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Travel Guides: All Countries / Europe / France
|  | Travel Reviews : France |
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| | | | Review by visitor
Pleasing muddle of old and new
Swathed in 2,000 years of history, Lyon is an old city, yet happily it's far from being a museum piece.
An excellent excursion on first arriving in Lyon, France, is to climb the steps from the Vieux Lyon quarter (or take the funicular railway, but it's more satisfying to walk) up the hillside to the Fourviere Basilica.
There is a fine view over the city from the top: church spires, office blocks, vast domes, riverboats, squares and Renaissance buildings jostle comfortably together. Lyon is a pleasing muddle of old and new, not a place of stark contrasts.
The city lies in the Rhone Valley and two major rivers, the Rhone and the Saone, join up just outside it. Lyon's commercial centre is built on the narrow peninsula between the rivers, then sprawls outwards in all directions.
A walking tour involves navigating numerous picturesque bridges - but coping with the commuter traffic cramming the river banks can be a less-than-appealing experience.
However the rivers offer plenty of attractions. Along the Saone there is an old book market every day, and craft and food markets on Sunday mornings. Boat rides for tourists are available in the warmer months.
And at night, predictably, all the major riverside buildings are floodlit. Opposite Vieux Lyon, light also ripples onto the water from an intriguing, lengthy stone structure built into the Saone's riverbank.
It takes a while to register that this is an underground car park - tucked neatly away and almost invisible by day, yet an unexpectedly charming sight after dark.
Vieux Lyon, which lies between the bottom of the Fourviere hillside and the left bank of the Saone is the city's compulsory tourist stop.
It's the Renaissance quarter, filled with museums, shops, bars, restaurants and mysterious little passageways called traboules.
The traboules, entered through what look like private front doors (but which are open to the public - check your map for their numbered locations) are early rat-runs, used originally by silk and other tradesmen.
These narrow, somewhat dank alleyways will twist, turn, then abruptly open out into quaint courtyards, with Renaissance staircases lining the sides, and a water well in the corner.
The traboules, lacking amenities such as modern plumbing, fell into disrepair and disuse in the 20th century. But Lyon's city council bought and restored them, and began renting out their old apartments to craftsmen and women.
Many shops in the cobbled streets of Vieux Lyon sell the produce of such local craftspeople, and artists. But the quarter is home to many contemporary businesses too. Peek through some ancient-looking archway and you are as likely as not to be confronted by a gleaming window, bearing a design consultancy logo, and behind it sharply-dressed workers tapping at colourful computers.
Travel Guide: France
How Paris stole my heart
From the Mail on Sunday
There are places I will always remember - like Australia's wildly beautiful 'top end', glamorous Sydney, exciting New York - and, of course, unsurpassable Venice. I've seen Niagara Falls frozen, dolphins swooping around a boat off Turkey, the painted monasteries of northern Romania and the mirrored interiors of Rajasthan.
But asked to choose 'my' place - the one with a very special resonance in my life - my imagination simply makes a short hop across the English Channel, jumps through northern France and skips down the Champs Elysees.
Why? Because Paris was my first ever taste of that magical realm called 'abroad'. And her beauty captured my heart forever. I reached the age of 17 and still had not left this island. Nowadays the young travel as a matter of course, whether backpacking in exotic places or a boozy, sunburnt week in Majorca. But in the mid-Sixties it wasn't that easy.
So when my schoolfriend Helen and I decided to go for two weeks on a special package to Paris, this was a very bold enterprise. After all, we were a couple of teenagers from small and boring Wiltshire towns, and to us the height of excitement was a Bath jazz club or a CND march. No wonder our friends were envious.
I can't remember how the trip was arranged. All that matters is that we took a turbo-prop plane, and clutched each other with some anxiety as it rumbled into the air. Then we were taken by coach to the Cite Universitaire, in a suburb to the south of the city, where the accommodation was student-basic but cheap. That was the deal. And Paris was at our feet.
Indeed, we used our feet a lot, since funds were so low. We walked everywhere; staring, mesmerised, into smart shop windows and desperately trying to work out the exchange rate to see if we could afford 'real Parisian' shoes. We existed on baguettes munched as we sat beside the Seine on days that were perpetually sunny - in memory, at least. This was partly to do with saving money, partly because we were frightened of speaking schoolgirl French in restaurants.
Oh, but we had fun! We 'met' (a good euphemism for 'picked up') a couple of German students, then some Austrians - and I confess the first time I was ever drunk was in Paris. Yet why not? Surely nobody young ever went there to be 'good'?
Travel Guide: France
Better make it a small one
The day started badly for Parisian cafe owner Andre Chabalier.
After going to bed the previous night about 3am, he'd woken mid-morning to an ominous registered letter announcing that his cafe rent was to be tripled.
'Tripled,' he cried. 'Tell Britain about that: then they'll stop thinking we're rolling in it.'
Andre's cafe - Le Colibri - is tucked away in a corner of Place de la Madeleine, just along from Fauchon, the Fortnum & Mason of Paris.
'Twelve thousand francs a square metre. I need first aid!' said Andre, 54. 'I'll be contesting, of course.'
In other words, cafe ownership in Paris is not all literary discussion and ripping off tourists.
The Colibri had opened that morning while Andre slept.
By 6.45am, the shutters were up and Christelle was serving the first coffees.
The premises wouldn't close until after two the following morning, when the last night-folk had left.
In the intervening 19¼ hours, the cafe needed to generate almost £2,500 to stay afloat, keeping 11 staff, plus Andre and wife Denise, in earnings.
Given that most of the 400 customers were dashing in for a 70p coffee, it was not a battle won in advance.
Travel Guide: France
The Gaul's favourite day out
From the Mail on Sunday
My family was keen on a trip to Parc Asterix - the 100 per cent French theme park where all self-respecting Parisians take their children in the school holidays.
I had niggling doubts. Wasn't Asterix a bit dated? This comic character was hurtling out of fashion when I was a child.
Not surprisingly, therefore, Parc Asterix has never attracted more than a trickle of English visitors.
But it's all very different in France. Parc Asterix, 19 miles north of Paris, is a national institution and the French flock there, proud that it is an all-Gaul affair.
British theme parks tend mostly to be geared towards teenagers.
Parc Asterix is different. While it has all the obligatory stomach-churning rides, there are lots of attractions for toddlers and their older siblings.
There are merry-go-rounds, little child-friendly boat rides, slides, climbing frames and an up-in-the-trees monorail.
All were popular with our two girls. Obelix's giant bed kept them occupied for ages, and they loved the distorting mirrors.
Heloise, who is three, enjoyed the giant slide made of rollers. Madeleine, five, liked the swimming pool covered with thick plastic tarpaulin. Jump up and down and it wobbled and wibbled, sending everyone into a jelly-style collapse.
The relevance to Asterix is not always apparent. Although his figure is everywhere, and there are plenty of wonky Roman buildings dotted around the park, you sometimes forget that the place is dedicated to the comic character.
In the afternoon there was the dolphin spectacular - an exhilarating performance of dancing, leaping, acrobatic dolphins, set in a giant-sized pool built around a Greek-style amphitheatre.
My only criticism of Parc Asterix was the food - as dreary as at any theme park in Britain.
Travel facts Parc Asterix (00 33 344 62 34 04, www.parcasterix.com) is open every day in July and August and most weekends in September.
Travel Guide: France
A tour around Chanel's Paris? I should Coco
When hotels tell us that they want to add a little extra to our holiday, one suspects that their real intention is to add something substantial to our bill (wouldn't it be nice if hotel beds were as well padded as their final invoices?).
But these are straitened times for upmarket hotels - especially those in Paris that normally depend on the lavish patronage of affluent Americans.
To compensate for the absent Yanks, hotels in the French capital have had to come up with new ways to attract business. It's an ill wind that has blown us a bonus: hotel prices are being trimmed and special treats are being arranged.
The illustrious Hotel de Crillon, situated in arguably the best location in Paris on Place de la Concorde, has devised some of the most alluring treats for guests.
General manager Philippe Krenzer says that the hotel has decided to use its upmarket connections to open doors for its clients. 'We can let our guests really enjoy some of the hidden pleasures of the city - we have some wonderful surprises.'
For our surprise we are invited to be in the Crillon's grand marbled reception hall at 2pm. Waiting for us is Carla, one of the hotel's team of 'angels'.
'This is a very special treat,' she said, almost bouncing with excitement. 'We are going to visit Coco Chanel's private apartment - it is not open to the public, very few people have the chance to enter it.'
The apartment, it seems, was the nerve centre of the fashion designer's retail business. Coco Chanel took over the six-storey property at 31 Rue du Cambon in 1920 and remained there for 50 years until her death in 1971 at the age of 87.
In those 50 years, Gabrielle 'Coco' Chanel, who had been abandoned as a girl by her father in a small town orphanage, single-handedly transformed 20th Century fashion.
From the trademark Chanel suits and the simple black dress to her invention of the shoulder bag and, of course, Chanel No 5 perfume - this remarkable woman always led the way.
Travel Guide: France
A slice of Parisian luxury
From the Daily Mail
What's it to be, then?' asked the woman in Place Vendome of her friend. Like us, they had their noses pressed to the window of a leading Parisian jeweller. 'Nope,' replied her companion, dismissing a diamond-studded display, worth several small sheikhdoms. 'If I tell my husband I fancy anything, he'll just say: "Go ahead and get it."'
As I prepared a look of mingled disbelief, scorn and pity, calculated to root her to one of the most exclusive stretches of pavement in the world, I realised we could be playing the same game. Make-believe is in the very air of Paris. Ten minutes earlier, we had been lunching on the Place de la Madeleine, at the restaurant in Hediard, one of the most sumptuously stocked groceries in the world.
What, I wondered, would it be like to shop at Hediard every day, among towers of golden tea caddies and the seductive aromas of roasting coffee, pepper from Sarawak and chocolate of sinful blackness? Would I go for the wild mushrooms or chestnuts, the figs so temptingly presented in baskets of fresh leaves? In short, how would it feel to live here, however temporarily?
This wishful thinking had been brought on by a weekend sampling the Paris Residence, the French capital's first city centre time-ownership property. The Paris Residence looks like a small luxury hotel or a discreet London club. You can stay here on that basis, but there is no dining room and no self-catering either, unless you count lifting a phone to order 24-hour room service.
A gilded birdcage of a lift creaked me to the mini-suite, its view over the chic Rue de Berri framed in yellow silk curtains to match the canopied bed. I found a CD and mini-disc player in one cupboard, fresh grapes in the fridge. Sunk in the whirlpool bath, glass of bubbly in hand, I convinced myself with ease that Paris was where we belonged.
The friendly, young staff, mainly Scots, were eager to share ideas about local shopping, sightseeing or eateries where they had taken their mums.
Travel Guide: France
The ghosts of old Paris
From the Mail on Sunday
My mother was incredulous: 'I've never heard of Jim Morrison - who was he?' She was standing by the information board at the entrance to Pere Lachaise cemetery. It was the first stop on a weekend tour on which I wanted to show my parents some 'alternative' attractions of Paris.
The cemetery's information board indicated the locations of the final resting places of the great and the good - Maria Callas, Bizet, Moliere, Edith Piaf, Yves Montand . . . dozens of them.
But the streams of visitors were searching the map for only one name: Jim Morrison. After five minutes by the board my mother was able to point out his tomb's location to grateful Swedes, Lithuanians and Brazilians.
'But I've never heard of him,' persisted my mother: 'What's he known for?' 'Light My Fire is probably his best known work, with The Doors,' I explained. But this didn't ring any bells. Finding the grave wasn't hard: just follow the crowds to where they mill around under a haze of sweet-smelling smoke watched by three cemetery policemen with irritated glares.
It is not clear why a rock singer dead for 30 years continues to exert such a fascination, but his tomb is now reckoned to be Paris's third most popular tourist attraction after the Eiffel Tower and the Louvre.
On our way to Wilde's tomb (a wonderful Epstein creation, but then the whole cemetery is terrific) my mother wondered if some of the Morrison crowd might have been smoking 'pot'.
The only drug possibly being abused by visitors to Monet's garden is Phyllosan (visitors' average age must be about 85). The gardens in Giverny, about an hour's drive up the Normandy autoroute from Paris, are as wonderful as Monet's series of paintings of waterlilies and other scenes suggest.
As a visitor attraction, however, it is poorly managed. There is no attempt to limit numbers, so, unless you arrive at opening time, you'll find yourself battling for a view with 50 coach parties of Americans and Japanese.
'How d'ya say it,' one confused visitor quizzed his guide: 'Monet or Manet?' The guide narrowed her eyes: 'Manet? Manet was another painter completely.' The confused visitor was unabashed: 'So where are his gardens?'
Travel Guide: France
Bayeux is such a rich tapestry
From the Mail on Sunday
Spend those holiday francs before it's too late. In France, and the other countries that have accepted the euro, the old money goes out after the new currency comes in on January 1, 2002. A perfect excuse for an autumn break.
The small and handsome city of Bayeux is ideal. Fine buildings, the famous tapestry, some high quality shops and one of the top markets in the country coupled with the fact that it's only 30 miles from Ouistreham, France's easiest ferry port for car passengers, make it a winner.
Arrive early on a Saturday morning and you'll be in time to watch the livestock owners setting up, grabbing handfuls of protesting ducklings from the backs of lorries and popping them in wire cages along the edge of the pavement.
As the market, officially recognised as one of the 100 best in France, peaks around 10am there is time for breakfast before the pace hots up. Market traders and visitors who pride themselves on knowing the local custom go for tete de veau, white wine and Calvados at Chez Yann, a narrow traditional brasserie just off the market square.
More acceptable and just as entertaining is the good coffee, hot croissants and rolls at La Taverne des Ducs facing the large, leafy square.
The September sun shone, cocks crowed and hens squawked. Crates of wriggling rabbits, half a dozen aggressive geese and assorted caged birds had joined the ducklings and for two hectic, glorious hours the market was in top gear. 'Oh dear, how terrible,' the middle-aged English visitor was aghast as she watched an elderly woman casually picking up and inspecting rabbits for the pot.
'How much?' 'Thirty francs, Madam.' About £3 a rabbit. The sentimental English would buy them not for the pot but for pets or, even worse, to set them free. There was a small shriek from the English woman. 'Don't say that poor creature is to be killed too?' she pointed to a solitary curly-horned lamb standing forlornly in a milk crate. She was assured that it was a pet, a useful live lawn mower, a bargain at £50.
'Thank heavens for that,' she sighed and made for another stall where, having read the leaflet describing the contents of the glass jars of prize-winning tripe, a popular local delicacy, she politely declined a taste.
Some stalls sell books, secondhand clothes, cassettes and magnificent country furniture but food dominates this rural market.
Travel Guide: France
Back to basics in Normandy
From the Daily Mail
My contented four-year-old, Joseph, was feeding apples to his new friend, Gamin - a part-Camargue white horse - when he looked up at me and said: 'Mummy, this is a nice place.'
I had to agree as I looked across the misty early morning fields to the fairytale turrets of the chateau beyond. I could think of no happier destination for a family holiday than this tranquil spot near La Ferte-Mace. This is the rural France of Normandy, a good five-hour drive from Calais with a character all its own.
Walking back to La Detourbe - a long, low 18th-century farmhouse which has been skilfully converted into two large separate gites - we met a feral cat and heard stories from a local farmer of the great December storm, la tempete, which laid waste to large areas of the local forest. Joseph's eyes grew bigger as he listened, happy to guess at what he could not understand.
Driving towards Flers later that day to stock up on food, I realised we had come to the right place. The countryside was positively groaning with good things to eat, and beautiful locations to eat them in. Signs for local fruit and honey tempted us from the hedgerows, while invitations to cidre bouches beckoned from either side.
Stopped in St Lô to buy pate, goats' cheese, bread and salad, a magnificent impromptu picnic which kept us going until lunchtime as we carried on through a wonderful, soft world of small villages, shadowy orchards and waving fields of maize. Normandy is enormous but the roads are empty, and you can get around quickly - and find some very French surprises if you make time to look. We decided on a two-hour drive to the coast.
It was Joseph who first caught sight of the sea - the shock of the deep blue Atlantic set starkly against the dramatic outline of Cherbourg. Once a glamorous port for the rich and fashionable, it merits more than a cursory glimpse from the car ferry. Named La Cite de la Mer for 2001, the port is being renovated.
Walking into the cavernous great hall of the disused liner terminal, I saw the original gold and black lettering of the exclusive Chanel boutique, and the booking offices of the Cunard Line - all uncannily as they must have been before the war. Dust danced in the air, and old ladies stared around in nostalgic amazement. Only Joseph, hurtling through the echoing waiting room, reminded me I was not a rich heiress about to board an ocean-going liner, but returning home to put a small tired boy to bed.
Or so I thought, until my husband, Christy, decided on a detour to Ecausseville, where a 1917 airship hangar was being opened to the public for the first time. Fully expecting an audience solely made up of French males, I was surprised to find as many fashionably dressed Gallic women staring into this enormous, sad, empty warehouse as there were men.
Joseph loved it, and led me twice around the surrounding field full of thistles before I could persuade him to leave. Returning that evening, I was full of gratitude to June Stewart, the hospitable Scottish owner of La Detourbe. Not only had Joseph's clothes been washed and dried, but she also took him off to see Gamin and other assorted animals while my husband prepared supper. Now, this was what I called a holiday. . .
Travel Guide: France
The heart of truffle country
From the Mail on Sunday
The decision was made on the spur of the moment. We wanted a lightning getaway to some genuine autumn sunshine, and wanted it to cost as little as possible.
We opted for one of the growing number of low-cost airlines: our only problem was choosing where to go. Nice or Nimes, Pisa or Biarritz?
Scores of lesser-known cities are now within easy reach of England, served by the likes of easyJet, Go and Ryanair. Nimes got our vote: the sun was still warm, it was truffle season and we could visit the famous weekend market at Uzes.
'Nimes for £7,' boasted Ryanair's website. The difficulty was finding that £7 flight. You can tap in the dates you want to travel and it will quote you a price. What you can't do is type in £7 and find out when it's available.
Our flights cost about £45 each return, plus a whopping £90 tax and duty. The total came to £287 for the family - not cheap for a four-day weekend but still less than a country hotel in the sodden English countryside.
We bit the bullet, headed to Stansted and took off for the sun. We were on our way to Languedoc-Rousillon, one of France's less visited areas.
The guidebooks claim there are three must-see sights in this part of France: Nimes, Uzes and the famous Roman aqueduct, the Pont du Gard.
What they don't tell you is that the surrounding countryside is so lovely that you'll have half a mind to stay for good.
Within an hour of arriving we were passing fortified hill villages - relics of the 16th Century wars of religion - and hodge-podge fields of asparagus just bursting into life.
There were gnarled vines and patches of woodland, ancient oaks and fortress-like chateaux.
Travel Guide: France
Our glittering gift to France
From the Mail on Sunday
You can see why those English aristocrats all went to Nice in the 19th century. Flying low over Cap d'Antibes and the beaches at Juan-Les-Pins as you slide into Cote d'Azur Airport, you know immediately why they made the French Riviera their winter home from home.
Wouldn't you, if you could afford it?
After the greyness of a British winter, with its fog and smoky coal fires, it must have been so welcoming, so instantly cheering, to see the Riviera's magical light and its luminous sea, the forested evergreen hills and dazzling white and pink villas, lying like ornate fragments of angel cake between the palms and pines.
The journey there could be hard. Before the railway reached Nice in 1864 it took up to three weeks. You could travel by private coach, if you were rich enough, or share an apparently noxious-smelling public one, if you weren't. That went at just about walking pace.
Then there was the river steamer down the Saone and Rhone from Chalon to Avignon. And for the really intrepid there was the sea route via the Bay of Biscay and Gibraltar. The journey's end had to be worth it, and it was.
Though the rich Victorians may not have been exactly the world's first holidaymakers - the Roman gentry took to villas by the sea for the summer 2,000 years ago - in modern terms, at least, the 19th-century midwinter rush to the South of France probably marked the beginning of the overseas tourist industry as we know it.
It also helped make the Riviera, and particularly Nice, what it is today; a place with the vague semblance of a former British colony - which it never was in anything other than a garden party sense - a place in the sun which still bears an indelible, if faded, imprint of grand Victorian England.
Within five years of Victoria's first visit at the height of the Belle Epoque there were 20,000 posh Brits regularly wintering in Nice, building themselves baroque mansions along the bay and in the over-looking hills.
By the outbreak of the First World War, there were 150,000 'out-of-season' foreigners - Russian aristocrats and their retinues, German princes and theirs, and rich industrialists from everywhere.
Travel Guide: France
This waterworld will take your breath away
From the Daily Mail
After a choppy ferry ride across the Channel, the last place you want to go is somewhere called Nausicaa. OK, so we went through the Chunnel, but I'm sure you get my drift. Luckily, Nausicaa does not make you sick of the sea. It is simply the biggest sea-life centre in Europe.
This, France's 'Centre National de la Mer', is the Fifth Most Visited Attraction in France, having welcomed 4.5 million sightseers since it opened in 1991. It seems to hold a curious attraction for the British, too. Apparently, a quarter of all its visitors come from our shores.
Although many Brits will make a detour from their route south this summer, we made a special weekend visit to see Nausicaa's underwater attractions. It's worth it. Twenty minutes' drive west of Calais (take the coast road or the autoroute - you can't miss it either way), Nausicaa's white dome dominates the beach at Boulogne. If you're sailing directly to Boulogne, you'll be nose-to-nose with it the moment you dock. It's hard to believe it used to be the town casino.
Nausicaa is a bilingual museum containing 4.3 million litres of water. It may seem a little odd that we Brits - having already travelled either over or under water to get there - are so keen to see yet more water once we arrive. Perhaps it is because we live on an island that we fall under the spell of Nausicaa's poetic portrayal of the sea. But we can hardly fail to be amazed by its beauty and urgent message of marine conservation. Especially when it is so well-lit and thoughtfully displayed.
Nausicaa was founded by three oceanographers with a mission to tell the world about the vulnerability of the oceans. They were supported by Boulogne's mayor, who just happened to be France's Secretary of State for the Sea at the time.
Ten years' of planning resulted in an immaculate project, as carefully marketed in Britain as in France. Detail is clearly important, from cleanliness to design, catering to communication. Every word of French has been well translated into English. 'Raya' the Ray Fish, our cartoon character guide, spoke clearer English than Mickey Mouse.
Travel Guide: France
A wicked weekend
'Come with me, darling, to the château of the Marquis de Sade.' Darling looked dubious, as well she might.
The Marquis is best remembered for celebrating the rape, torture and occasional murder of companions of any age and either sex. He gave the world 'sadism' and a new angle on depravity.
Surprisingly, these are attractions which few women of my acquaintance appreciate in a weekend break. They generally prefer botanical gardens.
But we went all the same. While not in the de Sade class, I can be domineering. And, anyway, the booking had been made.
In less time than it takes to tell, we were in the small French town of Mazan, in Provence, standing in a tiny street before a big stone edifice.
To the left of the door was a plaque announcing that this had been the home of the Marquis de Sade (1740-1814).
To the right, a discreetly-framed price list confirmed the building - the Château de Mazan - was now a hotel.
Inside, the lobby was high-ceilinged and light, with a great stairwell and an abundance of energetic young people bidding us welcome.
No screams, weeping or maniacal laughter. No bloodstains, either. 'Disappointed?' suggested Darling.
Pausing only to dump the bags in the bedroom (pale lavender and grey, no handcuffs, branding irons, etc) I joined hotel owner Frederic Lhermie on the terrace. 'Of course,' he said , 'de Sade is now considered a major literary figure.'
'Really?' I replied. 'I'd always thought of him as a vicious pornographer.' Frederic smiled. 'That as well,' he said.
Travel Guide: France
Marseilles: Spice up your Med life
If you're looking for a weekend break with a difference in the South of France, then Marseilles is a treat.
Don't expect the quaintness of Avignon or the glamour of St Tropez - Marseilles, despite shedding its sleazy image, is still rough around the edges and not for everyone.
But do expect a cosmopolitan, vibrant city with plenty to reward the enquiring visitor.
Marseilles is a real mix of different cultures, which results in a food scene that mixes the best in French cuisine with tastes from all over the globe.
There is a thriving North African community here - don't miss out on a mound of couscous topped with sizzling meats that are spiced with harissa.
The bars and cafes around bohemian Cours Julien are the hip places to head to - despite the "street art".
No trip to Marseilles would be complete without sampling the local fish dish bouillabaisse.
It was a simple fisherman's supper but now the real deal commands at least £20 a head. An essential ingredient is scorpion fish - tastier than it sounds.
The dish is fiercely protected - so much so, that several restaurants have drawn up a bouillabaisse charter for authenticity.
Travel Guide: France
Gascony and all that jazz
From the Mail on Sunday
Everybody knows that for a holiday steeped in world-class jazz you get on a jumbo jet and head for New Orleans. Well that's what I always thought, anyway. But it turns out that there is a wonderful alternative much closer to home. You may never have heard of the tiny town of Marciac in Gascony, but jazzers the world over have, since for two weeks every year it gives itself over to a huge feast of le jazz, le blues and le fusion.
Paying homage to this remarkable, if somewhat incongruous, festival in one of France's least discovered regions also gave me and my travelling companions a chance to explore this intensely rural corner of my favourite country for the first time.
Gascony doesn't exist as a political entity any longer within France, but once it was a mini-country all of its own, given to the English crown for 300 years as a dowry in the Middle Ages. It is a sleepy, forgotten wedge of territory south of the Lot and Dordogne, with the Basque country to its West and the Pyrenees running along its bottom edge.
To its east lies Toulouse and the parched magnificence of the Languedoc-Roussillon region, and its capital is the fabulous but relatively unknown city of Auch, major stopping-off point for medieval pilgrims en route for Santiago de Compostela.
