to be on the sale of books, but rather on their creation. Bookbinder Michel Braibant first dreamed up this booktopia in the 1980s: a village that would double as a conservatory for bookmaking arts. "It was [a] completely off-the-wall [idea]," said Gaëlle Ferradini, the new director of Montolieu's Musée des Arts & Métiers du Livre, a museum devoted to the art and craft of bookmaking. That it worked, she says, is a credit to Braibant himself. "People tell me that he was the kind of person you went along with, in his projects." Today, the museum is home not only to exhibits on writing systems and machines like a Heidelberg printing press but also to regular three-hour workshops, taught by 12 visiting Southern French artisans who come to share their mastery of marbling paper, engraving or Latin calligraphy. Bookbinding is taught by Camille Grin, perhaps Braibant's most direct successor. An artisan-in-residence, Grin operates her workshop out of the museum's second floor, taking full advantage of the antique machines, many of which came from Braibant's personal collection, to exercise her craft. "I tell myself he'd be happy to know that in this museum – which was never really meant to be an aesthetic museum, but really a living space – there's an artisan, working," she said. Montolieu's unique status helps it stand out from its neighbours in this sleepy corner of France near the Pyrenees. While the tourist season officially opens with a massive Easter weekend book market, and summer sees the 18th-Century textile factory at the bottom of the village transformed into a cultural centre that hosts concerts and art exhibits, even on a February Friday, the village streets were filled with life. People sipped pints in the brisk sunshine outside the cafe or lunched at one of six restaurants flourishing along the cobbled medieval streets. They dipped in and out of artisan boutiques, as painters, fashion designers and even a potter have set up shop in the village's many half-timbered buildings. And while there are no ATMs in Montolieu, you can purchase groceries with the push of a button: two local farms fill refrigerated vending machines with organic produce daily, including some of the sweetest, juiciest apples I've ever tried.