The two most celebrated Gascons in history are semi-fictional Musketeer D'Artagnan and teenage Saint Bernadette of Lourdes, whose healing intercession is still sought by four million Catholics a year.
Since the 19th-century, though, it seems as if Gascony has gone into hibernation, which is as good a justification as any for a holiday there at the beginning of the 21st. The region is so tranquil even the creamy-chestnut cows look as if they could do with a good shot of cafe noir to get them on their feet of a morning. The village architecture is reminiscent of Normandy and the countryside is a lush, sunflowered version of Ireland enjoying a permanent heatwave.
Travel Guide: France
Roaring down to Lyon
From the Mail on Sunday
Did I detect, as we left the Channel Tunnel at Calais, a faint but prolonged 'whee-haa' coming from the Eurostar driver's cab?
For an hour he had been reining in his pedigree loco on its dawdle through London suburbs on snail-rail, as frustrated as an Aston Martin driver in a tail-back on the North Circular.
Suddenly, and you feel it in every seat as a palpable push in your back, we accelerated into French hyperspace.
It's the train equivalent of the Starship Enterprise engaging warp drive, 60 to 180mph in less than no time. And that's how rail travel continues right through France.
In June they complete the high-speed line from grey sea to shining sea, the Channel to the Mediterranean. Last time they opened a coast-to-coast line as important as this, they banged in a golden spike to celebrate, somewhere mid-USA.
Half the route was actually finished 20 years ago, with the opening of the first 200mph-plus TGV (Train à Grande Vitesse - high-speed train) line from Paris to Lyon. Little local difficulties delayed the extension, which will open on June 10 and bring London within seven hours of Marseille.
With our railways descending into chaos, it was a shock to my senses to find trains that work. The TGV is the sleek Longchamps thoroughbred to the British carthorse.
Travel Guide: France
Wolves, bison and silence
Let's imagine that you're fed up with crowds, noise and turmoil, with fools at work and braying airheads on TV. In short, with the cacophony of modern life.
You need an antidote. I have one. I was there last week. For a couple of days, I drove up and down mountains and across plateaux on roads all but deserted except at milking time. I walked through forests and meadows, by mountain streams and over rocky ridges.
This was Lozere, where France runs to rhythms apparently unchanged since the world was much younger. It is a place to fill the eyes, fill the lungs and rinse what's left of the spirit. And it's really not that far.
At the southern end of the Massif Central mountains, this is the country's loftiest county.
Lozere is mostly over 2,000ft. It's cold in winter, hot in summer and tough all the time - which explains why it is also France's least populated region.
Which means that, if you need neon nightlife, you hip-hop elsewhere. But it also means that you get the vast landscape largely to yourself.
Such was the case when I set out from Grandrieu, a doughty stone settlement overlain with smells of hay and farm animals.
Within moments, I was on springy pastureland, ankle-deep in buttercups and narcissi. It was glorious, king-of-the-world stuff. I would have been walking still - literally; I got quite lost - if I hadn't bumped into the only other bloke within a zillion square miles.
He was a farmer with a big tractor, doing something technical with cattle. 'Where am I?' I asked. 'Here,' he replied. After that, we got along famously. Some of his sentences stretched to three words.
Hours later, I returned to Grandrieu to tumble into a bar where old chaps with weather-stained faces stared but opened up easily once shyness evaporated.
Travel Guide: France
A place that's got the lot
From the Mail on Sunday
Green haven of peace and beauty right next door to one of Europe's most crowded holiday destinations? Unlikely but true. The Dordogne has almost been overwhelmed by its own popularity - the fate of many previously-unspoiled places once they have been 'discovered' by the tourists.
Yet miraculously, the Lot - directly south of it - has escaped their scrutiny, although it is every bit as lovely. It calm, welcoming, half as expensive and almost empty. A friend who visited the Dordogne in July reported that the holiday crowds there were like a herd of elephants - slow-moving but unstoppable, with small children perched like elephant boys on their shoulders and video cameras waving to and fro like trunks.
Like the Dordogne, the Lot was part of the area known as Quercy, inhabited originally by the Gauls, who were famously invaded by Julius Caesar. After him came the Visigoths, the Franks, the Arabs, the Normans and eventually the Hundred Years War, so the area has a bloodthirsty history right up to its active role in the Resistance during the Second World War.
The Lot lies in south-west France between Brive, to the north, and Toulouse, going South. Its main centre is the magical medieval city of Cahors, boasting some of the oldest winemakers in Europe (the ancient Romans enjoyed the wine of Cahors). The River Lot flows through it, spanned by the best-preserved medieval bridge in France, the Pont Valentre, built in the 14th century - by, or so the legend has it, the devil himself.
As you would expect, it has history and culture galore. But rarest of all, it also offers peace and rural tranquillity amid the frantic pace of the modern world. You can drive for hours along quiet back roads, as long as you consult a good local map and stay off the main routes, along which more impatient travellers are speeding towards the Mediterranean.
Try, for example, the drive from Gourdon in the north-west corner of the Lot, down to the village of St Cirq Lapopie in the south-east. It takes about an hour-and-a-half, even if you manage to lose your way once or twice, and only in Ireland will you find roads similarly so empty amid scenery similarly so lovely.
Every half mile or so the vistas change. One moment you are passing gentle hills and fields dotted with cattle, towers and little huts used by shepherds to shelter from the weather, be it midday heat or sudden storms.
You see sprawling stone farms set outside dozy hamlets where old ladies in navy flowered aprons tend their brilliantly vivid gardens while the men, still wearing the traditional peasant overalls - yes, really!
Travel Guide: France
Fast train, lovely terrain
From the Daily Mail
Britain's west-coast line has just seen the introduction of fast 'tilting' trains which - wait for it - won't be allowed to travel at full speed until track and signalling problems are fixed.
Across the Channel, meanwhile, the French have proved that a high-speed train isn't merely a humorous contradiction in terms, but an achievable fact. The entire journey is on a dedicated high- speed line, with the trains doing a shade under 1,000km (625 miles) from Lille to Marseilles in four-and-a-half hours.
Combine this with the connecting Eurostar service from Waterloo International through the Tunnel, and British holidaymakers can make the south coast of France in under seven hours.
True, there are low-cost flights from London Stansted which, on the face of it, get you there quicker. But factor in the trips to and from the airports at either end, the early check-in, the scramble for 'free' (i.e. unassigned) seating and the hanging around for luggage, and the train suddenly looks a whole lot more appealing.
The train might go like a bomb - the top speed is 186 mph - but you really wouldn't know, it's such a smooth ride. Careering through the countryside, you're struck most by the quickly changing terrain and only notice the speed when passing a station, with figurative coat-tails flying.
There's reasonable legroom, plenty of luggage space and welcome bar seats in the buffet car. And, despite a few early teething problems, customers are unlikely to be held up for hours because of wrong kind of leaves on the line.
Good news, then, for Continental train travellers, though perhaps only if Marseilles is somewhere you wanted to go in the first place. Even if Marseilles doesn't appeal, the TGV offers the same quick access to Avignon, Aix- en-Provence, Cannes, Nice or Perpignan, all summer tourist meccas.
Marseilles is in the middle of a monumental makeover designed to place it at the heart of a euro-Mediterranean zone. The city is booming, and house prices are going through the roof as people and businesses relocate to the region's leading port.
Marseilles already sees three million tourists a year, many of whom are cruise visitors - and in terms of access and lifestyle, the city looks as much to Barcelona and Milan as to Paris. It's a great choice for a long weekend, with good weather from early spring until well into winter.
Travel Guide: France
It's cheating, but I like it
From the Daily Mail
There's something about sleeping under canvas and scrubbing your armpits in public that's supposed to make you feel at one with nature. Living in a caravan doesn't really put you in touch with the earth, they say. I'm not arguing. I've touched the earth on one too many a rain-drenched British summer. That's precisely why, as I approach the brow of middle age, caravans are starting to look ever more appealing.
As I write, I have my feet up in a state-of-the-art Grand 3B mobile home. The 3B stands for three (yes, three) bedrooms and two bathrooms. Hardly mobile at all, our luxury residence nestles ostentatiously in the wooded grounds of a Loire Valley manor house.
Before lounging on the long sofa, I dried my hair with the fitted hairdryer, made myself a cafetiere coffee - cafetiere supplied - and warmed my croissant in the microwave (a hot holiday tip for Francophiles - pain au chocolat zapped on full for just under a minute is meltingly moreish). What else? Oh yes, I'm listening to Bach on the integral stereo CD.
We made dinner on the gas barbecue. There's a gas fire in case we're cold and an electric fan should we get too hot. There are British plugs, fitted carpets, pine furniture and tasteful pictures on the wall. This home-from-home is rather better than my house. Caravanning may be cheating, but I like it.
Swish mobile homes are just the thing in the Loire Valley, where the tourist theme is Renaissance architecture - and you don't want to feel outdone by the 16th century. You can't move for castles. There are small chateaux masquerading as gites, bigger ones that double as hotels and real 'larger than you thought possible' fairytale palaces that make you wonder how so few people ever dared to was never one of my favourite post-dinner pursuits.
But in a caravan your workload is halved. No more stumbling to the lavatory in the middle of the night, no more loo rolls flapping under your arm, and certainly no more excursions with the washing-up bowl.
Travel Guide: France
A fine wine list crowns valley of the kings
From the Mail on Sunday
The caves are dank and dark. They smell of old wines and new sweat. Into them, cyclists, garbed like spacemen, suddenly whizz or wobble. Four thousand of them - more Dad's Army than Tour de France with Darby and Joan on tandems, too - are out on the Loire Valley's autumnal ride.
'Sixty kilometres this morning,' gasps one old codger, white hair ballooning out of his ludicrously dazzling blue space helmet. 'This our second stop. The first was, of course, for mushrooms in the caves of the troglodytes.' This bizarre scene feels somewhat further away than the five-hour smooth Eurostar and TGV run from Waterloo.
Wine is the top product of the lovely Loire; cave-grown mushrooms are the next. The caves where I had stopped were in Saumur, beneath the most beautiful of all the area's 500 chateaux. These are 'caves' the labyrinthine chalk-hewn cellars of Bouvet Laduby, producers of fizzy wines, white, rose and red. They are entertaining the cyclist hordes who totter off, bearing dozens of wines they've bought at the subsequent tastings.
I love the Loire. It's so handy and there is so much to see. And I know its wines from Nantes up to Sancerre, from Gros Plant and Muscadet-sur-Lie (always better than plain Muscadet) past the gentle reds of Chinon and Saumur, on past delicious Pouilly and the mixed blessings of Sancerre.
For too long I had dismissed Tours as too large a block across the Loire en route to vineyards, villages and forests. But this time it yielded up pretty secrets. Plus a top-class restaurant. Of its 280,000 citizens, one in 10 is a student. These bring a buzz. The locals speak, they claim, the purest French in the world. So foreign youth flocks in to study and to lark about.
Opposite a stark new university block spreads a warren of medieval streets around the charming Place Plumereau; cobbled lanes, half-timbered, lurching houses of tiny red bricks with outside stairwells encased in rosy, tottering towers.
Round the 16th-century square are classy shops behind Dickensian windows, an 18th Century building with a galleried Italianate top floor and a pub called Au Bureau so persons therein downing the Touraine wines can truthfully tell their partners that they are 'still at the office'.
Nearby stand the ruins of the colossal cathedral. Its two towers are beautifully lit by the man who does the Eiffel Tower. Here are the stumps of the old Roman city. The remaining cathedral is a fine building, with 300 years in construction from the 13th to the 16th Centuries. It illustrates all three styles; Romanesque, Gothic and Renaissance. Its two western towers are not exact twins. Its eastern windows are glorious.
Hither in the Fourth Century rode Saint Martin, then a Roman Legionary, who, giving half his cloak to a freezing beggar, learned in a dream that night that the beggar was Christ. Martin busily Christianised the area, 700 years before the Normans started to civilise England.
For the inner man there lurks in the city the double-Michelin-Rosetted Jean Bardet, a grand merchant's mansion lavishly done up and commanded by a stern Madame with her two scuttling spaniels. A fabulous five-course dinner was here consumed over four leisurely hours for some £40 a head. Good meals need pauses. Bardet is mad about old-fashioned vegetables, has a splendid kitchen garden and his vegetarian menu looked delicious.
Travel Guide: France
Stranger in the north
Enticing a companion to Lille I found was not without its problems. The idea of a weekend away in a well-trodden glamorous Euro-city is simple.
'But Eurostar goes to Lille,' I explained to my father, 'so it must have something. Cobbledy streets. Designer shops. Pain au chocolate. Museums.'
Perhaps out of sympathy, he succumbed to my despondent pitch and after two hours by Eurostar from London Waterloo we arrived in the north-eastern city of Lille, a stone's throw from Belgium.
One of the immediately appealing aspects of Lille is that it does not feel very French. Once capital of Flanders and now capital of the French north, the Lillois take every opportunity to point out that in spirit, they are Flemish.
Wandering past the ornate Opera House, the restored Vieille Bourse (old stock exchange) where bric-a-brac is traded now, it became clear watching them chatter that the Lillois politesse is genuine and charming.
For although my school French scrubs up well, whether sampling the petits fours at patisserie Maison de Paul on Rue de Paris or ordering beer in a cafe, the sneer, the frisson of resentment that is often meted out by the French to tourists for free never materialised in Lille.
Even the women seemed unthreatening in their ordinariness. 'Is it me Dad,' I asked, 'but are the women, well, unglamorous?' He nodded. 'Yes,' he said cautiously, 'I think you're right.'
'I could live in Lille,' said my father, as we ordered espressos. And there in the spring sunshine on the central cobbled square of Grand Place, we relaxed, listening to a brass band playing beside the fountains surrounding The Goddess, a statue modelled on the wife of the mayor who was in office when the town resisted an invasion by Austrians in 1792.
You can walk everywhere at a leisurely pace and see all the sights in a weekend, which is just as well for taxis are exorbitant - £14 for a 10-minute trip.
We set off to the cobbled streets north of Grand Place, to Vieux Lille which is well preserved and, one feels, well loved by the people who live there.
Travel Guide: France
A Lille bit of light relief
The mud in the Cambridge fens, where she lives, was beginning to drown my friend Marina's sanity. The exhaustion of Christmas in London was threatening mine. So we left our children - we have two each - with their respective fathers and very little guilt and set off for Lille in northern France on a two-day/one-night jolly you can only really appreciate when you are usually otherwise encumbered by small children.
We hadn't immediately considered Lille because, let's face it, one doesn't; the slag heaps glimpsed from the train make it the sort of place you bypass enthusiastically on the way to somewhere else, like Paris.
We decided on it simply because, with British railways as they are, it's as accessible, certainly from London, as, say, Birmingham and a good deal more French. Eurostar, that brilliant train, stops there and another friend recommended it and we'd never been, and what the hell! After all, away is away.
So there we were, one minute at Waterloo Station and two effortless hours later, pulling into the striking concrete modernity of the Lille Eurostar terminal, a mere cab ride from the old town. We dumped our cases at the Grand Hotel Bellevue, a Best Western, which was central, functional, clean and possessed all the personality of a paper cup and headed out on to the cobbled streets of Lille.
It's a poppet of a place and so polite it even has special boxes at strategic points along the pavements for dogs to do their stuff in, which makes for a much more harmonious relationship between pedestrian and man's best friend (I'm campaigning for a similar scheme in West London).
Even the shop assistants are courteous. In London, you become inured to the growls emitted from the prematurely orange faces behind the counter, but in Lille the girls, while not perhaps as glamorous as their Parisienne sisters, give a warm and genuine 'bonjour' and, however much you've spent, an equally warm 'au revoir'.
The shops, as French shops tend to be, are stylish and inviting and we ended up patronising more of them than were healthy for our bank balances. Then gagging, in our incorrigibly English fashion, for a cup of tea, we collapsed in Meerts, the most elegant and well-stocked tea and chocolate emporium I've ever seen.
Travel Guide: France
It's classy up northern France
Le Touquet is so regal even its roads are red, just like our Mall. If the French had not despatched their king to the guillotine, they would surely have styled this place Le Touquet Royale, like Royal Tunbridge Wells.
Instead, they plumped for 'Le Touquet - Paris Plage', which only hints at its glamour. This most chic of northern French resorts has now been celebrated in a film, Summer Things.
It stars the scrumptious Charlotte Rampling, though Le Touquet, with its glorious seven-mile beach and noisy beach huts, should really challenge for top-billing.
And the award for best supporting role? The delightfully old-fashioned Westminster hotel, in which Rampling stayed during filming.
Based on Joseph Connolly's riotous novel, the film is a celebration of the traditonal bucket-and-spade holiday. This cinematic recognition is long overdue - Le Touquet has always been the northern Cannes, without the vulgarity of publicity-seeking starlets.
Popular entertainers, plutocrats and princes have been drawn to its shore and sophisticated nightlife since the Twenties - but for time off, not to show off.
And it's long been popular with the British. For decades, Noel Coward, Somerset Maughan, P. G Wodehouse and Ian Fleming were all regulars.
Even today, Le Touquet resembles a warm, breezy, salty England; you can walk past the Bristol Hotel, down the Rue de Londres to Le Snooker Club - via, inevitably, Le Pub. If the century-old Entente Cordiale between Britain and France had survived, all Europe might be like this.
If you arrive by ferry, don't loiter in Calais, which grows ever seedier (shops called Boozers, 24-hour beer supermarkets and 'baccy barons' on every corner).
Instead, head along the coast and arrive in Le Touquet in under an hour. Or fly from Lydd in Kent in a tiny plane (not for the nervous: once travelling there on a now-defunct airline I was casually asked to slam the door behind me, while the in-flight 'service' for passengers, all three of us, consisted of a pilot turning round and proffering boiled sweets).
However you get there, you will find this stretch of the French coast enjoying a revival, with none of that sombre decline that pervades the stretch of coastline on the opposite side of the water.
Travel Guide: France
Languedoc-Roussillon: Taste the Mediterranean
Aside from seeing it on the odd bottle of wine, the name Languedoc-Roussillon isn't a familiar one to the average British holidaymaker.
It's a vast region of France, brushing the Mediterranean to the south and the harsh Cevenne mountains to the north.
But despite sharing a coastline with its glamorous neighbours Provence and the Cote d'Azur and harbouring some stunning historical sights, it remains a low-key spot.
Languedoc is the second most visited region in France, after the Cote d'Azur, for native holidaymakers.
Aside from its Mediterranean climate and the resulting gastronomy, it's a great place for holidays because of the diversity of its landscape and its reasonable prices. History, mountains, beaches, mountain biking, horse riding, shopping, culture - it's all here.
Many travellers base themselves in Montpellier - an hour and a half's flying time from London - and take day trips to the nearby attractions.
It's under 30 miles from there to the beautiful Roman city of Nimes and its highlight, the Pont du Gard.
The stunning three-tiered 275m aqueduct spans the Gardon valley. Its ochre stones have weathered the centuries and it remains a photographer's dream.
It's a feat of arrogance as much as design. Completed in 50AD, it brought water from the Uzes spring to Nimes, not purely for practical purposes but to indulge the lavish Roman desires for water gardens, baths and fountains.
All this is explained in the wonderful multimedia exhibition nearby. It costs eight euros for this and the children's section but it's well worth it. There are plenty of buttons to push and it's a great educational tool for budding history students.
Others visitors just pay five euros for car parking and spend the day here enjoying the splendid views.
No longer used as an aqueduct, the Pont du Gard makes a stunning backdrop for a picnic. In summer, holidaymakers line the banks of the Gard and enjoy a swim in its crystal clear depths, although admittedly the riverside has lost some of its allure since being badly damaged in the floods of September 2002.
Travel Guide: France
Last stand of the free French
The cafe awning beckoned irresistibly. A restorative cup of coffee was just what we needed. And restorative it was - freshly ground, with a rich, deep flavour enhanced, so the proprietress told us, by adding a tiny pinch of salt just before the boiling water.
Around us was an extraordinary collection of objects, from jade statues and stuffed fish just inside the door to elephants' tusks and Victorian oil lamps hanging above the mahogany counter. But the real surprise came when we asked for the bill.
'We don't accept money,' said Madame and her husband, who used to run a restaurant and nightclub in Toulouse.
'It's so pleasant to meet people and talk - you see, there are only six inhabitants in St Andre. And a cup of coffee is what we'd give any friend.'
My friend Genevieve and I were on a walking holiday deep in the Languedoc, a stunningly beautiful region of forested hills and flowery meadows which is so empty that a hamlet of three houses rates a place on the map.
Our days of walking took us up narrow winding lanes on to the grassy tops of hills where small bronze butterflies fluttered round clover and scabious in a silence broken only by the hum of grasshoppers, the mewing of a distant buzzard and the occasional screech of a jay in the woods below.
Our route, clearly way-marked with small red and white horizontal stripes on stones or tree trunks, took us past isolated farms motionless except for a few ducks and a pack of rowdy dogs - chien mechant is a common but usually meaningless sign.
Although our daily distances were not great, with eight miles about average, much of the time was spent in stiff climbs up and down the rounded hills that flank the wide Tarn valley with its somnolent, poplar-fringed river.
Once, the sides of these hills were terraced, with the tops left wild; now, these are meadows studded with wildflowers - meadowsweet, clover and buttercups - and cropped by sheep.
On our last day, after spectacular views framed by patches of pink, mauve and purple heather, we descended from 2,000ft down a narrow, rocky path covered with fallen sweet chestnut leaves, slippery as banana skins in rain.
Travel Guide: France
In beds with the French
Visiting Bouzigues in Languedoc last week, I looked at huge baskets of oysters. They were far from pretty. Had God designed something which defied eating, this was it. Naturally, the French knock them back by the boatload, especially at this time of year.
Over there, the oyster is as traditional at Yuletide as mince pies over here. The French also eat foie gras, then turkey, capon or goose, but start with oysters, usually raw.
Around 60 per cent of total French production - 130,000 tonnes - is swallowed during Christmas and New Year.
'Why?' I asked Jean-Pierre Molinat. I'd have asked anything to postpone enmouthing the mollusc. Jean-Pierre is 59, a former French first division goalkeeper and now one of 800 oyster growers operating on the Thau basin, a vast lagoon just back from the sea, behind Sete.
Bouzigues, a low-slung little Mediterranean fishing port, sits on its shores, looking out over 2,000 acres of oyster and mussel tables.
We were in Jean-Pierre's lagoon-side sheds, and his answer was simple. Oysters have long been associated with top-end eating. Louis XIV had them for breakfast. Napoleon downed a few dozen before battle.
The French need no further justification. Slurping the shellfish has always meant a special occasion - these days, Christmas rather than Waterloo.
Oysters remain expensive. Their cultivation is complex and takes time - between two and four years before the thing is ready to eat. Oysters, though, don't start off rare. They're curious beasts, alternately male and female.
Each summer, each oyster expels millions of microscopic eggs. They're all looking for something to attach to so they can develop. Oyster farmers oblige with strategically placed underwater forests of tiles, posts or old shells. Despite this only 12 eggs or so of the millions will reach adulthood.
Once 'captured', baby oysters are left for a year. Then, with shells about an inch long, they're brought into the sheds, knocked off their supports and, at Jean-Pierre's place, fixed in groups of three along a five metre cord. 'I use a dab of quick-setting cement,' he says.
Travel Guide: France
Languedoc, France: France unlocked
Deep in France's Languedoc countryside, we are settling into the languor of early summer.
Alongside the Canal du Midi, columns of ancient trees create a river of blue sky above, contrasting with the intense green of the water below.
Dandelion seeds spin through the air, catching the light. Apart from the rumble of our boat's engine, the only sounds are of birds singing and the occasional swish of cyclists passing us on the tow-path.
A bend in the canal reveals a lock ahead. At the steering wheel my husband shifts from one buttock to the other, preparing to slide our motor cruiser neatly through the opening, where I will jump ashore.
My daughters, aged 13 and 10, unfurl themselves from their books to make ready with ropes.
In a moment, the lock basin will start to fill with thundering, churning water, taking us up yet another level before the canal winds into the port of Carcassonne.
We have already glimpsed the ancient castle citadel of the town spread out on the hill, its turrets twinkling.
This afternoon we will be eating ice-creams in the summer heat and exploring the largest medieval fortress in Europe.
This, as they say, is the life. Only it has taken us a while to find out how to live it. Like everything else, practice makes perfect.
Two days previously we had been introduced to our motor cruiser - a enormous floating Winnebago, with around eight tonnes of consequential inertia.
Travel Guide: France
A tour de forts in Languedoc
The walk was to take place in the Corbieres Hills, an alluring region that once formed the border between France and Spain, and the route sounded both challenging and exciting.
Not only were we promised unforgettable panoramas, but also three medieval fortresses from the time of the Inquisition, perched on seemingly inaccessible ledges of rocks.
The area is associated with magnificent 12th and 13th Century castles, where the devout religious sect, the Cathar heretics, who were persecuted by the Roman Catholics for their belief in puritanical ways, took refuge when Simon de Montfort launched a savage crusade against them in the 13th Century.
The Cathars - the name comes from the Greek word for pure - were found throughout much of Europe, but the largest numbers settled in the province of Languedoc.
Examples of the kind of horrors inflicted on them can be found at the illuminated castle of Carcassonne, where one small community was targeted by agents of the Inquisition, who used instruments of torture horrifying even by medieval standards.
Our first stop was south of Carcassonne at the Hostellerie du Grand Duc in Gincla, an isolated village at the edge of the Boucheville forest.
A warm welcome from the owner was followed by Madame's home-cooked meal and delicious Corbieres red wines.
Next day, breakfast was taken on the terrace, accompanied by early-morning sunshine and the sound of the clear, gushing waters of the River Bussana.
The first walk was to be a five-hour circular trek from the Chateau of Puilaurens, over the Tulla Pass and back to Gincla.
The chateau once stood on the ancient border between France and Spain - before the boundary moved further south into the Pyrenees in 1659. Still in remarkably good condition, it dates back to 1258 and remained a fortress until the 17th Century.
And it was well worth the steep 2,000ft climb. There were magnificent views from the towers and battlements, and you could imagine the French firing crossbows through the arrow slits in the 4ft-thick walls as they defended their country from the Spaniards.
Travel Guide: France
A little bit of England-sur-mer
From the Mail on Sunday
I have seen the future of the holiday-hire car - and it doesn't make a sound.
There I was, sitting in the square in La Rochelle under the statue of an unlikely hero, a Frenchman who tried to save his town from invasion... by the French, when the motorised equivalent of a sackful of feathers passed through.
They may have to put some gentle warning sounds - a chorus of synthetic birdsong perhaps? - into the electric cars as they nose through the tight medieval streets, startling the unwary.
Any arriving tourist can hire the plug-n'-go voitures electriques (Peugeot 106 or Citroen Saxo) for about the price of normal rental cars.
There are recharging points around the town, and, apparently, you can flout the parking rules - I saw one outside the brand-new, four-level aquarium - just as when you were last able to park where you liked in a French town, in about 1952.
We go to France for la difference, but very often it's the same difference everywhere: churches; open-air dining in a medieval square as the swallows screech overhead; the Channel-to-the-Med predictability of the French loaf.
La Rochelle manages to be conspicuously different.
Electric cars, this go-ahead Atlantic coast community's answer to global warming and local pollution, set it apart.
So does that aquarium, France's newest, opened last year. Sharks patrolled to menacing mood music in one huge, eerie chamber. In another hall they have recreated a Pacific atoll.
A third section houses an extract of steamy Amazonia; my eyes, fortunately not my hands, were drawn to a threatening tank of piranhas.
Travel Guide: France
Falling in love with Berlioz country
From the Mail on Sunday
Hector Berlioz's house in the village of La Cote Saint Andre was in turmoil, just like the frantic closing moments of one of the great composer's orchestral overtures.
Workmen dashed from room to room to finish the renovation of the museum by June as the very unclassical sound of France's equivalent of Radio 1 throbbed through the three-storey house.
Antoine, the custodian, led me over the very notches in the floorboards where Hector's baby cot used to stand to his office. Donning white gloves, he removed a plastic sleeve from a cabinet and took out a yellowing manuscript.
'This is Berlioz's original version of the ball scene from the Symphonie Fantastique,' he said.
This music, a knockout, revolutionary sound in its time, still grips the world. It is possibly the greatest musical statement to unrequited love ever penned.
The passionate Berlioz wrote this fantasy of a young artist in the aftershock of his rejection by Irish actress Harriet Smithson, with whom he had fallen 'instantly and completely in love' when he saw her play Ophelia in Hamlet.
This year is the 200th anniversary of the birth of Berlioz, one of the 19th Century's most colourful personalities. His first love affair was at 12 - mind you, she was 18.
The British have always liked his intense, expressive music, and he was director of the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane, for a spell. But he went into celebrity orbit with the start of Classic FM, where he plays to millions.
Hector lived in La Cote Saint Andre, between Vienne, Grenoble and Lyon, until he was 18, when he set off for Paris.
He sets the scene in his memoirs: 'La Cote Saint Andre is on the slope of a hill, and dominates a fairly wide plain - a rich, golden and lush expanse of land, whose silence conveys a sense of dreamy grandeur, enhanced by the surrounding chain of mountains to the south and east. In the distance, laden with glaciers, rise the gigantic peaks of the Alps.'
I drove past fields of cereals and lavender and villages on scattered hills to reach La Cote; in the distance the Alpine foothills where the monks of Chartreuse put together a nifty drink out of herbs.
Travel Guide: France
Var horizons
From the Mail on Sunday
This is a love story about a man and a small valley in the hills of southern France. I'm the man and the valley is a downward fold of overgrown pine and oak-covered terraces which runs through the hills of the Haut Var. Some people know the Haut Var quite simply as Provence and, certainly, it lies well within the old boundaries of the Roman province from which Provence took its name.
But just as Wales - which is about the same size as Provence - has very different regions, to lump the Haut Var with the Peter Mayle-colonised farmlands and vineyards of Vaucluse, a hundred miles to the west, is to misunderstand both places. Though both are beautiful, they're very different.
The Haut Var is a wilder and emptier region than the cosier Vaucluse and Luberon. And because it's almost completely forested, the few small former fortress towns which sit on the tops of the hills look from a distance like sand-coloured islands in an ever-rolling, impenetrable ocean of green.
The Haut Var didn't always look quite so green. Or rather, it did, then it didn't. Today, there are probably more trees here now than at any time in the past few hundred years - but more of that later.
Our love affair - the Haut Var and me - began in 1988 when my wife Plum rented at the last minute a house up in the hills 40 miles or so north of St Tropez. At that pre-Peter Mayle time I could have written pretty well everything I knew about the Var, and indeed Provence, on the back of a T-shirt. But earlier that summer we had visited friends nearby and the potential for remoteness attracted us.
We arrived at night in our little Renault 5, our two sons - then teenagers - jammed in the back. To be honest, that first night after leaving the Autoroute du Soleil - crossing the vineyards of the central Var plain and chugging up through the hill towns of Callas, Claviers and Bargemon, driving ever deeper into the woods - we wondered if we'd made a bad holiday mistake.
Miles from anywhere, in pitch blackness, deep in the forest, without even a moon for company, we went to bed with a bowl of soup and faint stirrings of misgiving. Only in the morning when we opened the shutters and stepped out on to the terrace to see the dew rising like a veil off a little hidden valley did we realise how wrong we'd been. We'd had the luckiest break of our lives.
When we picked up our daughter at Nice airport that lunchtime, we were giggling with excitement. We'd stumbled into a little corner of paradise.
Eleven years later, nothing much has changed, except that perhaps the forest is a little higher and a little thicker, the boar a bit more numerous, a lot more cheeky. With the exception of one summer when we went to Zimbabwe, we've been back to the same little valley, back to the Haut Var, every year.
And, though the children are now grown up, they still come, bringing their friends, introducing them to the clouds of butterflies on the lavender; the wild flowers and foxes; the owls, dormice, deer and boar; the snakes, lizards and scorpions; but most of all to the seemingly endless forest and its secrets.
Travel Guide: France
Lines in the sand
We've been home from France for days and there's still sand everywhere... in our shoes, in our hair and in the smallest crevices of the car. There's even sand in my handbag.
But all this encrustation didn't come from merely lazing around on a beach. It is the result of a week's hard labour, studying the ancient art of sand sculpting (making sandcastles, to you and me).
Our destination was the annual sand sculpture festival in Hardelot, a small resort on the French Channel coast. For five weeks, rain or shine, professional sand sculptors display their skills - and they even let you in on some of their grainiest secrets.
We knew nothing about sand except that it ruins a perfectly good picnic. Benoit, our sand school teacher, began to change our perceptions when he opened a toolbox of surprising instruments.
Inside were coffee spoons and palette knives, sponges and pieces of Formica, trowels and windscreen wipers. Oh, and - of course - a bucket and spade.
'Please be careful with my tools,' begged Benoit in his sweet French accent.
Frances, 15, and Joe, nine, hung on every word of this passionate man, whose career seemed to consist of playing on the beach.
You could almost hear the questions forming on their lips. How did you get this job? Does it need any GCSEs? Where do I go to sign up?
'To make a sculpture, you need a lot of sand, a lot of water and a little love,' said Benoit.
Most professional sand carvers start with art college. But Benoit, 23, used to work in the bar at the Hardelot festival and simply asked if he could join in. Soon spotted for his sand-shaping flair, Benoit now tours China, Canada and Europe as an assistant to the world's greatest sand artists. In the winter, he sculpts ice for a friend in nearby Bethune.
Travel Guide: France
Embracing the Love Coast
From the Daily Mail
Last summer, while I was making my way through France towards the Loire, I turned off at Nantes and found myself in a part of the country I had never seen before.
It lies between the wooded Vilaine River and the shipyards of St Nazaire, and its true name is the Guerande Peninsula. But at the beginning of this century a local newspaper invited readers to dream up a more romantic title to attract visitors. The name they chose was a real winner. They called it the Cote d'Amour - the Coast of Love.
Since then, thousands of holiday-makers have fallen for its charms. Every summer, the creme de la creme of French society descends on La Baule, the region's glitziest resort, to play the casinos or gallop horses over six miles of the finest sands in Europe. But the rest of the coast is much less known, especially to Britons. Surprising, really, when it's so easy to get there.
I travelled overnight with Brittany Ferries from Portsmouth to St Malo. We docked next morning and three hours later, thanks to the toll-free motorways, I was tucking into my first seafood lunch overlooking the harbour at La Turballe. I chose sardines for my main course. La Turballe is the biggest sardine fishing port in France so the 'blue gold', as the locals call them, come straight from the boats to your table.
Seafood is one of the main reasons for coming to the Love Coast. Oysters appear on every menu, followed by sea bass, crab and lobster prepared a dozen different ways. But the sea itself is what most visitors come to enjoy.
From La Baule I followed the coast road through Le Pouligen - whose Breton name means 'Little White Cove'. The shores here are low but rugged, with elegant, turn-of-the-century villas tucked among the pines and long fingers of granite alternating with sandy coves and sheltered harbours.
Free parking is another bonus in this decidedly laid-back corner of France. If only driving in Britain could be like this. In Le Croisic I simply found a space by the harbour and wandered off into the maze of back streets to admire the beautifully restored Breton-style houses and cottages with their sky-blue shutters and granite doorways.
Behind Le Croisic lies a mysterious world: part land, part water, a gleaming mosaic of grassy embankments and brine-filled lagoons. These are the marais salants, or salt marshes, where men have been harvesting sea salt for a thousand years. Drive out along the winding causewayed roads and you will see the paludiers using old-fashioned wooden rakes to scoop up the salt into glistening pyramids of fine white crystals.
Travel Guide: France
Golf in France: Vive la difference!
Mark Twain, for whom golf was "a good walk spoiled", also claimed Parisians were most fond of "literature, art, medicine and adultery".
Were he still around he might have a new take on golf, since the area around the French capital now boasts a number of first-class courses.
And more and more British golfers are discovering how accessible, affordable and rewarding France is.
It boasts more courses in the Top 100 of Continental Europe - 23 - than any other country.
But until recently, relatively few golfers made the short hop across the channel. Morgan Clarke, MD of French Golf Holidays, says: "The reputation of the quality and value is spreading.
"It has taken some time to develop the deserved renown but we're starting to see the results now."
Just 45 minutes north of Paris, Domaine de Raray is a picturesque course in the grounds of a 17th-century chateau that also serves as a four-star hotel.
The chateau was used in the shooting of Jean Cocteau's 1946 film Beauty And The Beast, and provides a stunning backdrop to the 18th green.
It also serves as the clubhouse and will be a welcome sight for many who lose the battle with the slick greens.
Travel Guide: France
Esaping the rat race in Picardy
Hopping across the Channel to France is so convenient and relatively cheap these days, it's downright rude not to.
And it's not just a question of shoe-horning as much booze and fags into the car boot as possible and scuttling back from Calais or Boulogne the same day. Venture further into northern France to the Picardy region and you'll find something a little more rewarding than a case of vino.
Starting 45 miles down the coast from Calais, the Picardy region covers some 7,490 sq miles from Abbeville in the Somme, through Aisne and into the Oise valley just north of Paris. It's the perfect place to unwind for stressed-out city workers and those who want to escape the rat race. And at the end of a particularly tiresome week, I was certainly one of them.
It's all just so relaxing. Cosy little rustic villages give way to miles of agricultural flatland. Roads bisect fields of sugar beet and pastures with grazing dairy herds.
First on the relaxation tour were the gardens of the Abbaye de Valloires in Argoules, a lovely area boasting 5,000 species and varieties of flowers and plants. In the summertime, the French garden is a blizzard of colour from countless varieties of rose in classically square, sharp-edged flower beds surrounded by carefully-crafted and vivid topiary.
By contrast, the lazy curves of the beds of the English garden lead into a labyrinth of trees and flowers, from the spiky Tibetan bramble to plum and wild cherry trees and then on to the five senses herb garden, especially created for kids.
After an overnight stay at a quaint B&B in Favieres, we headed for the fairways at the Golf de Belle Dune, a gorgeous 18-hole course set alongside the sand dunes at Fort Mahon.
It's already a favourite with Brits - about 80% of the cars in the car park were UK registered - and it's easy to see why. I'm no golfer (although I did hit some spectacular shots, even though I say so myself) but even I was struck by the beauty and quality of the course. That and the fact it's open to anyone, costs only e40 and you can be there from the UK before you can shout "fore!".
In the evening, I joined a jolly family from Cambridge and a well-travelled Scottish couple to learn the secrets of gastronomy in the kitchen of a modern little hostelry in Fresnes Mazancourt.
Under owner Mme Martine Warlop's critical eye, we wielded frying pans and kitchen knives and were soon eating the fruits of our labour - creamed mussel and vegetable soup followed by delicious cheese-covered crepes stuffed with creme fraiche, mushrooms and ham. Throw in plenty of wine tasting - well, wine drinking - and the night was complete.
The following day, a bike ride through the forests of Compiegne was enough to clear the fuzzy head. You can hire a bike to pedal for two hours along some of the 37 miles of designated tracks that criss-cross 35,000 acres of woodland for about 14 euros .
If you're lucky you'll spot deer or wild boar as you make your way to one of the many villages that greet you with the smoky warmth of a hundred oak-fuelled fires. We stopped off at the exquisite La Bonne Idee in Saint Jean Aux Bois to demolish a fine meal of oysters and smoked salmon, wild boar from the forest and chocolate surprise and coffee to finish.
To end the trip, we donned our finest for a night at the opera, to see Halevy's Noe - as completed by Bizet - at Compiegne's Theatre Imperial. It was undoubtedly crafted brilliantly and a must for opera buffs, but, I must confess, it zipped straight over my head.
Travel Guide: France
La belle Franche, star of the east
From the Mail on Sunday
Not A Short Walk In The Hindu Kush. More a brisk whirl round La Franche-Comte. Neither Kush nor Comte are regular haunts of your average Tripper-Bird. Indeed, I found no one in England knew exactly where the Franche-Comte is, until I told them it embraces the Jura in eastern France.
Certainly, it's handier than the Himalayas of Eric Newby's Fifties travel classic. Air France to Lyon in 80 minutes, then a two-hour drive north-east where you'll find the region's capital, Besancon, keenly reported on by Julius Caesar, almost encircled by the fat, brown River Doubs and dominated by the Citadel, with strange and ghastly tales to tell. A short drive directly south and the outlook is completely different.
Admiring the scenery 4,800ft up on Mont d'Or, I remarked to ski boss Bernard Flot of the Metabief ski and summer resort: 'Looks exactly like Switzerland.' 'All of that is Switzerland!' he said, pointing at the south-eastern sweep of misty mountains. The frontier was less than four miles away.
Walkers trudged upwards bent like exhausted Sherpas, youths on sledges, luges d'ete shot perilously down their dirt track 'Cresta' and mountain bikes plunged down their twisting course. We went off for a buzzing, beefy lunch, swigged down with Jura wines in La Boissaude, a farm restaurant hidden among pines somewhere in the peaks above Rochejean.
The Hotel Le Lac at Malbuisson appears to have sleepwalked through the century. Now run by its third generation of owners, this charming, white-fronted hotel stands 3,000ft above the unbelievable azure of Lake St Point. It is so filmic that I expected a crew with floodlights and geezers in Twenties tweeds to appear along with moustachioed men and flapper girls.
But here sat Madame Chauvin behind her desk in the hall. She gave me the sort of 'old friend' welcome you seldom get in grand hotels. A daughter led me down a dark corridor to my room, which had a little balcony with a commanding view of the lake.
The hotel has the usual characteristics of antiquity: creaking boards, bedrooms squeezed a bit to provide a shower and a loo, old furniture and audible snores from next door.
M. Chauvin is naturally the chef. There are two restaurants: one specifically for cheeses is famous and full. In the garden above the tiny new pool I drank a Jura Jaune, a wine like a fino sherry but more delicate and not fortified and watched the scarlet sun slip down.
The mountainous wooded countryside of the Franche-Comte glitters with lakes and rushes with extraordinary stepped waterfalls like the Cascades du Herisson. The source of the River Loue isn't a mere meadow trickle, as I'd feared. It roars out of a cliff in a gigantic waterfall and once drove four mills.
The lake of Chalain is particularly beautiful and close to the grey-stoned medieval village and ancient abbey of Baume-les-Messieurs. Cotswold-fetching at first sight, it is, however, gripped like a hibernating tortoise in a bowl of menacing, towering grey cliffs. I watched from on high a group of Teutonic caravanners mercifully pulling out. Then I had the village and ghostly abbey to myself.
Travel Guide: France
What the French won't tell
The French can be perfidious, arrogant and profoundly annoying, but the good Lord must like them nevertheless.
He's given them a country that has just about everything - mountains, rivers, beaches and reasonable weather.
And, to their credit, the French have made the most of it. They've filled the place with history, culture, good food and wine. When the seriousness slips, they're also gifted at popular festivals.
No wonder, then, that we - not just Brits, but the whole world - go there more often than anywhere else.
France remains the planet's number one holiday destination.
Here's our choice of the best of France, 2003. Where possible, we've avoided the blindingly obvious in favour of places you might not have thought of.
Travel Guide: France
Welcome to the pleasure Drome
The next Provence - and, Lord, how I still love the old one - will be La Drome. This isn't just a land of milk and honey. There are great Rhone wines to the west, the Alps to the east and rolling seas of lavender and grey-green groves of olives. It's also the centre of the latest snobbism - grading olive oils like wines.
Charming Nyons, with its wonderful markets sprawling down to the river, has ancient olive mills, a modern olive co-op and the Olive Institute.
Here you may savour and buy a dozen different oils, judged by official jurors tasting literally blind, so that the colour doesn't influence their tests of flavour, scent and texture.
The Nyons oils are mild 'with a taste of Granny Smith apples and almonds'.
The Drome is only a two-hour drive south to the sea or two hours east to the skiing in the Alps. In it stands the two greatest chateaux of south-east France: the magnificent Renaissance Grignan and medieval Montelimar, the nougat town.
The Drome's hills are peppered with castles - some ruined, many open to the public - churches, and abbeys.
At Crest, another pretty river town, soars France's tallest medieval tower. From its top you can see the savage Vercors National Park. Here the roads are vertiginous, clinging to the soaring cliffs of rock.
There's an excellent restaurant in Crest called La Porte Montsegur (a Logis de France). The Drome, along with Perigord, is France's principal producer of truffles. Guinea fowl is a local delicacy.
In a quiet square in Nyons is an eccentric hotel of charm, Une Autre Maison, with rooms like a Thirties stage set and a garden restaurant of high repute but staffed one night by just one poor harassed girl trying to serve a dozen tables while the fat, old, ponytailed manager simply waddled about.
There is high country and silent air around Dieulefit, which is studded with castles and has a feel of Austria.
Travel Guide: France
Warm fronts in the south
Throughout the Victorian age the winter sea-fronts of the South of France were thick with Brits. During much of this time the two countries' governments were at loggerheads, just as they are today.
But our noble (or just plain rich) ancestors didn't care about political squabbles. They were fleeing the dreary winter days in Old Blighty for softer climes and sophisticated pleasures.
There's still a lot to be said for swapping gales and gas fires for a stroll along the promenade. And there are short-break deals in lively, elegant cities devoid of high-season hordes.
Nice: Nice is deep glamour. Queen Victoria took over a hotel the size of Hertfordshire for her winter holidays. Burton and Taylor were at the Negresco. Sir Elton had a house here.
The Promenade des Anglais, curving round the vast, twinkling acreage of the Bay of Angels, would seduce the flintiest.
Nice's old town has baroque churches and open-fronted emporia. In late Feb/early March the area explodes into Europe's biggest carnival.
Mornings: For an overview, take the 9.30 tourist bus (tickets from l'Office du Tourisme, 5 Promenade des Anglais). It covers the centre, Cimiez Hill where the aristos had their villas, and Mont Boron where today's rich stack discreetly up the hill.
Head for the Cours Saleya, heart of Vieux Nice and home of the south's great morning flower market. Lunch at Acchiardo, 38 rue Droite for about £10.
Afternoons: Big-brand shopping is centred around Rue Paradis and Avenue de Suede. Don't miss the Henri Matisse Museum on Avenue Arenes de Cimiez, or the extraordinary Russian Orthodox Cathedral St Nicholas on Rue Nicolas II.
On carnival weekends and on Wednesdays there are afternoon parades and flower battles.
Evenings: The best restaurant in town is the Chantecler in palatial Negresco Hotel (27 Promenade des Anglais). If you haven't got £120 for two, try the Merenda (4 Rue Terrace), but take cash as it doesn't like bankers' cards.
On carnival weekends and Tuesdays there are evening processions - this year on multimedia themes. It's unfettered Mediterranean celebration.
Then you can head for the bars of the old town. Wayne's (15 Rue de la Prefecture) is a home-from-home pub with live music.
GETTING THERE:
Kirker Holidays (http://www.kirkerholidays.com tel: 020 7231 3333) and VFB Holidays (http://www.vfbholidays.co.uk tel: 01242 240 340) have packages.
Travel Guide: France
Uncorking France
Until recently, French wine producers didn't bust a gut welcoming the general public.
They didn't need to. French wine was so self-evidently the best that they believed the public was jolly lucky to be allowed within sniffing distance.
Boy, how things have changed. With upstarts such as California, Australia and Chile now knocking them off the wine shelves, Gallic wine folk are discovering marketing. And that includes beckoning visitors into their vineyards.
Haughtiness has been replaced across the country by enthusiasm to meet us, tell us about wine - and sell a bottle or two. Here's our selection of the best sites in the eight main wine regions:
BORDEAUX
Bordeaux's great trick has been to convince the world that all its wine is fabulous when, in fact, less than five per cent falls into the first class, grand cru, category. Much of the rest is pretty ordinary.
No matter. There are still enough chateaux to keep us visiting for a couple of decades.
Among the aristocrats, which cluster round Pauillac in the Medoc, my favourite is the manicured, Palladian-inspired Chateau Pichon Longueville Comtesse de Lalande.
Doyenne of Bordeaux wine-makers, May-Eliane de Lencquesaing oversees everything with class, taste and fanatical attention to detail.
That's how you produce one of the planet's greatest red wines (tel: 0556 591940. Visits are free but you need to book ahead).
However, the region's most innovative visit is offered by Chateau Branda at Cadillac en Fronsadais.
The restored 14th-century stronghold boasts a splendid medieval garden sprinkled with contemporary art (sounds awful, but it isn't) and an entertainingly modern wine museum (tel: 0557 940977; cost: £3.40).
Travel Guide: France
The flavour of France
From the Mail on Sunday
The closest many of us ever get to the real France is a restaurant menu, but more French farms, country houses and chateaux are opening their gates to visitors, offering excellent value B&B and home produce.
Look out for the little roof sign (Gîtes de France) and the sunflower symbol (Welcome to the Farm).
Some can be hard to find, but it's worth the effort. I contacted the Chamber of Agriculture in Paris to ask if they knew of any more.
'Plenty,' came the reply. 'How many?' I asked. 'Three thousand five hundred, Madame, including sale of produce only.'
Here are a few I tried in the regions of Lozere, Gard and Vaucluse:
Chateau le Cauvel 48110 St-Martin-de-Lansuscle (tel: 0033 466 459 275); www.ifrance.com /lecauvel; e-mail: lecauvel@ifrance.com
This miniature 14th Century castle, barely visible in the dip of a hillside, lies in total isolation in the Cevennes National Park, south-east of Florac. Rather than consulting a map, you have to scan the countryside for a gap in the trees to find it. I was greeted with home-made cocktails and a five-course organic dinner on a floodlit stone terrace, which runs the length of the building. Somehow, Ann-Sylvie Pfister manages to cook for 20 guests a night, bake wholemeal bread for breakfast, make a dozen types of preserves from garden fruit and then dress for dinner as if nothing had happened. It is a one-family tourist office, offering maps, hiking routes, a library, an astronomical telescope and, most preciously, time. Local attractions include country walks, chestnut forests and neolithic standing stones.
Domaine des Trois Tilleuls Saint-Julien d'Arpaon, 48400 Florac (tel: 0033 466 452 554) www.les3tilleuls.com
My roof-top terrace overlooked a circle of guests around a barbecue below and a thickly forested hillside a-blur with pine trees. This country manor lies 650 metres above the lovely Minente Valley in the Lozere. Look out for medieval castle ruins at the end of the lane, lit up at night. You can go on mushroom forays and orchid walks from here, also wildlife-spotting, trout-fishing and canoeing. The Gorges of the Tarn can be reached from nearby Ispagnac.
Les Micocouliers 128 Chemin des Brusques, Boujac, 30380 St Christol les Ales, Gard (tel: 0033 446 607 194)
On summer evenings everyone sits in the garden under the lotus trees (les micocouliers) to sample Mediterranean and Provençal dishes. This is a mas or old farmhouse and lies in a scented countryside of thyme, lavender and rosemary. There isn't much to see in the village, but people come here for the food and nearby riding stables. The scenic village of Anduze is a 15-minute drive away. .
La Ferme, Massies M et Mme Guyot, Chambres d'Hôtes à la Ferme, Massies, 30140 Thoiras, Gard (tel: 0033 466 851 166)
This is an ancient, award-winning goat farm specialising in Pelardon cheese and offering fully modernised guest accommodation in the tiny hamlet of Massies. Typical stone terraces overlook the Cevennes, all moody skies and chestnut hills. The 28 goats all have names - and guests are encouraged to join in at milking time. Breakfast is the only meal provided and is served on a lawn of wild flowers under scented fig and mulberry trees. This is in the heart of the Gard, ten minutes' drive from St Jean du Gard with its sprawling Tuesday market. From there a steam train runs to Anduze or its Bambouseraie (bamboo gardens) along the Gardon valley - one of the most scenic rail journeys in France.
Travel Guide: France
Sur le train to Avignon
We set off from Waterloo Station on Tuesday confident that we were heading towards a Brave New World of travel.
We returned the next day sadder and wiser: the New World can be a bit too much like the nasty old one.
The bright part of this future is Eurostar's plan for a new service from Waterloo and Ashford to Avignon in the South of France. The service will run every Saturday from July 20 to September 7.
The 715-mile journey, mostly along high-speed, TGV, purpose-built track, is scheduled to take an impressively brisk six hours 15 minutes (which works out at an average speed of around 115mph).
It was tough luck on Eurostar that when we tried out the service, this lightning test run was brought to a sudden halt just 30 miles from Avignon by our old friend 'engineering works on the line'.
Eurostar had further troubles the following day when, on our homeward run, its schedules were devastated by a strike of French customs officers.
So is this the future? Faster trains but services still dogged by wonky track and bolshie staff?
It isn't only the trains that are suffering. Things were equally bad last Wednesday at Paris's Charles de Gaulle Airport, where we were forced to go in order to get home.
A temporary failure of the new British air traffic control system meant long delays to morning flights to London.
But I hope that Eurostar isn't discouraged by a few modest setbacks: this new limited Avignon service deserves to succeed.
Travel Guide: France
Le sex and le violence
We were in the chateau of Chenonceau in the Loire Valley and I wasn't sure I'd heard right. 'The future king was twelve and he took a mistress aged 32?'
'Certainly,' said my companion - a French woman and so not unduly surprised by such information. But it left me a bit cross-eyed. Obviously, I'd had a deprived childhood.
Loire Valley chateaux are full of such tales. Their image may be all towers, topiary and faded furniture but for 200 years, these great piles were hosts to power-plays, killings and world-class debauchery.
In Chenonceau, Henri III used the formal gardens for transvestite parties with his chums, 'the Sweeties'. In Blois, he invited a rival to his ornate bed chamber then hid behind a curtain as 20 hired knifemen jumped the wretch.
In Chinon, aristocratic ladies bunged accidental babies down an 80ft shaft, also the castle toilet. And it was from his balcony at Amboise chateau that Louis XII hung Protestant dissidents.
Perhaps because they've ignored these friskier elements in their history the planet's most celebrated chateaux have lost ground.
'Visitor numbers have been dipping since the mid-Nineties,' says Isabelle de Gourcuff, curator at Chambord, the mightiest and most popular. 'We're in competition not only with Disney but also cheap flights to Morocco.'
So chateaux across the region are hosting additional attractions: a Tintin exhibition at Cheverny, garden festival at Chaumont, horse show at Chambord, actors in period costume at several and sunset-lumieres at more still.
Most key chateaux are in the 100-mile stretch from Saumur to Orleans. Aside from the chateaux, look out for troglodyte houses built into the limestone cliffs.
Here's our essential six. Prices are for adults. All are open daily in summer:
Travel Guide: France
Is it all that it's cracked up to be?
Over centuries, France has created a name for fine food and good living, for culture, fashion and frolicsome festivities, not to mention beautiful countryside.
As it settles into summer, the key question is: does the reputation match the reality?
GOOD EATING
Undoubtedly the food is a major draw for many, largely because the French are interested in the subject to an almost insane degree.
Such a culture supports the great Paris chefs - Ducasse, Guy Savoy - and good ones across the country, and means it's difficult to eat really badly.
And it's easy to eat cheaply. About £20 a head can see you well away.
But there are pitfalls, not least an over-reverential attitude to regional dishes of sometimes limited interest.
Brandade de morue is a pasty, cod and mash concoction from Nimes and there's a south-west pork dish that swims in fat.
Eating, too, can be a bit full-frontal. French diners aren't averse to calf cheeks, and gizzards (gesiers) turn up regularly in salads while gristle is left on meat in stews. Verdict 6/10
WINE
It is vogue-ish to favour produce from Australia, Chile and Argentina. Yet, while these countries make excellent wines, none has the range and depth of the French vineyard, nor as many small producers (8,000 chateaux around Bordeaux alone).
But avoid bottles marked 'Vin de Table' or, worse, 'VDPCE'. Choose carefully and, from £2.50, you start getting an amazing variety of tastes. Verdict 8/10
Travel Guide: France
How to drive to the beach
From the Daily Mail
Schools have broken up and it's time to hit the beach. For those contemplating a long drive to their French holiday destination this summer, a few survival tips may be necessary.
ROUTE PLANNING: Several websites offer free route-planning services where you can state whether you want to go by motorway or back roads.
It's an excellent way of planning ahead - though you'll need to look at a map in conjunction with the itinerary.
Try http://www.mappy.com, http://www.via michelin.co.uk or http://www.shellgeostar.com
Officially, the worst weekends are as follows. Leaving from and returning to major French cities: July 26-28, August 2-4.
The weekends of August 9-11 and 15-18 are also predicted to be 'difficult'.
THE PAPERWORK: You'll need insurance, licence, MOT and car registration documents, plus a red warning triangle and spare bulbs.
French police get upset if you have faulty lights and no change of bulb. Also, a GB sticker for the back and beam deflector strips for the front.
A photo of Zinedine Zidane casually placed on the back-window ledge won't do any harm, either.
HELP WHEN YOU GET THERE: Bison Fute is the French government organisation helping motorists with their journeys. It has 40 manned information points on key roads across France.
Other road information, some in English, on 107.7FM.
Travel Guide: France
How to discover secret France
From the Daily Mail
France is vast and various. The beaten track may lead to classic regions such as Provence, the Dordogne and the Côte d'Azur, but there's far more besides.
Here we highlight six less well-known areas, all of character and great beauty. And, if the crowds are thinner than on the Med, who's complaining?
Hotels prices quoted cover a double room, without breakfast.
Telephone numbers are from Britain. If calling in France, delete 0033 and substitute 0.
BASQUE INTERIOR
Why go? You don't spend long in French Basque country without learning that Basques are the best at everything - folk dancing, sport, omelettes, singing, fishing, sheep's milk cheese.
Back from lively coastal spots such as Biarritz and Bayonne lie green valleys and rolling foothills to the Pyrenees, where vultures soar, legends thrive and the views are stupendous.
Must-sees: Town of St Jean-Pied-de-Port; Col de Roncevaux pass over the mountains; Gorges of Kakoueta and Holzarte; La Rhune mountain (by little train or foot); Iraty forest (biggest beech forest in Europe).
Hotels: Les Pyrenees, 19 place Generalde-Gaulle, 64220 St Jean-Pied-de-Port. Rooms from £58. 0033 559370101.
Getting there: Air: Stansted-Biarritz with Ryanair, (http://www.ryanair.com tel: 08701 569569). Biarritz to St Jean-Pied-de-Port, 34 miles. Car: Calais to St Jean-Pied-de-Port, 693 miles, £41 tolls.
Information: County tourist authority: 0033 559465050.
Travel Guide: France
Have pet will travel... or not
Monsieur Vandenhecke, a veterinary surgeon, managed one of those Gallic shrugs for which the French are justifiably famous. 'Certificat?' he said, arms spread wide. 'Certificat? Je n'ai pas le certificat.'
For a moment in his shiny, bright surgery in the sun-filled town of Surgeres, Western France, time stood still. I looked at M. Vandenhecke.
I looked at my wife. I looked at our three children. And finally I looked at Bertie, the Jack Russell terrier whose return to England the following day depended on M. Vandenhecke issuing le certificat.
All six, I discovered, were looking expectantly back at me.
The vet spoke no English; we could manage a couple of A-levels and a GCSE or two of French between us.
But without the certificate from the Ministere de l'Agriculture et de la Peche to prove that M. Vandenhecke had just injected the wriggling Jack Russell against tapeworm and doused him in an anti-tick formula, it seemed that our bold experiment in taking the animal on holiday with us was doomed to failure.
It had been an expensive, form-laden task. The dog, which is six, had been microchipped and vaccinated against rabies and all kinds of other ailments. He had a sheaf of official documents that weighed almost as much as himself.
P&O, which carried our carload of dog-loving holidaymakers from Portsmouth to Cherbourg, had charged an exorbitant £30 for him to stay in the vehicle for the eight-hour crossing.
Still, Bertie took it all in his minuscule stride, and the following morning greeted us quite contentedly with a wag of the tail and licks on noses all round.
The holiday destination, an old French farmhouse called Les Marroniers in the remote hamlet of La Flamancherie in the Charente Maritime, also proved a dog's delight.
Travel Guide: France
Good Lourdes!
From the Daily Mail
The Dublin women were making more noise than anyone else in the hotel bar. 'I came to Lourdes to get down to a size 12,' announced Janet who claimed, against the evidence, to be a grandma.
'As you can see, the miracle hasn't happened yet!' The laughter drowned conversation for a couple of miles.
You thought Lourdes was all praying and processions? So did Janet. She hadn't wanted to come.
Now she didn't want to leave. Neither she nor her friend Noeleen - in a wheelchair with MS - had been to bed before 4am.
But, if nights were taken up in the bar, they'd spent all their days in the Domain, the 150-acre sanctuary where, 144 years ago, a young girl saw the Virgin Mary and unintentionally kicked off one of the most remarkable travel phenomena of modern times.
No place on Earth generates more cynicism than Lourdes, Christianity's number-one pilgrimage spot after Rome.
It's easy. Appearances of the Virgin, miracles and the overt religiosity they inspire - people kiss rocks here - don't chime with the know-all 21st century.
But every year, around six million people travel to the little town (population: 15,000) in the foothills of the Pyrenees.
They fill 270 hotels, numerous bars and cafes and 25 places of worship, from which the sounds of Mass escape at all hours.
Travel Guide: France
For sale - a dream home
From the Mail on Sunday
It was our Big Idea for 2001. We'd head to France, check out the estate agents and buy a romantic holiday home. Nothing fancy, mind. Just a plain cottage or tumbledown farmhouse.
Somewhere we could live out our Peter Mayle fantasies.
Would we prefer Toujours Provence or A Year In Brittany; Bonjour La Loire or 'Allo Ardennes'?
'What about Burgundy?' said Mrs Milton as she twiddled her wine glass. 'It has hot summers and good wine,' she said, 'what more do we need?'
Good food, I thought, but then realised that Burgundy has that as well. Boeuf bourguignon and coq au vin, cheeses and salads, all sluiced down with liberal quantities of fine bourgognes. Scarcely had we finished dreaming than we were on our way.
Burgundy's rolling meadows and tangled woodlands are dotted with abbeys, chateaux, medieval castles and old stone pack bridges.
We headed first for Vezelay, one of the most idyllic towns in the Yonne Valley. The town sits atop a huge rocky knoll poking out of the surrounding landscape. The contours of the hill are ringed with the broken remnants of medieval walls and the peak is topped with a giant basilica.
The Restaurant du Cheval Blanc was also on hand, offering gargantuan bowls of boeuf bourguignon for the same price as a McDonald's.
The next day we got down to business, popping into estate agents in the fortress citadel of Avallon.
Travel Guide: France
Finding the perfect pitch for happy campers
From the Daily Mail
As a child, I used to beg my parents to take me camping, but they would not budge. I joined the Guides, but no one even mentioned the word 'expedition'. Eventually I grew up and dreams of sleeping under the stars were replaced with nightmares about answering the call of nature in a field in the middle of the night.
But fate plays tricks on us all and now I have children of my own. They, too, have a natural affinity for torches and sleeping bags. Camping provides some of the adventures they miss in modern urban life, along with a host of other attractions: space to run around; the chance to make noise and spill things without ruining the Axminster; playgrounds, children's clubs and a fantastic night's sleep.
So, ten years ago, we found ourselves reluctantly under canvas and, like thousands of parents before us, thought it all great fun. Even adults feel better after a fortnight of fresh air.
Perhaps the best place to start is a self-drive package to France, where the tent is already pitched, your kitchen is connected to the mains and there are croissants for breakfast. Don't think of it as camping, really - more like a giant wendy house, with all mod cons.
What should we expect?
Forget Redcoats and enforced communal activity - self-drive campers do it by themselves. Everything is pre-booked, but you take your own car. Unlike gites and cottages, you can arrive any day and stay for as long as you like, moving between sites if you prefer.
Each site has different characteristics - read the small print carefully. A 'ten-minute drive' to the beach may not sound much, but it could be further to find decent sand. 'Large, popular site' implies great facilities but also noise - discos and packs of teenagers in high season. On the other hand, small sites may not provide the full range of sports or entertainments which add to your fun.
Top tip: Don't worry too much about the site's star rating - in France, up to four stars are awarded for technical specifications. Small children will be happy with a paddling pool. Teenagers need a teen-scene. Many sites have their own restaurants - look out for creperies, pizzerias and bistros. From golf clubs to pedaloes, surfboards to ironing boards, pick the features you want.
Travel Guide: France
Dijon cuts the mustard
This is the smelliest building in town. As you saunter along the Quai Nicholas Rolin the whiff of spice and vinegar is carried on the breeze. It is also the ugliest.
Built to resemble a metal box, and unadorned by friezes and frescoes, it is worlds away from the renaissance mansions and ducal palaces that grace the centre of Dijon, the gilded capital of Burgundy.
As I reach the door of this industrial French factory, I wonder why on earth I've come. It is Mrs Milton's fault, of course. She criticised my home-made vinaigrette, claiming it lacked flavour and depth.
Being French - and a stickler for tradition - she insisted that I add mustard. Not any mustard, mind, but moutarde de Dijon.
So here I am, at her suggestion, on a bleak industrial estate, queueing up for a tour of the Amora mustard factory. It will teach me everything, and more, that I never needed to know about mustard.
When I read about this tour, I imagined no one would sign up. Who would want to visit a factory while on holiday? Yet the guidebook warned me to arrive early, for tours were often oversubscribed and people turned away.
I arrived a full 30 minutes in advance, and was astonished by the crowd - 70 mustard enthusiasts eager to spend an hour inside the factory of their dreams.
Mustard, we discover, has been enjoyed in Dijon since the Middle Ages, when dukes and courtiers ate flagons of the stuff, which was thin and runny and poured over fish like gravy.
The little factory museum is, much to my surprise, an excellent introduction. There are old manuscripts and photographs, mustard machines and ancient pots, plus countryside yarns from connoisseurs of old.
Did you know that the patron saint of wine-makers, St Vincent, is also the patron saint of mustard? No, nor did I, but it explains something about the magic of mustard.
Dijon: Beautiful city
Travel Guide: France
By train to the Med
From the Mail on Sunday
Armchair motor racing fans can now experience what it is like to be David Coulthard as he races around the track - without the expense of buying one of his cars. From next Sunday passengers on France's railways will be able to travel at speeds of around 186mph as they head south to the Mediterranean.
SNCF has finished the last section of new track on its TGV network, which will shave one-and-a-half hours from the London to Marseille journey time. British travellers bound for the Med can board Eurostar at Waterloo and, changing trains in Lille, arrive in Marseille in less than seven hours.
Guillaume Pepy, the SNCF director of customers, is convinced passengers will reject airlines in favour of the TGV (Train à Grande Vitesse). Unlike the stress of air travel, he says: 'Time in the TGV is time for sleeping, listening to music, reading and seduction.' More importantly TGVs have a 100 per cent accident-free record and arrive punctually 98 per cent of the time.
My own experience of the train was certainly pleasant, if without Mr Pepy's promised seduction. Our departure from Lille was noticeable only by the fact that it was unnoticed; I was merely aware that the train was suddenly moving.
The first part of the route will be familiar to those who use the Eurostar service to Paris, a fast passage through the vast green agricultural plains of Picardie. We bypassed Paris to the east and continued south towards Lyon, fields flashing past in a blur.
SNCF's chairman, Louis Gallois, who was travelling on the recordbreaking run, told me: 'This is not just a means of travelling faster, but a way of getting absolute pleasure. You can admire the most beautiful countryside and landscape in great comfort.'
While one of the pleasures of train travel is to view the passing countryside, on a train travelling at speeds reaching 227mph the view is very different. Anything closer than a mile from your window is a blur, and the horizon and distant hills become more interesting.
The route runs mainly though rural areas to avoid disturbing local villagers. The train makes more noise outside than it does inside. Although there was a background whine inside the carriages the predominant noise was the quiet murmur of voices as people sat back, chatted, and tried to spot landmarks from the window.
Once we were south of Lyon the view began to change. There were fewer large trees smeared across my picture window and taller poplar trees could be seen in the distance. Vineyards appeared and vanished, a whitewashed church appeared momentarily on a hilltop and I was sure I could see small specks of orange hanging from a grove of trees.
The houses had flatter roofs with pink tiles and blue-painted shutters over their windows. Mountains could just be made out to the east, through a haze on the distant horizon, and the setting sun cast long shadows.
Travel Guide: France
Feeling very jolly in Val Joly
Stretching into the heart of some of the most unspoiled areas of northern France, Le Nord must rank as one of the great undiscovered areas of Europe.
The undulating rolling countryside of Coeur Flandre and the valleys and forests of Avesnois make for a stunning contrast.
And holding court in the centre of the region is the city of Lille, with its beautiful 17th-century architecture.
Tucked away on the Belgian border, on the far eastern edge of the Avesnois region of Le Nord, is the picturesque resort of Val Joly.
Think of it as a huge country park, centered around a 180-hectare lake, once used for hydro-electric power, but now given up to tourism.
Set in the second largest forest in the Nord, it's a haven for lovers of hiking, nature and watersports.
Val Joly is an all-in-one, self contained holiday resort catering for all tastes.
For the more adventurous, a range of sporting activities have been cleverly located around the lake, including sailing, wind-surfing and mountain biking.
Those wanting to relax will find it the perfect place to get away from it all and soak up the countryside.
Whether you're a novice or an old sea dog, the Val Joly resort is the perfect place to go sailing.
Dinghies, catamarans and kayaks are all available for hire, and kids are fully supervised by qualified instructors.
Travel Guide: France
Fishy success for waterless Etaples
Less than two hours from Calais lies a remarkable fishing port - or rather a former fishing port.
Sand, the stuff that had made many neighbouring towns rich from tourist cash, was strangling the life out of Etaples, blocking the harbour to all but the tiniest trawler.
The 4,000-strong fishing community refused to be beaten. They simply moved their fleet to Boulogne and commuted.
Fish landed in Boulogne by boats from nearby Etaples are separately marketed, the profits shared and the community supported.
Some of the catch is sold on the quayside for prices so low they'd make your jaw drop. The very best goes to what could claim to be the finest themed restaurant in France.
Aux Pecheurs d'Etaples was built in 1989 to showcase the local fresh fish.
Inside, all is fishy - the tiles, curtains, tablecloths and wallpaper. Even the triangles of bread on your table are baked with pungent fish oil.
The concept took off and now there are Aux Pecheurs d'Etaples restaurants in Boulogne and Lille.
For about £12 a head you can savour home-made four-fish pate, grilled or smoked fish of the day and desert.
So passionate are the people of Etaples about their fishing industry that this spring they opened Mareis - a fascinating exhibition of the life of the town and its industry - in a cavernous former ropeworks building on the wharf.
Travel Guide: France
Food and culture delight
Northern France may lack the glamour of the south but don't discount the cultural and gastronomic delights the region has to offer.
Normandy, consisting of five departments in the north west of the country, is a well-preserved but rather old-worldly area overflowing with rustic charm.
This makes for a holiday destination best suited to garden lovers, golfers, historians and hikers.
The lush green countryside of Normandy is best explored by car, with the flat landscape regularly punctuated by hedgerows known as "bocage".
For UK visitors the region has the benefit of being relatively easy to reach either by Eurotunnel or ferry crossing.
The area has a fast and efficent system of modern motorways, but there are regular toll charges to watch out for.
Normandy's olde worlde heritage is also characterised by the numerous "Hotels et Restaurants de Charme" which are prevalent in the region.
These independently-owned properties are often old stone manors or rustic thatched buildings. While not exactly the height of luxury they certainly add to the feel of the region. Alternative accommodation includes self-catering gites and campsites.
Travel Guide: France
Secrets of the Perigord
From the Daily Mail
What is it about the Dordogne that draws tens of thousands of us every summer? Many spend holidays there; others have retirement homes having converted an old stone barn, perhaps, or restored a steep-roofed farmhouse tucked into a patchwork of orchards, fields and forest.
The Dordogne, like Tuscany, provides an idyllic version of the British countryside. The oak woods, rolling hills and broad, sweeping riverscapes have echoes of home - but with a better climate. Summers are long and warm - but with enough rain to keep the landscape green and fresh. We may be on holiday, but we feel at home.
And we also see it as quintessentially French: here are old stone villages, housewives gossiping on doorsteps, children running down cobbled streets clutching lunchtime baguettes, farmers pottering about on old-fashioned tractors and still selling their produce at weekly markets.
Given its popularity, how do you plan a holiday where you won't find yourself stuck in an endless traffic jam behind yet another car with a GB plate? Or where it turns out that the people in the neighbouring gite live just up the road from you at home?
Taking the Dordogne region by region, here's our guide to getting the best from perhaps the most beautiful countryside in France. Note that many people refer to the Dordogne by its pre-Revolutionary name of Perigord.
Perigord noir (Black Perigord) is the holiday heartland of the region. Most of the big sights are here, including the best of the Stone Age cave paintings and the most popular market town, Sarlat. But the region's roads can get choked with summer traffic and the tourist hotspots can become too busy for their own good.
That's not to say it doesn't make an excellent area for a holiday - it is popular because it's so pretty.
The long, sweeping meanders of the river, stone-built villages, the picturesque streets and squares of Sarlat - these are what most people identify as typical images of the Dordogne. You can enjoy them without being too bothered by crowds, as long as you pick your accommodation carefully. Take a gite in the hills north of Salignac, for example, still within striking distance of the sights and of Sarlat.
Perigord Pourpre (Crimson Perigord) coincides roughly with the Bergerac winemaking district. Much of the area immediately around Bergerac is dull and flat, but there are prettier parts especially up in the hills northwest of Bergerac, a wonderfully peaceful area of woodland and vineyards (the dry white wine here is excellent), and along the southern borders of the region around Issigeac and Monpazier.
Travel Guide: France
Out for a duck
The Palaeolithic cave paintings of The Dordogne are among the wonders of the world. They are beautiful and mysterious.
Not the least of their mysteries is that among the profusion of artfully delineated bison, woolly mammoth and reindeer, there is not a single duck or goose.
These days the region is in the web-footed grip of these birds. They abound in the fields, they crowd the market stalls, and they are ubiquitous upon the menus of every hostelry.
The beak excepted, almost every part of the bird make its way to the table. The cooks of south-western France pride themselves on their sturdy, flavoursome cuisine.
It is, as the local saying has it, 'sans beurre' and 'sans rapproche'.
This vaunted absence of butter should not be taken for some sort of low-cal option. For butter (and, indeed, oil) is simply replaced in most recipes by lashings of goose or duck fat.
The rich dripping is employed in preserving duck confits, blending goose pates, basting magrets de canard,and - in a rare excursion into the vegetable world - for sauteing the splendid potatoes sarladaise.
It seeps, too, from the local speciality, foie gras, the engorged liver of a force-fed goose or duck.
The Dordognoise seem to regard it as a duty to eat as much foie gras as possible. They serve it up whole, in pate or as a garnish. We were even presented with it as the base of a savoury creme brulee.
It is now so popular that supply struggles to keep up with demand. And it is a matter of local anxiety that false and adulterated foie gras is coming onto the market from Eastern Europe and beyond, tarnishing the reputation of the delicacy.
Oliver Gourdon, the charming young chef at Côte Bastide in St Foy le Grand, readily directed me towards his approved foie gras producer at the town's bustling Saturday market.
He also urged me to try the local goat cheeses, and to sample oysters from the Bay of Arcachon, west of Bordeaux.
Such tips are useful, for the markets are riots of choice. The towns come alive on market days -or, rather, 'market mornings'; by 1pm the townfolk have retreated behind their shutters.
Travel Guide: France
Cycling success
From the Daily Mail
For most of us, our first bicycle ride is one of our foremost childhood memories. Lying face down in a bush, having fallen off comes a close second. So when my sister Julia called me from her home in Los Angeles and asked me to join her on a two-week cycling holiday in the Dordogne in France, I was very reluctant. But she insisted.
A month later she arrived in London carrying a spare set of cycling gear - a fluorescent disco-dance outfit and fingerless gloves. I feared my sophisticated city wardrobe would never let me near a bike again. But I went.
We hired mountain-bikes out of Sarlat for around £10 per day/£50 for the week. I was pleasantly surprised to discover today's bikes are more user-friendly than the ones I remembered from my childhood, with 12 to 18 gears and tough tyres that feel safe and supportive.
Although my sister and I are relatively fit, I wouldn't say you have to be in anything other than good overall health to take to the roads in the flatter parts of France - the Loire Valley, parts of the Dordogne and the Camargue.
As the world's number one tourist destination, much has been written on the many marvels of France - its cities, churches, cuisine, works of art. However, I would like to wax lyrical on the fantastic unclassified road surfaces. They are as smooth as a baby's bottom. And not just in the Dordogne region. Oh no. That was way back then in my tender infancy of cycling holidays. Since then I've done the midi-Pyrenees and Alsace.
France is a great big beautiful farmyard, but you have never been properly introduced to it until you have ridden through it in the open air, free as a bird, flowing along under your own steam, awake to every detail. But it was the refuelling I liked best. We had French fries with everything. Even with wine and petits fours, my sister and I came home half a stone lighter from our holiday, which was not our intention.
Another favoured pastime was watching Britons en route to the south detaching themselves from their vehicles - once they had managed to park. Despite driving top-of-the-range vehicles, they emerged as sluggish as something out of the Stone Age. Then the yawning and stretching started as they tried to focus bleary eyes on what place of interest they'd arrived at. The children seemed restless and a bit irritable that 'how many miles to go now?' has yielded nothing more than a crusty old church with a few monsters clinging to the facade.
So if you really want to lay claim to the beauty of the world, you have to go some way to meet it on its own terms - try cycling into rural France, even for a day.
Travel Guide: France
Discovering the joys of Gallic golf
From the Daily Mail
In the opulent Eighties, the French went golf crazy, building new courses in sand dunes and aquatic parks and municipal developments. Better still, they built them in chateau parkland. Turrets and battlements made dramatic backdrops for immaculately manicured greens. Castles and crumbling outbuildings were converted into gracious hotels with gourmet restaurants. And nowhere more so than in eastern Brittany, where the dramatic seascapes of the peninsula are replaced by rolling hills and villages untouched by tourism.
For me and my fellow high handicappers, the good news is that most chateau courses are empty and easy. In Britain, where golf is an everyman game, courses that cost less than £20 a round are extremely congested, even during the week. In Brittany, where golf is a game for the bourgeoisie on Sunday afternoons, you play as fast as you want. As the green fee usually covers the day rather than the round, you also play as much as you want.
At Domaine des Ormes near St Malo, Monsieur Yvonnick Houitte de La Chesnais finances the upkeep of the chateau that has been in his family for seven generations by using his park as a giant holiday camp. The 18-hole golf course was opened in 1989. The design, in a half circle round the chateau, emphasises variety, with eight holes with water features. The highlight comes at the 10th, which requires two lake crossings, but fortunately the chateau is behind you at this point to avoid distraction.
For those who prefer a greater escape, the Grande Briere Nature Park inland from La Baule to the south makes an intriguing base for any kind of touring holiday. The park is a network of channels running between reeds and bulrushes, best seen from the church towers in hamlets like St Lyphard and Kerhinet or, equally traditionally, from a punt. In an age of alternative fuels, the peat market is at an all-time low, but the area is a vital staging post in bird migration and the villages, with their thatched cottages, are delightfully otherworldly.
The golf course at Chateau de La Bretesche, several miles away, is at least as beautiful as Les Ormes, but less interesting because so many of the holes seem interchangeable. The fairways are carved from majestic royal forest enhanced by rhododendrons and banks of flowers.
At the 8th, the fairytale castle in the middle of the lake provides a dramatic backdrop to the green, and the fairway at the 9th sweeps along the banks, but otherwise water is not a factor. Beware the 18th, where the approach shot to the green can easily hit the clubhouse or golfers approaching the first tee. Both are out of bounds, but by the time you know that, it could be too late.
Away from the chateau circuit, Brittany also has its links courses, among them modest Granville on the Baie du Mont St Michel. Don't be lulled into a false sense of security by rough fairways, tattered flags and a clubhouse seemingly designed by an architect on speed, because this is a true test of golf. Nowhere near so true, however, as St Jean des Monts, a brutally magnificent challenge to the south of St Nazaire. Although it only opened in 1988, St Jean is no stranger to torment. Hackers beware.
Travel Guide: France
Doing Monte Carlo on the cheap
Monte Carlo's legendary wealth and glamour doesn't instantly class it as a budget holiday destination.
On Formula 1 Grand Prix day each May, the gap between the rich and the rest is even more glaring.
The route is invisible to non-ticket holders, and officials man every nook and cranny with any sort of view. Still, with effort, even Monaco's capital is open to no-frills visitors.
Budget airline easyJet flies from Luton to Nice - Monaco's closest airport - from about £100, depending on the day.
Cars can be hired at the terminal, but to really keep costs down it is best to get around by bus and train. Airport taxis, be warned, charge double on Sundays to go anywhere.
Cap d'Ail, next door to Monaco, is a cheaper accommodation option for those trying to save pounds.
Single bus fares from Cap d'Ail to next door neighbour Monaco cost about 75p, far less than taxis and trains.
But with a last bus at 8.15pm and train at 10.20pm, its chic capital Monte Carlo remains a daytime option only for budget travellers, unless you splash out on a taxi home.
Tiny Cap d'Ail itself has very little life to it. Only one quiet bar opens at night, and it's sleepy by day.
Buses from Cap d'Ail to Monte Carlo arrive at lively Boulevard Albert 1er. An uphill walk takes you to Palais du Prince overlooking Quai Albert 1er, and quaint bars along Rue Compte and Rue Basse. Pizza and pasta, the cheapest meals in Monaco, cost from about £7.
Lavish Monte Carlo Casino - seen in the James Bond movie The World Is Not Enough - is surprisingly affordable to visit, even on a budget.
For about £6 (10 euros) you can enter the ornate Salon Ordinaire gaming room and watch gamblers in black tie place their bets.
There is no charge to use one-armed bandits and slot machines in a room off the gilt and marble entrance hall.
Travel Guide: France
The bustle of a working port
From the Daily Mail
Which of the cross- Channel ports offers the most interesting day trip? Boulogne and Calais may have their attractions, but essentially they're places to pass through, or shop in.
Dieppe, on the other hand, is a destination in its own right. A town of 200,000, it seems to sparkle as you approach it from the water.
White cliffs rise up all around; the masts of yachts bristle in the harbour; and behind them, the smaller, inner harbour is filled with fishing boats and trawlers.
Arriving by SuperSeacat from Newhaven, you sense the bustle of a working port mixed with little hints of indulgence: the sea air, sunshine and smell of cooking wafting from the harbourside restaurants.
The Seacat has revolutionised cross-Channel travel to Dieppe. Not only has it cut the journey time in half, it has also turned a previously tiresome experience into something enjoyable.
Just two hours after setting off, we were nudging into the harbour at Dieppe. Our base was a dozen miles north up the coast, in the Hostellerie de la Vieille Ferme at Mesnil-Val.
The hostellerie was an ancient, half-timbered establishment of oakbeamed ceilings, creaking stairways and rooms with unexpected nooks and crannies. Mesnil-Val itself is a pretty little place, with a sandy beach perfect for kids. After a quick early-morning swim, we set off to explore.
Dieppe's British connections date back to the 12th century, when England and Normandy were united and it was a major centre for Anglo-French trade.
By the early 20th century, the town had acquired a reputation as a freethinking artists' colony, with more than 2,000 British residents, including Oscar Wilde, then recently released from Reading Gaol.
Travel Guide: France
Paris-on-Sea
From the Daily Mail
Deauville is often called the 21st arrondissement of Paris, though I'm never sure whether this is a compliment or not.
For some, it means 'too posh by half', for if Deauville really were a Parisian borough, it would be an extraordinarily smart one.
From its kitsch, mock-Tudor railway station, through its well-manicured streets, to its half-timbered little shops, Deauville is desperately chic.
For the well-heeled, there are branches of Gucci, YSL, Hermes, and all the other top names, clustered within a little shopping area of faux-medieval gables and turrets near the grand, gilt-bedecked casino.
The resort's two five-star hotels - the Normandy and the Royal - sit on opposite sides of the casino on the beach front.
Both hotels, and the casino, are owned by the Groupe Lucien Barriere, the Kentucky Fried Chicken of luxury resorts in France.
Its very presence in a resort confers a five-star rating.
M. Barriere's presence in Deauville is far-reaching: he also owns the beach-front conference centre and the Hippodrome de Deauville, a horseracing track.
You will also find his discreet logo on the terribly fashionable Soleil Bar on the Promenade des Planches, a boardwalk running the length of the beach.
It's where celebrities and stars like to be seen during the summer. Rest assured, however, that these are French celebrities: you won't recognise them.
Travel Guide: France
How I learned to fly with the eagles
From the Mail on Sunday
'Why don't we do something adventurous this year instead of hitting the beach?' my boyfriend Pete, who is nuts about paragliding, said to me one morning.
Armed with just a rip-stop nylon wing, Pete likes to jump off hills and then fly around like a bird, reliant on thermals (pockets of rising hot air) and the wind to keep him up.
In a moment of madness - I hate heights and love beaches - I agreed to do a course. Who doesn't dream of flying?
We went to Courchevel in the French Alps for the reliable wind and weather and the uncrowded sites.
The Alps are spectacular. The verdant fir trees, the milky icy-green lakes, the piercing blue skies, the snow caps in the distance are breathtaking and there's plenty to do even if you're not keen on imitating eagles: hiking, mountain biking, rafting, tennis, swimming, skating or rock climbing.
My instructor was Craig Jenkins, a former British Freestyle ski team champion who has taught paragliding since 1992 and has thousands of flights under his belt.
The keys to paragliding are prudent judgments and careful analysis of the conditions. Part of Craig's expertise is to know the conditions and therefore be in the right place at the right time. Students are under constant surveillance and are never in danger.
Still, there are plenty of urban myths. Tales abound of the guy who flew into a cloud, got sucked up to 30,000ft and was then spat out covered in ice.
So before taking the plunge, as it were, I took a tandem flight with Craig.
A paraglider consists of a wing, a seat and five sets of lines attaching the one to the other. Each line is strong enough to support the weight of three men.
Travel Guide: France
More than just a film festival
We went to Cannes to see what it has to offer apart from the film festival - lots is the answer. I started to get excited on the road from Nice airport, which has some lovely coastal views.
Modern Cannes is a pleasant town with upmarket shopping on the Rue d'Antibes and a beautiful open-air flower market, plus a weekly antique market and art shows. At one end of the palm tree-lined promenade known as La Croisette, we watched a group of elderly gents playing boules or petanque - whatever it was, they were enjoying it.
After drooling over the big fancy hotels along the front, we climbed the cobbled streets to the old town, which has great views over the rooftops and the sea. Unexpectedly, the museum here has an unusual collection of musical instruments.
We took a boat ride to the Iles de Lerins and got off at the furthest island of St Honorat, visited the peaceful monastery and walked all round the island. Only one little restaurant near the landing stage, so don't wander off thinking you'll see what else you can find.
Travel Guide: France
Mixing it up in France
From ducking a Provence mountain storm to quaffing champagne on Nice seafront in one day — the South of France offers more variety than you might imagine.
The contrasts of the city's five-star chic and the rugged splendour of the country are just what you need for a holiday with a difference.
And the Chemin de Fer railway is the ideal way of blending both with a breathtaking journey from Nice to Provence's mountain valleys.
Caught from the city's Gare du Sud, the train offers magnificent views and the opportunity to stop off at some of the many picturesque villages.
You can stay at a bed and breakfast in between your travels but the more adventurous can try camping at one of the sites in the surrounding hills.
The stunning medieval cliffside village of Touet sur Var offers plenty of walking and hiking opportunities.
An exciting day is to be had exploring this beautifully preserved 12th-century outpost. Hikers can strike out for the valley's peak but it is a stern test.
Stay at the peaceful riverside l'Amitie camp site and eat with locals at the rail station cafe, which elevates simplicity in food to an art form.
Visit Entrevaux, a village dominated by a cliff-top citadel and accessed by a working 17th-century drawbridge.
Then travel to the hiker's paradise of Annot for a walk or watch petanque while sipping a coffee in the square.
After all that ruggedness, you might want to catch the train back to Nice and relax for a few days.
Staying at the Radisson SAS hotel on the Promenade des Anglais, the luxuries of the Cote d'Azur's premiere city are just a pleasant beachfront walk away.
The six miles of sand and a lush cliff-top park are the best sites for sunbathing, while the city offers a host of cafes and shops when you've lazed enough.
Travel Guide: France
From ocean to mountains
We stay in the Massif des Maures, in the little hillside village of La Garde Freinet, and feel like we get the best of both worlds: Provence and the Côte d'Azur.
La Garde Freinet isn't really Provence, but it's near enough. The atmosphere is decidedly Provençal. There's a wonderful market twice a week and a boulangerie we can pop into each morning to buy bread for breakfast.
Most days we head to the beaches. When you don't have to stay in St Tropez, it makes a great place to visit. If you stop for lunch in one of the restaurants lining the road into town, you can bask all afternoon on a sunlounger on their private section of beach.
Then it's into town for a spot of people-watching by the harbour. Despite the expensive boutiques and the huge posh yachts, it really is quite pretty. There's a market in the main square and the old men play their petanque games every day in the shade of the trees: it may be busy but it's not so awfully touristy.
Of course, we can always retreat to the hills if we want a bit of peace and quiet.
Travel Guide: France
Bubbles, buckets and spades
My trip to the Cote d'Azur was not my first, but I'd never been with Nick or the kids.
Last time I'd shopped in Antibes all day without anyone whining, I'd sipped Kir Royales with my agent and attended movie parties in Cannes. I'd had a very nice time.
But now, I was returning with the family in tow as well as adding friends Sara and Kathryn to the crowd.
With the girls hungry for glamour, Dylan and Molly eager for buckets and spades and Nick traumatised by the prospect of a fortnight with three women in their 30s, we made our way towards the medieval village of Valbonne via a 90-minute wait in the Avis offices at Nice airport.
Valbonne is a wonderful base from which to explore the Cote d'Azur.
It's well placed for access to the N7 motorway - possibly one of the world's most picturesque traffic jams - that runs the length of the coastline, and close to the stunning villages of St Paul de Vence and Biot.
The perfumed town of Grasse is nearby and the glamour of Cannes is only a few miles away, with Monte Carlo and St Tropez further along the coast.
Valbonne itself is beautiful and peaceful. Its cobbled streets are chock-a-block with upmarket gift opportunities; local olive oils and wine, smart linens, some nice galleries and a seemingly limitless choice of lavender bags and beautiful soaps.
The main square is also home to a number of bars and restaurants in its arcades, and it is here that locals and tourists gather every evening to dine and drink al fresco.
Since the square is predominantly pedestrianised, our kids were safe to run around at their leisure and generally had more fun than they would ever be allowed at dinnertime at home.
Travel Guide: France
A cote of many colours
People-watching has always been a popular seaside occupation. And, now we have been told toasting ourselves in the sun is no good for us, it is a very restful way of idling away time in the shade.
On the French Riviera you can watch the half-baked, the famous and the infamous go about their business.
Here the degree course in people-watching, star-spotting, is a highly regarded tradition.
After all, the Cote d'Azur's history has been entwined with the famous since Queen Victoria fell in love with Nice and Cannes more than 100 years ago.
Brigitte Bardot established St Tropez as a trendy holiday destination when she became a film star.
All the Moores, Roger and Demi, and the Hepburns, Katharine and Audrey, either made movies here or passed through on their annual pilgrimage to the Cannes Film Festival.
But it is the coastline of the French Riviera that always lures me back. Possibly the only charming aspect of Nice airport is that its landing strips run parallel to the water.
Perched above the runway, you can look down and see the bright blue Mediterranean and yachts docked in harbours like Antibes, Nice or St Tropez.
Take the overnight Motorail trip from northern France and it is still the coast that first excites when you wake to fantastic sea views as the main line hugs the beaches.
The seascape has charm because it is so varied.
Between Nice and Monte Carlo the coastline is rugged and mountainous. Between Nice and Cannes the rocks and pebbles give way to sandy beaches.
Travel Guide: France
Rediscover glamour on the Côte d'Azur
You've all read it. The Côte d'Azur is finished. Ultra non-chic. It's concreted over from St Tropez to the Italian border.
The great and glamorous have fled, chased out by tourist folk in flip-flops. Don't believe a word. I never did.
Jeanne Augier - the owner of the Negresco hotel in Nice - has welcomed virtually everyone in her 45 years at the hotel's helm, from HM the Queen to Picasso and the Hollywood elite. William Holden once ran off with one of her waitresses.
The cocktail of blue blood, art and frisky movie aristocracy created and sustained the Riviera's spangled reputation. And it's still there.
The King and Queen of Jordan and Courtney Love all swung by the Negresco recently.
Of course, a lot of the coast is now hideously developed, a victim of the French genius for slotting apartment blocks into beauty spots.
But a lot of it isn't. Rocks, vast sea, crystal sunlight and the whiff of exotic vegetation on the breeze - you can have them all if you know where to go. And the glamorous know, because they've been going there for generations.
Naturally, you and I don't bump into Harrison Ford or Henry Kissinger on the beaches and bar-terraces. But you and I never did.
The British aristocracy, who as good as invented the Côte d'Azur in the 19th century, kept itself aloof - and the contemporary beau monde has perfected aloofness. It wouldn't be glamorous if it didn't.
True glamour needs to be inaccessible - glimpsed, at best.
Travel Guide: France
Where the sun rose and set on Napoleon's empire
From the Mail on Sunday
The island bells sounded across the sea as we came to Calvi - it was Sunday on Corsica. By the time the barquentine was at anchor, the population had been to church and come out again and from the land came an unmistakable smell. Lunch.
From the steep town it wafted across the green water, the scent of oil, garlic, meat, fish and vegetables, the best smell in the world on a summer's day. As we made for the shore in the tender you could see the white cloths on the harbourside tables, the glint of sun on upturned glasses and a girl polishing spoons. You could almost hear the cork coming from a bottle.
We had sailed from Cannes late on the previous evening and now there we were hove-to with the cheese-coloured town almost folded into the hills, handkerchiefs of midsummer snow lying against the mountains only two kilometres inland where the road begins its rolling way through the island down to Ajaccio, where Napoleon was born.
He was an island man, despite his continental visions, for he became an exile on Elba, across the Tyrrhenian Sea, and eventually died in the faraway Atlantic on St Helena. In his day Calvi was a remote two-day journey from Ajaccio, a fishing place of a few houses, inserted into the limestone of the hills.
Some of the town is still wedged there; you see the front of a house which is revealed as the facade of cave. The coolest bar on the quay is half-cavern. The cobbled street rises until it peters out on the hillside, at a place I imagine where the people decided enough was enough, it was too difficult to build any further.
Up above there are a few houses which have never really been finished, their windows as hollow as their rooms, a refuge for swallows. Strolling along the quay on that Sunday morning was a delight.
From daybreak the place is busy with boats but all activity seemed to have ceased in the cause of lunch, or at least an aperitif. Tourist shops hung on to every steep and stony street and there were stalls full of shining vegetables for replenishing the small boats which had come in overnight.
Travel Guide: France
Corsica is Absolutely Fabulous!
From the Mail on Sunday
Corsica is best known as the birthplace of Napoleon. It seemed fitting then, that my partner Nick and I should visit the Ile de Beaute with our own power-hungry small people in the form of Dylan, three, and 18-month-old Molly. My Mum and Dad came, too, in the guises of nanny and driver respectively.
Having flown to Bastia airport and crammed everything into a Renault Kangoo - not unlike the Pope-mobile and seemingly popular with most car hire firms on the island - we headed for Barcaggio, a tiny hillside hamlet in the north-west of Corsica, just below the Cap Corse.
Veering away from the dull outskirts of Bastia (really the only time that my Dad forgot which side of the road to drive on), we started to climb the Col de Teghime. Welcome to Corsica. We found ourselves suddenly driving on the kind of roads that were made famous by car chases in Sixties crime caper movies. Indeed, I think my Mum would only really have found them thrilling from the safety of an Odeon seat.
We rounded countless hairpin bends and climbed hundreds of feet, heading towards what the guidebooks call 'wonderful panoramic views from St-Florent to the lagoon' but what others might describe as terrifying sheer drops.
The generous Corsicans have also done away with barriers and warning signs so you can see the views even better. Rather curiously, they have also decided to put a rubbish dump next to this road (route D81) a full 2,500ft up in the clouds.
My Mum's anxiety was further increased by the thick smoke belching up from the other side of the peak, which we immediately assumed was our villa going up in flames.
Apparently such fires are common during the summer months, and no one really knows whether careless tourists or cattle-herding firestarters - burning off the scrub to encourage the growth of lush new green shoots - are to blame.
Travel Guide: France
Cool nights out in Cannes
In summer, a promenade along Cannes' palm tree-fringed Croisette is the ideal way to spend an evening.
With the warm Mediterranean lapping gently on one side and a string of fabulously upmarket hotels glinting on the other, it's the height of cool.
But when the festival and its entourage has left town and the sun is losing its intensity, it's a surprisingly relaxed early winter retreat.
The Boulevard de la Croisette runs along the sweeping bay and is milling with people on a sunny November afternoon.
There are parents and grandparents pushing buggies and young French dudes cruising along on their in-line skates.
If you fancy a rest, park up on a bench and enjoy the glorious Mediterranean views or, for a price, hire a sun lounger and stretch out on the beach.
The main drag in Cannes leaves you in no doubt that this is a town populated by the wealthy and beautiful.
Grand hotels are interspersed with designer boutiques, bars and restaurants in which to pose.
Even the beach is marked out for the haves and have nots, with each hotel offering its own private jetty to ensure guests need not walk any further from their yacht than is necessary.
Travel Guide: France
Works that old magic
From the Daily Mail
Perverse thing, age. We realise we are getting old only after noticing we're the youngest on holiday. Confused? Let me explain.
Being forty-something - well, late forty-something - and it being the summer when our daughters received A-level and GCSE results and couldn't actually agree on a family holiday venue - my wife, Chris, and I decided to forego heading south in August and agreed to get away together. Alone. Out of season.
There would be no squabbling children, our own or anyone else's. In fact, no children were in sight when we arrived at London Stansted airport for a flight to La Rochelle that saved the car-slog across France.
Chris noticed it first as we arrived at the gate ready to board the plane. 'There seems an awful lot of blue-rinses travelling with us.' She was right. Barely into September, but we were markedly towards the younger end of the passenger age spectrum.
It was the same when we arrived at Chatelaillon-Plage, a delightful seaside town, five miles south of the airport on France's west coast. Strolling along the seafront on the first evening, our fellow French promenaders were all sensibly wrapped up and all a little vieux.
Waking up the following morning and walking onto the hotel balcony overlooking a glorious, sandy beach bathed in sunshine, even the joggers travelled at a fairly arthritic pace. And for the next seven days, the sound of silence was deafening.
We are obviously getting old, because it was quite sublime.
This was our second visit to Chatelaillon. It happens to be twinned with the village where we live. In season, there is beach football and volleyball, sailing, tennis, a waterpark for the children and a casino. With plenty of holidaymakers, the casino remained open, but this holiday was different.
Quiet, empty beaches, never a problem finding a table in restaurants, no noise, no rush, no crowds. And equally successful.
Chatelaillon is a small seaside resort with a minimum of British visitors and maximum charm. We stayed at the Hotel Les Flots (or Des Flots depending on whether it was the sign on the front or the side of the pretty blue building).
For less than £50 a night, we had a double room with a balcony and arguably the best restaurant in town. The fish soup was supreme, the various fruit de mer dishes spectacular. And even with a couple of glasses of Kir, four courses and a bottle of wine, it was impossible to beat the £20-ahead barrier.
Travel Guide: France
Hitting five snow resorts in one go
You want to grace the slopes for a week or just a few days - why head to one resort when you can take in five?
It may sound like an impossibility but Grand Massif in the French Alps encompasses five resorts, with a mammoth 265km of pistes and 132 slopes.
Best of all, each resort has a different tone, from traditional Samoens steeped in history to modern Flaine, a snowboarders' paradise.
France's Grand Massif is located opposite Mont Blanc and comprises the resorts of Morillon, Sixt Fer a Cheval, Les Carroz, Samoens and Flaine.
It's located in the Haute-Savoie region 45 minutes' drive from Switzerland's Geneva airport, approximately two hours by plane from the UK.
Grand Massif is where Olympic skiing champ Antoine Deneriaz learned and still trains - so you'll be in good company.
Most British skiers have heard of Flaine - 26% of Grand Massif's visitors are from our isles and Flaine is the resort they are most likely to go to.
Built in the '60s, it's a modern party town perfect for young groups and couples or adventurous people of any age. With its black runs, it's also the best place for advanced skiiers.
Those who want a more traditional experience can head to Samoens.
Listed by the French historic monuments agency, the postcard-pretty village of Samoens is the most beguiling in the region and will appeal to history buffs who can visit 15th century Berouze church. The many kids' activities and blue and green runs make Les Carroz ideal for families.
Another traditional choice is Sixt Fer a Cheval which is linked to Flaine by the impressive Piste de Cascades - a 14km run through a nature reserve.
Look out for wildlife such as eagles and mountain goats but you'd better have strong biceps here - much of it is flat so be prepared for lots of poling.
Travel Guide: France
Champagne's supernova in North France
On accidentally creating champagne for the first time, 17th century monk Dom Perignon declared, "I am drinking stars!"
Whether he was drinking in L'Epine is unclear, but surely this small village close to Chalons-en-Champagne in north east France must qualify as a supernova itself.
Just a 30 minute drive from champagne vineyards and the Argonne Forest, L'Epine has its own surprises to offer - the first being a huge 15th century Gothic style basilica which towers out from the heart of village.
Built during the 100 Years War, it bears the scars of French history with its statues removed during the French Revolution. But it's still a sight to feast your eyes while your appetite gets ready to feast on the second surprise.
This can be found in the kitchen, wine cellar and hospitality of Aux Armes de Champagne, the four star hotel/restaurant adjacent to the cathedral.
Angeline Perardel created the hostel in 1908, and today Jean-Paul Perardel and his wife Denise continue the 'family business', which thrives on a strong reputation and a sublime mix of pinot noir and chardonnay grapes; the starry stuff champagne is made from.
Under the culinary spell of Michelin star chef Gilles Blandin's cooking, dining and drinking at Aux Armes may well be the reason why God created tastebuds.
Monsieur Perardel's courtesy extends a few hundred miles back into Calais where, at one of his wine markets earlier in the day, corks were popped on no less than 15 different types of wine and champagne, heralding the start of our 24 hour feeding and drinking frenzy.
The grapes ranged from deliciously sweet yet subtle dessert wines such as the Banyuls Docteur Parce to champagnes including Delbeck Cramant Grand Cru.
With a menu comprising delicious seabass, red mullet and coriander and a mouthwatering creme brulee, this was a lunch like no other.
But with a nine course meal planned for dinner, an afternoon nap on board a three hour coach trip to L'Epine was much needed.
Travel Guide: France
The ideal Cite break
The first glimpse of Carcassonne's citadel, with its unbroken walls and ramparts and its dozens of pristine pepper-pot towers rising like a mirage above the vineyards of the Languedoc in south-western France, is one of the most unforgettable sights in Europe.
But thereafter the Cite as it is known, can disappoint.
Virtually rebuilt from a ruinous state in the second half of the 19th Century, it amounts to a medieval theme park of a town - coincidentally, it was Walt Disney's inspiration for Sleeping Beauty's castle.
Overflowing with cafes, restaurants and gift shops, there is little evidence of normal life. Once home to 3,000 inhabitants, now only 125 live within the walls.
Then there are the crowds. Sightseers have been coming in droves to gawp at the Cite for more than 100 years - France's third tourism bureau opened here back in 1902.
Some three million visitors are expected in 2002, of whom, thanks to Ryanair's flights from Stansted, a vast proportion are Brits.
But as an alternative city-break destination, Carcassonne does have its merits. Unlike many lesser cities served by the low-cost airlines, it's a prime tourist spot, so has a good choice of hotels and restaurants.
Also, it's a very manageable size - you won't need any transport to get around town.
Travel Guide: France
Push the boat out
Mid-November. The wine harvest is over, the leaves have fallen from the trees and the good burghers of Calais are bracing themselves for invasion.
They call it la periode Anglaise. From November 17, the town's giant hypermarkets - Auchan, Carrefour, Pidou - will stay open (unlike British supermarkets, they normally close on Sundays) and will continue to operate seven days a week until just before Christmas.
Carrefour has opened a special British annexe, with its own tills, bilingual staff and wine-tasting bar, and featuring the sort of national favourites - packs of Le John Smiths and La Vielle Poule Tachetee (Old Speckled Hen), Tia Maria, Bailey's - which mystify French shoppers but continue to attract British hordes, especially now that shoppers no longer have to prove that the goods are for personal use.
Cross-Channel operators find their normal short-break and holiday business sidelined by day-trippers.
For the shops, bars, malls and restaurants of Calais, this is a time of plenty. For British visitors, it is a time of plentiful consumption, both personal and domestic.
Arriving in France with the muscle of Sterling behind you is like winning a shopping competition; the food is anything up to half price, meals and alcohol are far cheaper and - though I hate to reinforce stereotypes - the quality is generally better, even for basic steak and chips.
So how to go about it? Cross-Channel shoppers generally divide into two camps; Dawn Raiders and Gastronomes. Dawn Raiders set off at first light with a van and a lengthy list and hit the hypermarkets running.
The nearest target is the giant mall Cite Europe (Carrefour, Tesco and hundreds of brand-name stores) where you can shop, grab a meal, shop again and be home in time for EastEnders.
Disadvantage? If you've ever seen Cite Europe on a busy Saturday, especially pre-Christmas, you'll know it's an experience best avoided. It took a colleague a week to recover from a recent trip with his family.
Travel Guide: France
On your bike
From the Mail on Sunday
Just 25 miles from England the instruction 'on yer bike' - or local equivalent - is a form of welcome rather than a variation on 'get lost'.
Cycling in France is an invitation to adventure, and it now starts at the portals of the Channel Tunnel.
The Nord Pas-de-Calais tourist people have stared wistfully - and for long enough - at the British speeding past down the autoroutes.
Now, with Eurotunnel, they have come up with an eco-friendly way of serving up the French experience as a takeaway meal.
Leave your car in Folkestone. Cross the Channel with (not by) bike. Pedal away for a day along the overlooked Cote d'Opale (the best part is the 30 miles between Calais and Boulogne).
I crossed the Channel on Le Shuttle with my son's mountain bike, like a rider in the Tour de France.
The Eurotunnel minibus driver who picked me up at Folkestone said I was the only one that day - normally his vehicle was full of cyclists.
With my bike strapped on the trailer, we emerged from the tunnel in 35 minutes and I was driven round to the Eurotunnel terminal at Coquelles, with instructions to be back at 6pm sharp.
Ahead were six of the cheapest hours I had ever spent in Europe - the day return trip last summer cost just £16.
As my driver departed, I experienced those first uncertain moments of being alone in a foreign country - without a puncture repair kit. I would just have to trust the perfect surface of the French roads.
The tourist board has assembled four circular scenic cycle routes starting within an hour or so of the terminal.
One, passing Cap Gris Nez, where cross-Channel swimmers struggle ashore, caught my eye - until I noticed it included hills described as 'not for the fainthearted'.
Calais: Cycling country
Travel Guide: France
Channel hop for that bargain shop
From the Daily Mail
Half-past eight in the morning, and the vast metal shutters of the Auchan Supermarket creak up to admit the day's batch of British shoppers.
There's hardly a French voice to be heard among the 100 or so trolley pushers, who take an immediate left turn for the section marked 'Bieres et Vins'.
'Shopping in Calais used to be a novelty for British people,' says Roger Young, resident wine adviser at Tesco Vins Plus. 'But for many it's a regular, four-times-a-year trip.'
No wonder, with litres of Gordons gin at £10 and cans of Stella Artois at 50p each. You can bring back 100 bottles of wine and 200 cans of beer without Customs batting an eyelid - if your suspension can stand the strain (each case of beer weighs two-and-a-half stone).
So where's the best place to dive in? Any Calais regular will tell you that the bulk of the buying activity has focused on two main shopping centres within a mile of the Eurotunnel terminal.
Both are unreachable on foot, but less than five minutes by car (15 from the ferry). The first is the Centre Commercial Calais Ouest, home of the huge Auchan Supermarket and Sainsbury's Wine and Beer.
At 8am, the car park is empty; by lunchtime it's hell on wheels, thanks to a Toytown-like layout and a drive-through fuel station that offers 30 per cent cheaper petrol than the UK, but has only one checkout to cope with half a dozen pumps. Expect queues and bad tempers.
French wine, if you're ready to buy brands unfamiliar in the UK, look no further than Auchan. It's got 20ft-high walls of Cotes du Rhone from £1.25 to £1.75 a bottle, plus lovely red Morgons at £3.49 (the long-division's easy - 10 francs to the pound).
But with typical Gallic chauvinism, Auchan stocks hardly any wine from anywhere else in the world.
So cross the car park to Sainsbury's to find familiar Australian, New Zealand, American, Chilean and other New World wines, all bearing signs telling you how much cheaper they are here than in a branch of Sainsbury's back home.
Travel Guide: France
The best of cellars
The slippery stone steps lead me deep inside the Earth. Giant cobwebs hang from the ceiling like old curtains and water is dripping from the walls. It grows chill and damp the further we descend.
A fruity scent - pungent and powerful - grows stronger and stronger. This ancient cellar contains a vast stockpile of wine. And I'm about to drink some.
Over the next few weeks, tens of thousands of British shoppers will head to Calais to buy their Christmas wine.
Most will go to a hypermarket - bashing elbows as they join the mad scrum for the till - never pausing to consider that wine-buying doesn't have to be like this. With a bit of planning, it can be tremendous fun.
All over France, from Alsace to Bordeaux, there are family-run wine producers who sell their wares directly from the cellar.
Like Britain's corner shops, they're open all hours, throughout the year. Unlike the corner shop, they offer a fine selection of locally grown and locally produced wines.
Even if you don't speak French, you're likely to be welcomed as one of the family. Before you know it, you'll be seated on an upturned barrel sipping exquisitely perfumed Chardonnay.
I toured some of Burgundy's wine villages - not the most famous ones, where a single bottle can cost an arm and a leg, but those that are far from the beaten track.
I began in St Bris le Vineux, 15 miles south-east of Auxerre, a sleepy but picturesque little place set amid rolling hills, cherry orchards and steep vineyards.
The surrounding countryside looks beautiful in rain or shine. In spring, the tender vine-buds paint the landscape a brilliant green. In autumn, when clusters of grapes hang low on the vine, the leaves on the cherry trees turn a deep, blood red.
Travel Guide: France
Just relax on the slow boat to heaven
Only the French would celebrate National Cheese Day. I was there for the occasion, cruising slowly along the Nivernais canal aboard a luxury barge called La Belle Epoque.
Every village en route boasted a cheese shop offering complimentary tastings of wonderful smelly fromages. Every glass of red wine sipped in any small cafe arrived with pungent slivers.
An angler, picnicking on the canal bank, wrapped his baguette around a runny Brie, kissed his fingers and told me: 'In France we eat 25kg cheese per citizen a year - our cheese is the world's best.'
My six-day trip began on Eurostar. From Paris our party of 12 were taken in a minibus to the barge moored at Auxerre, in Burgundy - we were welcomed aboard with champagne and cheesy nibbles.
'If you fall overboard, just stand up and the water will reach your knees,' said Leigh, our captain, which was reassuring, particularly as we were all casting professional eyes over the bulging free drinks cabinet.
Having checked my cabin (all mod cons and plenty of storage), I set off to explore medieval Auxerre with its steep streets of half-timbered houses and huge Gothic cathedral where Joan of Arc arrived in 1429.
There's also a Viennese pastry shop, a horse butcher, a brilliant chain store called Pimkies, and, of course, various gloriously enticing cheese shops.
My convivial fellow cruisers included a cheery, joke-telling Brit, a feisty septuagenarian lady whose adult daughter, a life-and-soul-of-the-party type, kept the conversation from flagging at dinner, and Hank, a charming, slightly hard-of-hearing elderly gent from Chicago.
Hank never quite got to grips with the fact that he and I spoke the same tongue. 'DO - YOU - EAT - SMELLY - CHEESE - IN - ENGLAND?' he would bellow, speaking very slowly as people do to foreigners. 'WHAT - IS - THE - ENGLISH - FOR - FROGS' LEGS?'
Each day was heaven. Breakfast was fruit salad, croissants and home-made preserves. We then sat on deck in the sun watching the glorious Burgundy countryside slide past.
Travel Guide: France
So much to do, so fast
I wouldn't go as far as to say that Tom Cruise and I are so similar that we worship the same God or anything, but with the release of his latest action-packed blockbuster, Mission Impossible 3 I do feel like we've got something in common.
You see, I spent the other weekend in France's gastronomic region of Burgundy where an action-packed agenda saw us playing golf, cycling, horse-riding, hot-air ballooning, rock climbing and Segway riding - all in 48 hours.
Like Tom, we'd be performing all our own stunts (okay, activities) although our rewards would be more epicurean than financial, with the opportunity to savour some of Burgundy's gastronomic delights at every meal time.
We got the star treatment on the journey to Burgundy's ancient capital Dijon in Eurostar's plush first class carriage journey from Waterloo on Eurostar and after a brief tour around the city streets (we got a bit lost) we arrived at our 17th century hotel and tucked into a tasty gourmet meal at its picturesque restaurant, Les Oenophiles.
If you find yourself in Dijon, this place is well worth visiting. Chilled gazpacho jelly amuse bouche was followed by a delicious salad, trio of perfectly cooked meats and a selection of minute puddings. On the way out we spotted the cheese board oozing deliciously. But fitting in another course would definitely have been Mission Impossible.
Bright and early the next day we took a speedy tour around Dijon's historic streets on a Segway. Although the tourist office has been running the trips for over four years, we got more curious stares than an A-list celeb on a red carpet. Perfectly coiffured French women yanked their quiffed poodles edgily out of the way, and old people clutched each other in horror as we whizzed past.
Dijon was home to the rich and powerful Dukes of Burgundy from the early 11th century to the late 1400s and the city's centre is a beautifully preserved mix of gothic churches, half-timbered medieval buildings and leafy squares.
The Segways glided easily over the ancient cobbles and thanks to their big wheels, we were easily able to rub the town's lucky charm, an owl carved onto the side of the impressive 13th century Notre Dame church. The owl is polished smooth where eight centuries of townspeople and visitors have made their wishes.
After lunch we drove across the picturesque Cote D'Or countryside that surrounds Dijon to the tiny village of Pouilly en Auxois to experience La Voute. This 3,333m-long tunnel was carved through the hills in the 19th century to connect the rivers Seine and Saone with the Atlantic and English Channel.
At this time, canals were the quickest way to transport goods and the whole region is criss-crossed with the now tranquil, tree-lined water paths. The 1,200-odd kilometres of canal paths are surrounded by peaceful countryside, tiny stone villages and the vine-covered hillsides for which Burgundy is justifiably famous.
As we travelled through the eerie, black tunnel that took 4,000 men seven years to build and which at the middle offered barely a pin-prick of light at either end to light our way, it was hard to imagine a better setting for a spine-chilling horror film. Nearly 200 men lost their lives during the mammoth project and at night their souls are said to haunt the tunnel. But it was so dark in there, how did they know when it was day and night?
The walls dripped with tiny stalactites and slimy mould and the occasional bat (or was it a ghost?) flapped past our specially adapted solar-powered boat. I presumed we'd stored enough solar power before we entered the tunnel to get us through... It seemed a bit pathetic to state the obvious half-way through. Gulp.
Clearly I'm more an action film fan than a horror fan and it was a great relief to emerge into bright sunshine once again.
Our next stop was a restored medieval fortress, Chateau de Chailly where we had a golf lesson to attend. First we had a whizz round the 18-hole course in a couple of golf buggies before getting a few swings on a club with the club pro.
Okay, so far most of our activities had been fairly sedentary, but the following day things hotted up. We drove down to Cravant to pick up our mountain bikes and then it was back to the canal again, this time cycling alongside it, rather than gliding along.
The weather was ideal, sunny with a slight breeze and we powered along Canal du Nivernais spotting heron and the odd falcon hovering for prey. The canal path joined the mighty Yonne River which, along with the Saone and the Seine form three of the biggest rivers in Northern France.
The surrounding hills offer some the best wine growing conditions in France, hence the appellation "Cote d'Or" or golden hills. Names like Nuits St Georges, Chablis and Puligny Montrachet which are normally just labels on a bottle of wine, are pretty hamlets surrounded by acres of vines.
At this time of year the vines are severely pruned but in a few months time the whole area will be green with bushy vine leaves and plump, juicy grapes ready to produce some memorable Burgundy vintages.
Which is exactly what we were rewarded with after our bike ride. Stopping in Accolay's Hostellerie de la Fontaine we lunched in a converted wine cellar, sampling a hearty selection of local delicacies. Burgundy snails cooked in Dijon mustard and locally caught river fish were washed down with red wine from next door Irancy and this time the cheese trolley was ours to sample.
Travel Guide: France
Disney sparkle at Christmas
Hairdryer, check. Make-up, check. Small child. Oh god. I knew I'd forgotten something.
I was going to Disneyland Resort Paris for a long weekend to experience a bit of Disney magic and thought an infant would be an appropriate addition. I don't have one, but thought maybe someone might lend me theirs.
The problem is that no-one I know actually has any. Still, when Walt Disney opened the first Disneyland in California in 1955, his goal was to create a place "where adults and children could live the same dream". So presumably you didn't need to actually have a child with you to experience this. I was sure there would be plenty once I got there.
In fact, as soon as we boarded the Eurostar at Waterloo, there were children everywhere. Excited children. Quiet (and not so quiet) voices asked "are we nearly there yet" before we'd even stopped at Ashford, let alone surfaced from the tunnel into the French countryside.
As the miles flew by and the excitement mounted (in the form of increasingly deafening shrieking), I understood why many parents waited until the morning to tell their children that they were off to meet Mickey and co.
I was staying in one of the seven themed Disney hotels within the complex but you can sacrifice the convenience of on-site accommodation by booking into one of the 'selected' or 'associated' properties. These are cheaper and have free shuttles which take you to the park gates.
The New York Hotel, liberally decorated with red apples had comfortable and reasonably spacious rooms with two double beds, a table and chairs, and two sinks in the bathroom.
The facilities are also good, with a large indoor pool, jacuzzi and gym, which are handy to warm up in after you've been wandering around in the chilly November temperatures. There's also an outdoor pool for summer sun away from the parks.
But I wasn't here to test the comfyness of the beds or dip in the pool. There were two parks to explore. The original, Disneyland Park, opened in 1992 and comprises Main St USA, Frontierland, Adventureland, Fantasyland and Discoveryland. Ten years later, the Walt Disney Studios Park was added.
Walking from the New York Hotel I passed through Disney Village, an entertainment complex with bars, restaurants, a cinema and nightclub. Then to the entrance of the two parks.
I decided that a good way to get a general overview of Disneyland Park was to jump aboard the Disneyland Railroad, an old fashioned steam train which circles the perimeter of the park at a leisurely pace.
While on board, I took the opportunity to look at the maps and plan which rides I wanted to go on. Okay, no, I didn't. But I should have done. You can waste a lot of time walking between rides and shows, which is particularly annoying if the show you rock up to won't admit latecomers.
Even without children I managed to be late for Mickey's Winter Wonderland, just one of the special shows that take place during the winter season. Mickey and pals cavort about on an ice rink in Christmas get-up bumping into one another a lot. The children LOVED it.
Other special events for the winter season include the Christmas Parade which snakes along Main St USA, around the Central Plaza and Enchanted Castle. Mickey, Goofy and the rest are dressed up in their Christmas finery and dance about on a selection of glizty floats. There's also Disney's Fantillusion, which follows the same parade route after dark, and different floats lit up with hundreds of lights carry other Disney characters like Aladdin, Beauty and the Beast, the Little Mermaid and Snow White. And the piece de resistance - fake snow five times a day along Main St USA, brilliant.
The parade route gets really crowded so it's best to get there early. Scrums of adults and children jostle for the best positions along the roped off areas, so you may find watching just one of the parades is enough. The upside to this is that the queues for the most popular rides get hearteningly short during the parades.
That evening we met up with the rest of our group at Mickey's Cafe in Disney Village. There are eight restaurants in this entertainment complex, but Mickey's Cafe is the only one which does character dining. That is, while you eat, Disney characters from Mr and Mrs Mouse, to Baloo and Chip 'n' Dale bounce around the restaurant hugging children, signing autographs and posing for pictures.
Children love them. Charlie, nearly four, was practically struck dumb with delight whenever a character approached. He took delight in hugging each and every furry creature that came his way. While I sobbed into my napkin (hoping I wouldn't be this sentimental with my own children), his dad Sean took pictures in a manly, practical fashion.
Another thing that parents declared popular with their little ones was the shows. Moteur...Action! is a wonderfully choreographed stunt car and bike show full of squealing tyres, burning rubber and Dukes-of-Hazzard-style car stunts. The Lion King show is like the expensive West End show, all condensed into a child-friendly 40-ish minutes. Cinemagique was also recommended but I ran out of time to see it.
As an adult I enjoyed Space Mountain: Mission 2, Rock 'n' Roller Coaster starring Aerosmith and Big Thunder Mountain. But these thrill rides are few and far between, with the majority of attractions aimed more at small children, Disney's primary target for Disneyland Resort Paris. Yes, there is a nightclub in Disney Village (surly, Parisian-like staff, Euro-pop music) and a huge discount shopping mall and Centre Commercial a five minutes' taxi ride away but really, the resort is best for families.
On the Eurostar home I chatted to a friendly family who'd enjoyed the same three days at the resort as me. So what were the plus and minus points? On the plus side were the characters, the amazing fireworks show which we'd seen on the Friday night (a concession to the numerous Brits who come here, for Guy Fawkes night) and the Lion King show (they'd seen it three times). Plus the ease with with you can get to the resort.
The main minus point they found was the huge number of shops around the resorts. Imagine your experiences with small children in a supermarket or toy shop. Then multiply the number of times you hear: "Can I have this" by at least 300.
But the the positive points far outweigh the negatives. Just seeing the look on their little faces when they see the Enchanted Castle lit up by hundreds of fairy lights, or the expressions of joy as they meet Mickey and Minnie for the first, second, third etc times is worth it. And this wasn't even my own children. Gulp.
- During the Christmas season, prices start from £299 per adult and £149 per child for a two-night Classic Package staying at Disney's Hotel Santa Fe (based on two adults and two children (3-11 years inclusive) sharing a family room). This includes two nights' accommodation, continental breakfast, direct return travel on Eurostar's (08705 186 186, www.eurostar.com) new high speed link and unlimited access to both Disneyland Park and Walt Disney Studios Park. For further details and reservations call Disney on 08705 030303 or visit the disneylandparis.com website.
Travel Guide: France
Simply wild about gardens
"Vive la différence" has always summed up the relationship between the Brits and the French, but there is one thing we do have an equal passion for - gardens.
Now two regions, Nord-Pas de Calais and Picardy, have come up with a scheme to promote visits to their private gardens and public parks, at around five euros a time.
After the breeze of the Eurostar journey to Lille and a quick lunch, the serious business of garden visiting begins with a short drive to the Hesdin and Arras areas.The first visit is to a restored cottage in Bergueneuse which displays iron sculptures by Jacques Droulez. You can tour the pretty garden full of irises, acers and poppies and buy the art deco-ish sculptures, which look superb on a green lawn.
A night in the fantastic converted stables of La Cour de Rémi sets you up for a serious day of garden-mania. In Séricourt, gardener Yves Gosse de Gorre has created a wonderland of ideas that are truly inspirational.
With a sculptor's eye, he has created a war garden, peace area, secret forest and even a seashore with the grass cut to look like waves lapping against the shore. The war garden has yews cut to look like standing soldiers, surrounded by poppies to remind you of their fate. There's even a "cathedral" of roses and oak trees, with a cross in the altar. You emerge full of ideas for your own garden.
Arras is a town worth visiting, especially for the old Flemish-designed square, which was completely destroyed in the First World War and rebuilt in the 1920s. The restored cathedral has the Boves, a series of underground passages which displays an underground themed garden. This year, it celebrates nursery rhymes. To be honest, it's the war memorials, maps and photos at La Place des Héros, which are of more interest than a temporary subterranean flower display.
The garden in L'Abbaye de Vaucelles shows how the French have relaxed their obsession with formal gardens and gone organic.The old layout remains outside the restored Abbey but has become a laissez-faire mix of vines, apple trees, peonies and pretty roses. There's also a herb area to remind you this once housed and fed 400 monks, and the place oozes a serene calm and Zen-like peace.
The Picardy region is famous for its many war memorials, and there are reminders all over the countryside of the fallen, which are all incredibly moving. On the way to Orgeval for example is a chilling and appropriately named spot called La Désolation. The village itself, though, is pretty.
The Jardin du Vendangeoir d'Orgeval is an old wine grower's manor, and the garden is stunning. Owner Nathalie Vinçon has created a three-tiered garden and filled it with roses, peonies and grasses. She also restores old junk iron furniture, which she has strewn about the lawns, creating a constantly changing effect.
You can stay here in one of the two gorgeous converted stable houses for 53 euros per night including breakfast, which you can enjoy on the highest of the three terraced lawns surrounded by trees. The subterranean bathroom has to be seen to be believed.
The Abbaye Royale de Chaalis has a rose garden restored by Andre Gamard, who explained it's in the spirit of owner Jacquemart-André, a rich collector. Her art collection, including two Giottos, is on display in a superb museum. It's a real treat as the Louvre has the only other Giotto in France. Afterwards take the chance to relax in the gorgeous rose garden.
The biggest threat to the flowers are roe deer and rabbits, which frequently breach the garden walls. Of the 650 types of roses, de Vireu's favourite are Manetta, Silva and Tarouca, all of which grow in the UK. He said: "There's nothing wrong with a straight line and good planting".
Amiens, another town full of moving war memorials, also has the floating gardens of Hortillonnages, which are only navigable by motorised punt. If the watery gardens and tiny huts along the Somme river aren't your thing, the guide offers plenty of jokes.
From Amiens, it's an hour's drive to Jardins de Maizicourt, located to the north west of the Picardy region, for possibly the best garden of the lot. Catherine Guévenoux bought the ruined, roofless chateau in 1989 and has restored it, and the garden, to stunning effect. She said: "Picardy's climate is ideal for gardens - it's just like England's. When the French come here, they race round. When the English visit, they stay three times as long, and always ask lots of questions. It's great."
Although it's small, the garden has several different areas, which are all a delight to explore. The English meadow makes you feel right at home, while the labyrinth could be from Hampton Court. The irises, Salix and poppies were in full bloom in early June, with the roses yet to arrive. The garden is also strewn with collectors' items bought by Mme Guévenoux's husband.
Northern France is ideal for garden-mad Brits, as its climate is so similar and anything that grows here can grow in the UK. It's the ideas and passion of the people that are inspiring. Coupled with the high standard of accommodation and superb cuisine, it's the perfect break to inspire aspiring gardeners.
* Fares from London to Lille start from £55pp return. See www.raileurope.co.uk or call 08708 034862 for reservations.* For more information, see www.northernfrance-tourism.com; www.picardietourisme.com and www.franceguide.com.
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Travel Guide: France
Grape expectations: the Champagne route
"There is nothing like Champagne", so the song went. OK it didn't. It was a dame but maybe it should have been Champagne — it would have been fitting.
And if you're a fan, then whiling away a few days in the environs that produce it is a must. With Reims around a two-and-half hour drive from Calais in France, it is perfectly possible to head there for a long weekend. Beats Friday night down the Dog And Duck.
Your first port of call should be Reims, home to the big Champagne houses such as Taittinger, Mumm and Lanson. Reims itself isn't as pretty as you might hope but the stunning gothic cathedral of Notre Dame more than makes up for any shortcomings.
It was built in 1211 and has seen 26 kings crowned there. Check out the array of stained glass windows, with designs by Marc Chagall.
If that bit of sightseeing makes you thirsty, you're in the right place: Champagne is all about quaffing the fizzy stuff. And you can choose either Reims or Epernay to quaff to your heart's content.
We checked out Maison Veuve Clicquot-Ponsardin in Reims as it has an intriguing history. The veuve (widow) of the name is Madame Clicquot who, upon her husband's death when she was just 27, took over the business taking it to worldwide acclaim.
You'll need an appointment first for a guided tour (available in English) and there is a small charge which includes a tasting.
There are miles of underground Gallo-Roman chalk cellars. It's dark, eerie and fascinating.
The big Champagne houses can seem rather impersonal and somewhat corporate, so do check out one of the smaller producers, too. Head to one of the family-run firms to see the contrast.
Travel Guide: France
Boulogne - worth it for a weekend?
Dawn raids across the Channel to plunder Boulogne's hypermarkets before nightfall and the ferry home is old territory for bargain-hunting Brits.
Now, "shop and flop" weekends are becoming de rigeur among visitors who prefer to mix trolley dashes with a spot of R&R.
Boulogne, on northern France's modestly attractive Opal Coast, has enough going on to warrant a closer look.
Most Brits get to Boulogne by car after a 90-minute ferry crossing to Calais, available around the clock from Dover.
The two cities are a short drive apart along the A16 motorway, but a world apart in terms of visitor appeal.
Unlike Calais - badly damaged during World War II - Boulogne's pretty Old Town, with its towering cathedral, is intact and lovely to stroll around after a spree at Auchan hypermarket.
The hypermarket is vast - 300 types of cheese and 80 breads are sold daily, and next month scores of seasonal eats go on sale for Christmas.
Prices are generally cheaper than in the UK, although some Australian and American wines are only pennies less.
Bulk buyers save pounds on French wines, washing powder, fabric softener and lagers. Prices can be checked in advance on Auchan's website (www.buy-french.com).
Travel Guide: France
Thrill seeking in south France
Thrill-seekers and wine buffs or food connoisseurs are usually mutually exclusive but the Languedoc-Roussillon region of France offers something for all three.
With long, wide sandy beaches, mountains and rushing rivers, it's the perfect setting for an activity holiday while the local food and wine is outstanding. Ryanair also serves four destinations within the region; Montpelier, Carcassone, Nimes and Perpignan - which means it offers really good value for money too.
La Grande Motte, 10km from Montpelier airport, is a great place to stay if you want to learn to sail or sample lots of other sports.
The resort sprung up in the 1970s, which makes the architecture an acquired taste, to say the least. It's Aztec meets Ikea - kitsch would be a fair description.
But the facilities are superb. You can play golf at Parcours, football, tennis and rugby at Le Parc des Sports and sail at the marine centre, all for very reasonable prices. Or you can relax on one of the 13 private beaches which are open to the public. On some, you can even enjoy a Thai massage while sipping a drink.
The Languedoc-Roussillon area offers every type of terrain. In St Bauzille de Putois, you can explore the Herault Valley by canoe with the Aupalya company.
You paddle seven kilometres over some rapids that are described as 'sportifs' (which means they're pretty challenging) and are set amid stunning scenery. If you can catch your breath, you can see herons, hawks and some large fish in the river. It's 18 euros for a two-man canoe which goes through the picture-perfect village of Ganges, a nice spot to refuel.
Opposite the canoeing centre, you can go mountain climbing and caving in the Grottes des Demoiselles. It's a great spot for climbing, and has the via ferrata system, which literally means "iron road".
You attach yourself to iron cables for safety and climb over, through and down the mountain. It includes a very scary descent into a dark cave - cling on. Once you emerge, you abseil - terrifying the first time, but once you trust your equipment and the guide, it's actually great fun.
Just don't look down. Our guide, Lionel, was nicknamed "The Goat" for his amazing ability to scramble up and down steep rocks. He fills you with confidence and gets you through any nerves. We had to go through another dark cave, before reappearing on a 100ft high ledge. The only options were back through the cave or to abseil down the rocks. Only one choice for me - down I went. You may be scared of heights or claustrophobic but the sense of achievement is worth it.
Reward yourself with a night at the sublime Mas de Baumes, a converted farm house. A dip in the pool soothes aching muscles, then 25 euros buys you a sublime dinner on the terrace with the sun setting over the mountains. A bottle of stunning local Rausanne wine and you feel even more grateful to still be alive.
The fishing village of Gruissan, setting for the opening scenes of the film Betty Blue, is a great spot for windsurfing and land yachting because of the constant breeze.
Windsurfing is all about balance rather than fitness or power, and a beginner like me spent most of the time in the water on my backside. However a three-day course costing 105 euros includes six sessions, and that's the way to crack it. It's all about practise and feel.
Land yachtingis easier to pick up, and the feeling of speed is quite sublime. You sit in what looks like a bathtub with a wheel at the front, two wide wheels at the back and a big sail above, and use the wind to control your speed and to stop - there are no brakes.
With your backside inches off the ground, 25mph feels like you're really moving, but cornering is another skill altogether. The long beaches are perfect for gaining both momentum and confidence.
The village of Leucate is the home of the new sport of sky-flying. It involves sitting in a harness at the end of a bungee rope attached to a kite and using wind power to whizz through the air. It feels as if you're on a fairground ride. A practise session gives you the feel of the kite and its amazing power. It's a real adrenaline rush.
The Aude gorges is another spectacular setting for a spot of white water rafting. Gushing from the Pyrenees and regulated by two dams, the Aude is a beautiful setting for some rafting. Five people propel the boat while a guide steers, and after a brief explanation, you hit the water and off you go through some testing rapids.
The river cuts through spectacular limestone cliffs. There's always the danger of falling out, but everyone wears a lifejacket for safety. Elbows get bashed but again it's great fun, and the wetsuits keep out the cold. Halfway through the journey, we ate a riverside picnic featuring absolutely stunning local produce, especially the fois gras and goat's cheese. Go easy though, as you need a strong stomach for the second half of the rafting which is more testing than the first.
The Languedoc-Roussillon area has been in the shadow of its neighbour Provence for far too long. It offers much better value-for-money accommodation and food, and has a greater variety of scenery with similarly beautiful Meditteranean weather.
For activity holidays, it's hard to beat and it's less than a two-hour flight from London.
* Prices for a three day break to Languedoc-Roussillon with www.sunfrance.com start from 300 euros per person, including flights, hotels and selected activities.
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Travel Guide: France
Doing it the Flemish way
Despite being a quick trip across the Channel, the Flanders region of northern France is still something of a cultural mystery to us Brits.
So it was a surprising pleasure to spend some time learning about the traditions of this huge area. With sensational food and amazing architecture, it's a place that deserves a really detailed look around.
We were crossing by ferry and I must admit I haven't been on one since the 1970s, and have dark memories of football hooligans, uncomfortable seats and one violent crossing.
But the crossing on P&O's Pride of Calais, spent in Langan's Brasserie, was fine. The English staff were a little clueless - there's a big difference between Chablis and Champagne, for example, and it would have been nice if the ordered bottle of water had turned up before the end of the meal. But lunch did make the 75-minute crossing fly by, and the food was of good quality. The sea bass was fresh and the Chablis was cold.
A very quick crossing was followed by a drive to Cassel, a picture-postcard town on top of a "mont" - more of a hill, really. A quick walk around the town revealed some gorgeous Flemish architecture, a working windmill and plenty of superb cafés selling bières blondes.
The Châtellerie de Schoebeque was a stunning place to spend the night. It is a recently converted townhouse with 15 distinctive, themed rooms, including the Moulin Rouge. Looking like a Modernist, decadent boudoir, it makes you want to drink absinthe while watching a can-can.
The hotel's views across Flanders were great and the swimming pool was a treat. There was even a beautiful dog to pet while you were having a huge breakfast.
The differences between Flemish and French houses and gardens were revealed in a superbly restored farmhouse in Cassel called Wouwenberghof. Flemish gardens use white and green in a much less formal layout than a French garden, and the owners have restored some old flowers. It was an intimate place and absolutely essential viewing for gardening fans.
The owners plan to open a tea room for visitors in a converted stable building this summer. Judging by the quality of home-made food they served, the tea room alone will be worth a visit.
The best way to see the countryside was during a 25km mountain bike ride around Cassel with Lance Armstrong-lookalike Davide. Don't worry though, he cycles at your pace and there were plenty of opportunities for a pit-stop.
Riding down from the top of Cassel was a breeze. Going back up was a real test of the thighs but the best way to burn off the huge breakfasts. We passed farms and villages like Terdeghem, a picture-postcard place with one school, a church, a farm and about 12 houses. Mountain bikes cost 10 euros to hire for the morning, including the guide.
There was only one way to recover from the thigh-burning ride up to Châtellerie de Schoebeque and that was to dive straight into its outdoor pool.
Then it was time for a visit to the former smuggling town of Godewaersvelde. A delightful museum explained the long and often fascinating history of smuggling between France and Belgium.
Situated just 3km from the Belgian border, it demonstrated the ingenious ways people carried contraband across the border - in fake pregnancy cushions, inside clothing and even in the split petrol tanks of a motorbike. However, smuggling had a dark side too.Dogs were once used to carry tobacco across the border but customs officers earned a three-franc reward if they shot the poor creatures. Around 40,000 dogs were killed as a result.
Border lines also produced some comic moments. We heard about one farmer who, determined not to pay French taxes, moved his farmhouse four times to ensure it stayed in Belgium.
A drive to Mont des Cats and a view of Belgium was next before the drive to the Hostellerie St Louis in Bollezeele. This was part of a chain and it felt like it - it was spotlessly clean but had no great character or detail in the decoration, as you would expect for 42 euros a night for a double room.
However, whereas a UK hotel like this would serve ordinary food, this was in Flanders where they do things differently.
For just 30 euros, we ate an amazing meal, starting with a kir with a difference - champagne with a rose-flavoured syrup instead of cassis. Then we were offered three variations on asparagus - a terrine, roasted white asparagus and a piping hot tiny cup of soup. Next came cod with hollandaise sauce, followed by a puree of mushrooms, then a lobster cappuccino - sublime.
The main course (phew!) was guinea fowl with pineapple, and dessert consisted of chocolate mousse and a strawberry tart. Some local cheese, a glass of Sauternes and a coffee with mints and you fall into bed happy and very full.
The trip was rounded off with a boat ride around the nature reserve in Nieulet, a marsh area featuring dug-out canals. It was stunning, and had some very pretty houses which were only electrified in 1972.
Nieulet also had some superb birdlife and fish - and a 100km/h wind on the day we visited, a reminder that you're in an exposed part of Flanders and it can bite. Waterproof raincoats made us look like a selection of condoms.
A short drive to Esquelbecq takes you to La Table des Géants, a café specialising in local grub and the town's own white beer, which was delicious.
Only the Flemish could serve a seafood salad (la salade des Géants) with strawberries, blackberries, kiwi fruit and figs. And a note to my fellow diner who asked if she could have my cherry: shouldn't we have dinner first?
* Prices at Châtellerie de Schoebeque start from 155 euros per night. Ring 00 33 328 42 42 67 or see www.schoebeque.com. Prices at the Hostellerie St Louis start from 55 euros per night. Ring 00 33 328 68 81 83.
* P&O Ferries offer 25 daily return crossings between Dover and Calais. Prices start from £35 for a car and up to four passengers. Ring 08705 202020 or see www.poferries.com for details.
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Travel Guide: France
Bubbling with happiness
Unless you're acquainted with the owner of a time machine and can travel back to revolutionary France in the late 18th century, you're unlikely to witness as smooth a decapitation as I did recently.
Fear not for there wasn't a gruesome guillotine in sight. The only thing losing its head was an elegant bottle as we were treated to a spectacular champagne-opening ceremony at the House of Ruinart in Reims.
A traditionally-dressed Guardian of Champagne was demonstrating how the French broke open a bottle of bubbly in days of yore, and with a swift movement of his sword down the neck of the bottle, the cork was instantly despatched.
Guests were invited to try it for themselves and become honorary guardians, and in no time at all, six or seven bottles were ready for sampling. On our first day in the Champagne region, we simply couldn't let them go to waste.
We had travelled to the north-eastern corner of France via the early morning Eurostar from Waterloo, and on disembarking the train in the Gare du Nord, it was a short walk to the connecting and brand-spanking new TGV which awaited us at the Gare de l'Est.
Designed by Christian Lacroix, as of June 10 next year, this opulent, yet slightly garish train (think bright green exterior with a predominantly mauve interior) will whisk you between Paris and Chalons-en-Champagne, in the heart of the Champagne region, in a mere one hour and five minutes.
Our large group arrived at a slightly slower pace (it's not quite up to speed yet), and then we started our tour with a visit to the Phare de Verzenay, its vineyard and its small wine museum.
Phare is French for lighthouse, and you can spot the tower easily as it sits on a hill surrounded by vineyards which stretch off for miles into the distance. The gardens are an incredibly beautiful spot in which to sample your first glass of champagne and in the museum you can learn all about the champagne-making process through a series of images and videos.
In the evening, it was off to the aforementioned House of Ruinart, founded in 1729, and our first foray into the depths of the champagne cellars. Those at Ruinart are some 30m underground, and the chalk corridors are lined with thousands of bottles of champagne of various ages, kept at a constant temperature of 11C in the subterranean conditions.
In the stylish onsite lounge bar, we were entertained by the guardians over a pre-dinner tipple before making our way into a vaulted, candlelit room for what turned out to be one of the most spectacular meals of my life.
Over the course of several hours we enjoyed some wonderful food, with a musical accompaniment (think violin and accordion) too. Each course came with a different, utterly delicious Ruinart champagne and, needless to say, I wasn't the only disappointed guest when the time to leave arrived.
Now although it'd probably be all too easy for a short visit to Champagne to become a blur of tastings and vineyard visits, you'd be a fool to forgo some of the fabulous cities in the region.
The history of Reims, considered the capital of Champagne, can actually be traced back to the Roman Empire, and the cathedral could be described as the French version of our very own Westminster Abbey as it's the place where many French Kings were crowned. It's a UNESCO World Heritage Site and the sheer intricacy of the stone work will take your breath away.
Elsewhere in Reims, we stopped in at the Deleans chocolate factory for a quick lesson on the art of chocolate-making and, of course, a tasting.
Also of note a short drive away is the Sedan Chateau Fort, the biggest medieval castle in Europe. The castle grounds are now home to a stylish hotel and restaurant, and it's worth taking a guided tour of this huge and imposing edifice.
The nearby town of Charleville-Mezieres has a stunning and enormous central square where you can happily while away a few hours people-watching from the comfort of a pavement cafe.
It's also the home of the World Puppet Festival, which draws puppeteers from around the world. Unfortunately, it's a three-yearly event so you'll have to wait until 2009 for the next one.
Another place worth visiting for true champagne aficionados is the pretty village of Hautvilliers, as it was in the abbey here that the monk, Dom Perignon, champagne's inventor, worked his magic in the late 17th century.
It's a pretty little place in which to spend half a day and you'll notice that many homes are adorned with a wrought-iron sign, with a scene often depicting the profession of the house-dweller.
There are also lovely views of the Marne Valley, but during the late summer harvest, these are marred slightly by the vast numbers of white transit vans in the vineyards as they gather up the grapes.
Our evening at the House of Ruinart had been wonderful and spectacular, and another major highlight of the trip came on our last day, with a lunchtime visit to a small-scale winegrower in the picturesque village of Oger.
The Milan family have been producing top quality champagne since 1864, and of the 250 or so vineyards in the area, they are one of under 20 whose soils condition are deemed good enough to produce Premier and Grand Cru champagnes.
We enjoyed the kind of traditional lunch given to the workers who flood the region at harvest time, and again, each course was accompanied by a different and delicious champagne of the house. We even enjoyed a spot of fiery after-dinner champagne brandy.
The house is also a B&B and you can stay year-round, but visit in September and you can actually get your hands dirty (or should that be juicy?) and help with the harvest.
Otherwise, take a tour of the winery and view the old presses and the small cellars carved out of the surrounding chalky countryside.
Our final destination before our return home was the world famous Moet & Chandon cellars on the aptly named Avenue de Champagne in Epernay.
I have to say, that before the trip, this was the visit I was probably most excited about. However, after our experiences of the afternoon at the Milan family vineyard, it suddenly all seemed too impersonal.
Admittedly, we were late arriving at the grand headquarters, but we were whisked off on the tour by a particularly frosty guide who was no doubt a bit flustered by the sheer size of the group.
The cellars themselves were mightily impressive and far bigger than anything we had seen on the trip, the network of underground tunnels stretching for over 28km.
At the end of our quickfire tour, we again sampled some bubbly, but it was actually the same quality as the Moet & Chandon you find on supermarket shelves around the world. Maybe, at the end of our trip, we had developed tastes well above our station, but after the Grand and Premier Crus at lunch, it was all a bit of an anticlimax.
It showed really, that while the bigger champagne houses do impress and are worth a visit, it's hard to beat the personal touch of the smaller-scale producers.
A stay with one of these growers will be a more hands-on experience and will really give you a sense of the tradition of the champagne-making process. Purchasing a few bottles of top quality bubbly there to take home is certainly easier on the wallet than at the larger houses.
Overall, this is a fantastic area for a short break. I knew nothing of the champagne-making process so it was a real eye-opener to learn about the effort that goes into producing each bottle.
The countryside is stunning, the cities full of charm and history and what better way to toast every day than with a glass or two of the world's most prestigious tipple in the evening - sheer bliss.
*Rail Europehandles bookings for Eurostar and onward connections by TGV or Corail intercity trains to destinations throughout France. New for 2006 is the France Railpass, a rail rover ticket offering unlimited travel at economy rates. Visit raileurope.co.uk or call 08708 304 862. Fares from London to Chalons en Champagne start at £79 return, standard-class.
*Feeling inspired? Then book a holiday.
Travel Guide: France
Shopper stomper
Shopping. You either love it or you hate it. If you hate it, I suggest you avoid Lille on the first weekend of September. If, like me, shopping is your lifeblood, book your Eurostar ticket and your hotel room for next year now.
Because every year on this particular weekend, La Braderie comes to town and shopping fever takes over. For 48 hours you can't even see the ancient cobbled streets for shopping stalls and people. It's Harrods on Boxing Day, Edinburgh's Royal Mile on New Year's Eve and the grounds of Old Trafford just after the end of a game, all rolled into one.
So, what is all the fuss about? What is La Braderie? Basically, it is like a giant car boot sale all around the main city centre of Lille. It started in the Middle Ages, when the citizens of Lille were given special permission to hawk their old leather tunics, blunt knives, or whatever was all the rage back then.
And nothing much has changed since then. It is still a chance for people to get rid of their goods - there are just a lot more people, and a lot more things now. From the small hours of Saturday morning to the bitter end of Sunday night the entire population of Northern France (or so it seems) descends on the streets and squares of Lille to set up their own mini-jumble sale in little stalls at the side of every street.
You'll also find what appears to be every hawker or salesman north of the equator selling everything from candle holders made out of wire coat hangers to African drums, Peruvian ponchos and Italian cashmere. And most of Lille's shops also want a piece of the action too. Smaller shops might have a street stall selling a range of discounted shop goods, while the larger shops participate with a special Braderie storewide discount. It really is a great place to find a bargain. All you have to do is fight your way through the million or so other people who are also looking.
This was all explained to me while we were boarding the Eurostar at Waterloo, at which point I began to suspect that staying up until 4am the previous night, downing shots of sambuca hadn't been the best preparation.
But after a full English breakfast and refreshing kip on the train, we arrived in Lille ready to do damage to our credit cards. We strolled the short distance from the station past Euralille, an enormous indoor shopping mall (thought we'd save that for later), to the top of the wide, open Rue Faidherbe.
Apparently there was a shop there we had to go to. You can pick up some quality bargain stuff there, we were told. The name of the shop, Tati, wasn't promising, but inside there were some genuine bargains and they didn't even have special braderie discounts like most of the shops. I bought some flash L'Oreal sun cream for about £3, which I satisfyingly saw later in department store Printemps for £10.
After this early bargain there was nothing stopping me. We hit Place du Theatre with our bargain sensors on full alert. But we couldn't cross the square because there was a marathon being run. Yes, not content with co-ordinating the biggest shopping festival in Europe, the Braderie organisers also put on a half marathon and several smaller runs around the streets of Lille too.
Luckily there were lots of other stall-filled routes to take. So we took a right down Rue Esquermoise instead. Our enthusiasm carried us through the crowds, but when we came to several stalls selling stuff we wanted to buy (tattoo-making kit, scented drawer bags and cool cardboard boxes with French writing on them) we remembered that we had no cash. We were such amateurs. No wonder we'd passed so many people queuing at cashpoints. Of course, once we started looking for one, they became curiously rare.
We wandered around for ages, barely noticing the quaint cobbled streets, ancient stone houses interspersed with flower-filled courtyards and cafe-lined squares. Several miles and a few blisters later we finally found cash and then it was only another half hour or so until we managed to find our way back to all the good stalls.
Knowing how easy it was to get lost we gave ourselves a good half hour to find the restaurant we were meeting in. Every restaurant we passed had heaps of mussel shells piled up outside. It turns out that this is another strange tradition that has grown up over the years. Every restaurant in town competes to build the biggest pile of shells by the end of the weekend. The biggest piles by far were on Place Rihour, and this was only Saturday lunchtime.
Travel Guide: France
Dig deep for Picardy's garden secrets
Cosmopolitan, racy Paris is the sort of European metropolis where action can be found at any time, day or night.
Now imagine a place which is the exact antithesis of France's capital, and you'll doubtless conjure up somewhere like Picardy.
The placid farming region is 90 minutes outside Paris and 40 minutes from Calais, and at first glance seems populated by little more than fields and tractors.
As France's biggest sugar beet producer, Picardy's ploughed fields stretch as far as the horizon and create an uninspiring autumn backdrop.
But drive on and this apparently drab, unsophisticated corner begins to reveal some rather lovely secrets.
Picardy is rightly proud of its public gardens and more than 60 of them are scattered about its three main areas - Oise, Somme and Ainse. For serious gardening aficionados looking for a quiet holiday pootling about by car, it's a kind of paradise.
Le Clos Joli is one of Picardy's wilder gardens, secreted deep within the quiet hamlet of Brecy.
Owned by a tiny, bubbly dynamo of a woman called Francoise Radet whose passion for gardening is infectious, you find her un-signposted house by word-of-mouth.
There, bright flower beds spill over with roses, wisteria, narcissus, asters, helianthus and conifers and an aromatic herb garden delights the nose. Visitors are even offered free cuttings that Francoise tears exuberantly from bushes at the end of her 90-minute tour.
Les Jardins de Viels-Maisons is an entirely different horticultural experience. Where the planting at Le Clos Joli is wild and impetuous, this sprawling oasis in the grounds of a private chateau is manicured perfection. Sit under towering trees, stroll around eight orderly themed gardens and browse in a small shop.
As the contents of such gardens are not generally for sale, a superb place for stocking up is Parc du Chateau de Versigny's plant fair.
Held on the first weekend in October, the event brings together dozens of stalls selling affordable, good quality garden furniture, plants and blooms, the bulk of which can safely be brought back to the UK without any interference from the Environment Department.
A lazy river flows at the edge of the grounds and the grand aristocratic setting is scenic, with views across the water towards long, mysterious avenues lined by sculpted hedges.
It makes sense that a place so fond of gardens should also boast Europe's largest expanse of forest and woodland.
Travel Guide: France
Be a French culture vulture in le Nord
The ongoing appeal of France often boils down to picturesque countryside, delicious food and a glass or two of red wine.
While France's cultural history is undeniable, Brits after a short break wouldn't necessarily have artistic and historic sights on their minds.
Well, the Nord region of France, near the Belgian border, is just the place to combine culture and relaxation.
Perhaps the most exciting cultural drawcard for the Nord region of France is the recently opened Matisse Museum, in Le Cateau-Cambresis, his birth town. Set in a former archbishop's residence in the south of the region, it also features paintings and furniture by his contemporary Auguste Herbin.
The works on show were offered up by Matisse himself, and cover all his creative periods.
If you are unfamiliar with the Fauvist pictures and sculptures of Matisse, the Nord museum is a perfect introduction.
If you are already a fan, it will not disappoint. There are small sketches, large, vibrant paintings and drawings sprawling across ceilings.
Guides explain how seemingly complex drawings were made with just a handful of lines - and the deeper meaning behind what may appear simple.
The Nord is a relatively short distance from the Eurotunnel terminal, just outside Folkestone in Kent. The train journey is 35 minutes, and the Nord is about one hour and 20 minutes drive from the French terminal of Calais. For details: http://www.eurotunnel.com
Travel Guide: France
Lurking by the lac
Spa towns everywhere have that certain je ne sais quoi. There must be something in the warm sulphurous waters which does it.
In the same way that passion bubbles during the Bath Pump Room scenes in many a Jane Austen tome, so Aix-les-Bains has its own healing waters frothing deep beneath the streets.
On this basis, there had to be passion a-plenty to be found in the highways and byways of this quaint Savoie town, and I was determined to find it.
However, charming barmaids in France isn't easy. And it soon became clear charming barmaids in Aix-les-Bains bordered on the ridiculous.
Grinning inanely and trilling in pidgin French seemed to have no effect on the average local mademoiselle. They listened politely before giving a Gallic shrug and wandering off.
And quite frankly no one would blame them. There had to be something we plain-looking types could do to avert this state of affairs though.
Little was on the cards early on however. Despite considerable effort, romance was proving hard to find. As such, a boat trip seemed a good option. Surely cruising the Lac du Bourget at twilight would set everyone's hearts fluttering?
After a fine dinner which would have satisfied even the sturdiest master mate, (the high point of which was a tasty garlic-strewn dish of fera, a local alpine fish) the smart trippers, thankfully bereft of any nautical headgear, relaxed with their wine on deck.
On the return journey, as darkness fell, the boat zigzagged back through the waters, brushing close by the shorelines and the impressive chateaux that littered the waterfront. Music played loudly from the ship's speakers and spotlights shone all around.
The son et lumiere show gave the trip an ethereal feel, but the monks at Hautecombe Abbey may well have thought the second coming was just around the corner as the boat passed nearby, blasting out what sounded like the theme tune to 633-Squadron at 90 decibels.
The music issued forth, the night was warm, the people gradually disrobed and the wine flowed... but tragically still no shenanigans were forthcoming. The only bite I got that night came from a particularly persistent mosquito.
It was time to take a rest from all this though. If you're failing to impress members of the opposite sex in Aix-les-Bains (like me), there are plenty of things to do to take your mind off that sort of thing. And thankfully lots of them involve cold water.
The Lac du Bourget is France's largest natural lake and has all the activities and facilities you'd expect. All manner of watersports take place there, and the surrounding mountains and hills make a spectacular backdrop. Unfortunately, all this splendour means matters of a romantic nature are never far from one's mind.
However, a dip in the sparkling waters from the fine beach will temporarily calm the senses.
Further relief comes in the form of Aix-les-Bains' thermal facilities and a sauna and massage. Despite being Queen Victoria's favoured spa destination, the town is thankfully free of any 19th-century austerity.
A trip to the Thermes will purge the toxins and get the blood flowing. Just right before going on the pull. Or indeed before doing a spot of gambling to take your mind off your lack of success with the ladies.
Travel Guide: France
Exploring Dordogne's hidden delights
When I was invited to explore "the lesser known parts of the Dordogne", I couldn't help but wonder if it might prove a pleasurable but rather hopeless quest.
The Dordogne is, after all, one of the most famously gorgeous regions of France. It's justly popular for its lush countryside and medieval towns.
So are there any parts not trampled by the tourist hordes? The answer is yes - though it's probably best to avoid the August high season, when most French people take their holiday.
To begin quite literally at the beginning, I started my tour of the region at the source of the Dordogne river.
I took a vertiginous cable car ride up the Puy de Sancy, just outside the town of Le Mont-Dore, to a point where I could view the springs of the Dordogne. The springs manage to be impressive in their own right, though of course they're nothing to the mighty river they become.
A visit to see the springs is an enjoyable undertaking, though rather a chilly one. Even in summer it's wise to wear a jumper and decent walking shoes, and to keep moving to ward off the cold. Up that high, there are patches of snow even in mid-summer.
Later, far downstream and in blazing sunshine, I took a boat trip through the Dordogne river gorges. A ride on the Dordogne river is more than just an agreeable excursion - it's like taking a step back in time. I boarded a traditional, open-topped, flat-bottomed "gabare" on a picturesque bend at Pont du Chambon. The captain proceeded to give his passengers an evocative sketch of the Dordogne's history.
From the Middle Ages until the end of the 19th century, local villagers loaded up their gabares - far flimsier affairs than ours - with oak and chestnut wood. The men then rowed 220 miles in just six days, enduring wild river conditions and sometimes fighting off pirates, to deliver their cargo to the winemakers of Bordeaux.
Today, you can simply drift along and imagine the past; it's eerie to look around and imagine how it used to be. However, our captain, intent on creating a full historical reconstruction, soon broke in on our reverie. He turned off his engine and got out a couple of oars like those used on the original gabares. Members of the boat tour were then persuaded to give these a try.
Despite valiant efforts by our modern crew, I must admit we didn't make too much headway. The oars were far heavier and more unwieldy than they looked.
Following the course of the Dordogne southwards from Pont du Chambon takes the visitor through a string of appealing historical towns.
Argentat has a small quayside, lined by cottages with first-floor balcony entrances. This architectural quirk prevented upstairs living quarters getting flooded along with the river banks, which were regularly awash before the present, robust dam system was built. A bridge divides workers' cottages from a row of grander houses, built for the bourgeoisie, which are well above the old flood level and have gardens running down to the river.
Further south still lies Beaulieu-sur-Dordogne, which offers more riverside walks, a Romanesque church, and shops selling wine, foie gras and a range of upmarket tourist trinkets. (Letting the side down rather is a British shop flogging football mugs and bearing a sign that promotes "Artex decorating services" to the locals.)
The Dordogne has other impressive geographical attractions besides its eponymous river. The Auvergne region was shaped by volcanic activity, and the Parc Naturel des Volcans d'Auvergne contains 80 volcanoes spread out across 50 miles. The capital of Auvergne, Clermont-Ferrand, has a Gothic cathedral made from very dark, anthracitic lava. And many more ordinary buildings in the surrounding towns are also built from volcanic rock.
One such place is Salers, which lies inside the volcano park. It has winding, cobbled streets and squares decorated with fountains and flower boxes. The town is famous for its food and has its own cheese (AOC Salers).
Another draw is the medieval village of Besse, near the ski resort Super-Besse. It has a castle, Renaissance fountains and crosses sculpted in lava stone.
But cultural sightseeing can wear you out after a while. I took a break from it with some strenuous sport.
At Val Aventure, in trees overlooking the lakebound Chateau de Val in Lanobre, hangs a complex network of ropes, wires, platforms and pulleys. Adventurous adults and kids can shin up and down, and zoom about, until overwhelmed by either exhaustion or fear. In my case, after I'd got stuck up a tree, clinging to its trunk for dear life 20 feet above the ground, terror drove me back to earth.
Determined culture lovers can duck out and visit the pretty 15th century Chateau de Val instead. Perched on a tiny island, which is linked by a causeway to the lake shore, it has six towers and a separate Gothic chapel. The first floor has large rooms with furnishings and decoration dating from the 19th century, while the second floor is used to exhibit contemporary artists' work. (Sadly, the incumbent artist during my visit was a slavish but untalented follower of Surrealist master Salvador Dali.)
One of the charms of the Dordogne region is that you can put up for the night in a chateau as easily as tour one.
Chateau de La Greze is a beautifully renovated 18th century castle that doubles as a guest house. B&B prices start from 70 euros per night, based on two sharing. For an extra 22 euros, you can join the couple who own it for a delicious French meal and wine - outside in the courtyard when weather permits, or indoors in the grandly-proportioned dining room.
Also recommended is Chateau du Mialaret, where I was delighted to discover that a door in my room led out to a turreted, tower-top, private balcony. The chateau also boasts a large, Art Deco-style swimming pool. It charges from 55 euros per night room-only, plus 28 euros for breakfast and dinner.
A visit to the Dordogne valley is a rewarding and often awe-inspiring experience. You'll need a car if you want to seek out the most obscure or secluded corners. But factor in some walking, and at least one boat jaunt. Virtually every bend in the road, path or river will yield up some freshly alluring vista.
* For flights with Ryanair, call 0906 270 5656 or see www.ryanair.com. For flights with Easyjet, see www.easyjet.com
Feeling inspired? Book a holiday
Travel Guide: France
Take the plunge and go with the snow
Are you one of those people who get bored on the beach? Are you at a loose end after having had a go on the banana boat? A skiing holiday could be just the thing for you.
I'd never skied before but always fancied the idea, so I was easily persuaded to join friends on a week's holiday in Val d'Isere in the French Alps. The resort has great skiing and good instruction is available, whether for novices or more experienced skiers.
For the uninitiated, the idea of flinging yourself down a steep mountainside on a couple of planks might seem daunting. But with the right guidance, you'll be amazed what you can do.
I started the week as a beginner on the nursery slopes but just a few days later was able to tackle fairly difficult runs. It was great to end the week with a run down to the resort from a dizzy height on the mountaintop of Solaise, without falling over too often.
It was all thanks to the friendly, helpful instructors, who not only gave clear guidance but were also considerate with the weaker members of the group. My instructors were French but spoke English well, which made things easy.
The beginners' class started the week with about 10 would-be skiers and ended with seven skiers of varying ability. That three people dropped out was probably to be expected - skiing is not everyone's cup of tea.
The class had two instructors, which meant everyone got a reasonable amount of attention during lessons. The instructors were from Snowfun but there are many good ski schools: try to get some advice to be sure of finding the right ones for you.
Embarking on a fitness regime well in advance of your holiday will make a big difference. The fitter you are, the easier your skiing will be. But remember, it's all about having fun. The beginners' classes can provide a lot of laughs, as does skiing about with friends later in the day.
Skiing provides great thrills as you whizz down the pistes. There's all that snow and fresh air - and some fabulous alpine views, too. It's a bit like a giant funfair ride, but you are in control. Once you start getting it right, it's magic.
Val d'Isere is a wonderful place for it. There is a huge variety of runs of varying degrees of difficulty and plenty of lifts which are generally well laid out, providing easy access to the slopes.
The runs were sometimes busy, particularly late in the day when people were moving back down to the resort, but never crowded.
Slope off
Escaping the rat-race in Picardy
Hopping across the Channel to France is so convenient and relatively cheap these days, it's downright rude not to.
And it's not just a question of shoe-horning as much booze and fags into the car boot as possible and scuttling back from Calais or Boulogne the same day. Venture further into northern France to the Picardy region and you'll find something a little more rewarding than a case of vino.
Starting 45 miles down the coast from Calais, the Picardy region covers some 7,490 sq miles from Abbeville in the Somme, through Aisne and into the Oise valley just north of Paris. It's the perfect place to unwind for stressed-out city workers and those who want to escape the rat race. And at the end of a particularly tiresome week, I was certainly one of them.
It's all just so relaxing. Cosy little rustic villages give way to miles of agricultural flatland. Roads bisect fields of sugar beet and pastures with grazing dairy herds.
First on the relaxation tour were the gardens of the Abbaye de Valloires in Argoules, a lovely area boasting 5,000 species and varieties of flowers and plants. In the summertime, the French garden is a blizzard of colour from countless varieties of rose in classically square, sharp-edged flower beds surrounded by carefully-crafted and vivid topiary.
By contrast, the lazy curves of the beds of the English garden lead into a labyrinth of trees and flowers, from the spiky Tibetan bramble to plum and wild cherry trees and then on to the five senses herb garden, especially created for kids.
Travel Guide: France
Welcome to the danger zone
You'd think people who live in winter ski resorts would be glad of a break when summer arrives and the snows melt.
But even as the sun comes out, the mountain folk in Chamonix just won't sit still. If they can't bomb down the slopes, they clamber up rocks, fling themselves off cliffs or jump off peaks with only flimsy pieces of plastic to avert imminent death.
The smell of adrenaline hangs heavier in the air than the heady aroma of cheese over one of the many local goat farms.
And the fever is spreading - tourists, who once came only for the skiing, are returning in the warmer weather for a dose of similarly dicey pursuits.
So those who are excited by the prospect of wandering down the aisle of the local supermarket and choosing a new brand of washing-up liquid would do well to avoid this part of France at any time of the year. In the summer the place reverts to a vast adventure playground - but with real danger.
Tourists can go hiking, ride around on mountain bikes bothering the indigenous marmots, hang glide or paraglide off cliffs or even go summer sledging. It's no great surprise to discover local pharmacists stock an extensive range of bandages, ice packs and slings all year round.
Saunas and jacuzzis are also popular among the battle-worn who require something more than a nice little sit down with a cup of tea to cure their ailing limbs.
Of all of these pursuits, hiking in the lower reaches of the mountains would seem to be one of the softer options - but this is Chamonix and hilltop guides can seriously understate the intensity of the treks on offer.
Clare, a local expert (and clearly a mountain goat in a previous life) informed our party we were about to embark on a jaunt which "anyone could do". Her calves, resembling as they did shanks of locally-reared pork, should have given a clue as to what lay ahead of us.
Some time later, having braved rocky three-foot wide paths over sheer drops of 1,000 metres or more, certain of us had begun to wonder if our guide's description of the difficulty of the journey had been gallic understatement - or at the very least that something quite basic had been lost in translation.
This tour, high in the peaks above Chamonix village, also revealed the contrary and risky nature of high-altitude trekking.
Bright sun, wind, and a lightning storm were all in evidence over a single afternoon, and, with rain crashing around our ears, the cable car at the end of the trip wasn't an unwelcome sight.
At one stage, a low rumble growled across the peaks. Asked if it was thunder, our guide shook her head and said: "It's a landslide."
Travel Guide: France
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Lyon is a renowned centre of cuisine, and overflows with restaurants - an estimated 1,000 of them.
These range from modestly-priced bistros to the sumptuous Paul Bocuse restaurant, a short distance up the Saone, which has three Michelin stars. Its set menus cost between £75 and £190 a head not including drinks.
And if you intend to shop, Vieux Lyon is ideal for unusual gifts and art, the Town Hall district for silk, and the Passage Thiaffait for young fashion designer labels.
However, the shops around Place Bellecour are a more mundane affair - the usual international fashion brands, and high street chains such as Body Shop and Etam.
Another enticing factor is that the Beaujolais wine region lies north of Lyon, close enough for an easy day trip. If you hire a car rather than take an organised tour, try to avoid the heavy rush hour traffic.
Once you get out of the city suburbs, the villages, built in the distinctive local golden stone, are pleasant places for a stroll, and perhaps a coffee or rejuvenating Kir.
If you want to learn about the region's wine, and do a little tasting, visit the History of the Wine Grower museum in Ternand. For a more in-depth look at the subject, the Ecole Beaujolais des Vins in Villefranche offers evening and weekend courses.
From London, you can reach Lyon in relative comfort in roughly five hours via Eurostar and a no-fuss transfer onto the French TGV rail network at Lille.
TGV trains tend to run on time, so even a 20-minute connection at Lille needn't cause major anxiety. And to the relief of British travellers, the first 46-mile section of the UK's new high-speed Eurostar line, starting just beyond Gravesend, opened in September 2003.
That means there's no longer any humiliating announcement about the train "now being permitted to reach its maximum speed" awaiting you when you emerge from the tunnel on the French side - just the simple pleasure of reaching France.
A two-night Eurostar package for two, staying in a duplex room at the four-star Cour des Loges hotel in Vieux Lyon, costs from £228pp second class and £308pp first class.
Portrait of the author as a young woman
Baguettes and blokes aside, Paris took hold of my heart for much more permanent reasons. Heading for an English degree at university, and with all the pretentiousness of youth, I fancied myself a bohemian intellectual who would find the city of Giacometti and Simone de Beauvoir a natural home.
My world revolved around books and art, and what better place to find them? I'd read Jean-Paul Sartre and when Helen and I sat in cafes making coffee last as long as possible it was easy to imagine the great artists, writers and philosophers all around us, discussing life, literature and love late into the night.
We stood for ages in front of Picassos in the Museum of Modern Art, and I can still recall the shiver of excitement when I surveyed a particular still life I had seen reproduced in an art book in Trowbridge library. No great paintings I have since seen can measure up to that moment.
Playing the raffish, bohemian card all we could, we loitered in Montmartre, even thinking some of the terrible touristy paintings in the pretty little square were quite good (naff clowns shedding enormous tears were a popular subject, I recall).
But the area we loved best was (predictably) on the Left Bank, around the Boulevard Saint Michel. I had read The Hunchback Of Notre Dame and it delighted me beyond words to wander down the tiny, narrow Rue de la Huchette, mentioned in that novel and still full of wafting, delicious smells of food, as it was in Victor Hugo's day.
Then, to walk into the famous bookshop Shakespeare & Co on the quai opposite Notre Dame was, for me, as sacred as walking into the great Cathedral itself. There were shelves and shelves of books piled higgledy-piggledy and browsed over by eccentric people, some of them rather beautiful. I felt I could stay there forever, nestled among the stacks of words, words, words.
Browsing among the bouquinistes along the edge of the Seine, rifling through their little cabinets of books, I decided I had died and gone to heaven. It makes me smile now to think I spent precious money on a second-hand paperback of the Selected Poems Of T. S. Eliot (who I was studying for A-level English) - translated into French. Why would an English girl be so pretentiously daft?
Constantly-renewed hubbub
That's why the midday and evening scramble for dining tables was such good news. Diners on average spend £9 a head.
That's also why cafe economics sometimes raises eyebrows, especially those of foreign visitors who are responsible for 40 per cent of Andre's business.
Glass-fronted and open, the Parisian cafe is a place of constantly-renewed hubbub, dotted with oases of calm.
It's also blind to social distinctions. Office workers and business people rub shoulders with students, shoppers, tourists and intellectuals.
A remarkable institution, but one which doesn't come cheap.
If four of you sit down at Le Colibri for a cafe creme (coffee with hot milk), you will spend a tenner, with perhaps an extra £1 in tips.
Four teas will cost the same, four 25cl glasses of beer £8.80, and four espressos £5.60.
Parisian cafes operate at least two price levels: one for people standing and a much higher one for those seated.
Certain cafes, but not the Colibri, have a third rate, for outside terraces.
And almost all hike their prices at night - by 30p an item after 10pm in the Colibri's case. 'Late staff cost more,' said Andre.
Style over fashion
It was Chanel who first popularised suntans in the Twenties when she took a holiday in Antibes during the summer - up until this time hotels on the Riviera had opened only during the winter. Suntans were seen as something common, associated with manual labourers.
Chanel was also one of the first women to wear trousers; she also scandalised the Parisian aristocracy with her succession of very public sexual affairs.
'Chanel is a style,' she once said: ' Fashion goes out of fashion. Style never does.'
In the fashion business, the Chanel apartment on the second floor has a sort of mystic significance - the Sistine Chapel of haute couture.
Marie-Christine Vabre of Chanel waits for us at the entrance to 31 Rue du Cambon, still the heart of the company's business. 'Madame Chanel never slept here,' she explains.
Chanel had a suite of rooms at the Ritz, paid for by her former lover, the Duke of Westminster. The attraction of having her business there is that the street has a rear entrance to the Ritz (it was through this door that Princess Diana slipped out to escape the Press on the night of her death).
As we walk up to the salon of the haute couture shop on the first floor, Marie-Christine explains how employees knew if Coco was in the building because she trailed behind her a distinctive smell of Chanel No 5 and cigarette smoke everywhere she went.
I peer into a cabinet at some dresses and my eye falls on a particularly fabulous concoction of silk. 'As a matter of interest, how much would that be?' I asked.
Marie-Christine looked: 'About £50,000.' My jaw drops. 'It has taken about 300 hours to make by hand.'
Ascending from the first floor to Chanel's apartment is the famous sweeping staircase with a beige carpet, wrought iron balustrade and mirror designed by Chanel so that she could sit at the top of the stairs and watch the reactions of those below as they caught their first glimpse of her new designs.
Elegance and extravagance
Rue de Berri soon abandons the buzziness of the Champs Elysees, for the gilded fashion artery of Rue Faubourg Saint Honore. I strolled in the late September sunshine, enjoying its vignettes: the smell of expensive leather from a shop selling polo gear, a woman trying on an impossibly beautiful black tulle hat, the sound of a violin floating down from the windows of the conservatory in the Hotel Beaujon.
In Parc de Monceau, platoons of nannies pushed designer buggies through the first fallen leaves of autumn, their small charges playing decorously with dolls or bouncing balls. I imagined my neighbours living lives of surpassing elegance behind the shutters and formal iron balconies of the tall apartments that surround the park.
The Jacquemart-Andre Museum offered the opportunity to see inside a really grand house on nearby Boulevard Haussmann. Filled with the treasures collected by a late 19th- century banker and his artist wife, this mansion still breathes the couple's highly individual tastes. I spent far more time than we had planned there, moved not only by the beauty of the Renaissance paintings, sculptures and tapestries, but by the discerning love that had brought them so harmoniously together.
But not hurrying was part of the point and the quieter byways off the frenetic Champs-Elysees yielded many happy finds. The streets around Rue Marbeuf are, I was assured, growing in reputation as a golden triangle for gourmets. I pushed the boat out among the art nouveau tiles and stained glass of La Fermette, to eat turbot and asparagus.
Somehow there was still time to walk as far as the Palais Royal, to window-shop among the hidden passages off Rue des Petits Champs and to admire Paris's civilised millennium spending on facelifts for the Louvre, the Opera and the Notre Dame.
Around £9,700 might buy a diamond necklace. It would also buy a week's luxury perch in Paris for the next 20 years. For a millisecond I contemplated hurrying back to Place Vendome: 'Please Madame, may I borrow your husband?'
Guards at an asylum
The Monet Gardens staff seem to view their role as guards at an asylum for the feeble-minded rather than anything in the line of cheerful assistance. When I presented my credit card at the souvenir shop, the assistant snapped at me - in English - that cards were not acceptable for totals of less than 100 francs or £10 (tourist attractions in general in France unhelpfully run a bit of a no credit-card policy).
Since we'd started our conversation in French, I replied, 'Cent francs?' The assistant rolled her eyes but I persisted, saying, 'We're in France so we may as well try to speak French.'
She laughed scornfully: 'People speak to me in French and when I reply in French they don't understand me!' There was a similar lack of customer contact skills at the Van Gogh museum in Auvers-sur-Oise, an hour's drive from Giverny through lovely countryside.
I'd booked a table at the Auberge Ravoux, the restaurant of the inn where Van Gogh stayed for the last three months of his life. The elaborately restored restaurant is clearly the attraction.
The museum, by contrast, is a modest affair - a look at the unfurnished room where Van Gogh died after shooting himself, followed by a short, but very good of its sort, audio-visual show.
The man in charge of the restaurant runs it with all the casual charm of Saddam Hussein on a bad day. Hearing my inquiry about a vegetarian option, he said: 'Vegetarian?' - as if the very word was poison in his mouth - 'This is French cuisine.'
Here, 'French' means pretentious and wildly over-expensive. No wonder Van Gogh shot himself. I was pretty close to it myself. Our final expedition was a Sunday morning drive 50 miles north of Paris up the A1 to a clearing in the forest near Compiegne.
Here, at 5.10am on November 11, 1918, in a cosily furnished wagon-lit railway carriage, the German High Command signed the Armistice terms dictated by the Supreme Allied Commander, General Ferdinand Foch. Five hours and 50 minutes later the First World War came to an end.
No Sunday shopping
Local farmers with small trestle tables sell homemade butter, a couple of dozen eggs, a few bunches of carrots, pencil-slim leeks and sometimes teurgoule, a superior kind of rice pudding. The pungent smell of strong local cheeses and fish from nearby Port-en-Bessin mingle with aromatic spices, fresh herbs, warm chocolate and sizzling chickens turning on the spit. Accordion music added the final corny touch. It was wonderful.
Bayeux was the first French city to be liberated in 1944 and miraculously escaped war damage. The one main street runs straight as a die for about a mile from the market square, the Place de St Patrice, to an old stone bridge over the river Aure.
The alluring shops are as eye-catching as the fine old buildings - from the vast 11th Century cathedral to elegant town houses tucked down narrow streets. The French have a genius for window display. Desirable clothes, handmade chocolates, tiny strawberry tarts even pairs of glasses wittily displayed on statues of saints, catch the eye.
Sunday shopping hasn't caught on in France, a traditional country that still regards Sunday as a church and family day. Although a handful of shops open on Sunday mornings - the baker, the chocolate shop delicatessen and some wine shops -they close at midday. Then families, in Sunday best and carrying cakes in white boxes tied up with ribbon, set off to lunch with relatives.
So, weekend visitors planning to shop should whip round Bayeux's small ring road to Leclerc super-market where 'specially selected' bottles of wine, coffee beans and great jars of Dijon mustard are among good buys. Casa, the French equivalent of Ikea, also on the ring road, is worth a visit.
Serious wine shoppers make for Le Petit Bordelais. Tucked in a corner of Rue Marechal Foch off Bayeux's main street, this tiny, dim and dark shop owned by Monsieur and Madame Bertin specialises in Bordeaux wines - expensive to vin de table.
A man from Leeds, queueing up to have ten gallon containers filled from the three, garage-like wine pumps at the back of the shop, said he had set up a small corking unit in his garage. 'You can't go wrong can you?' he said. 'House wine at under £1 a litre and the good stuff, around £2.50 a litre, for special occasions.'
From Barnet to Bagnoles de l'Orne
Next day we took a slower pace, coasting through a landscape of grand, grey stone, shuttered houses and river valleys on our way to the picturesque town of Clecy in the hilly area grandly named the Suisse-Normande. Here, I fell madly in love with a large millhouse which was for sale, and had to be talked out of selling up and moving to Normandy immediately.
Joseph's day was made by the discovery of an amazing miniature railway built by a father and son 35 years ago. It remains a family business, and is still being added to today. The grand climax of the railway show won applause from French and English alike as the room was plunged into darkness and the tiny landscape was filled with lights and movement.
During a trip eastwards via Alencon the following day, we met an expat British couple who had sold their house in Barnet, North London, to buy a series of barns in Ferte Bernard. With four grown-up children and three grandchildren who they frequently visit, they had no regrets about their decision - although some of their British friends had been shocked initially. 'What if you get ill?' they had said. I looked around at their enormous garden, afternoon sunlight slanting through the silver birch trees, and felt nothing but envy.
The following morning we discovered the nearby medieval town of Domfront, a cue to try yet more local delicacies as we sat drinking cafe au lait in the pretty cobbled square talking to the friendly cafe owner, while Joseph played in the bar behind us.
Our last afternoon, following a forest picnic at the romantically named Aire de Jeux de L'Etoile, was spent in Bagnoles de l'Orne, a spectacular spa town full of eccentric gothic villas. Here, a park and chateau, complete with children's play area, plus a restaurant serving superb boeuf en daube ended a perfect day.
Saying goodbye to Gamin next morning, my son looked sadly back at the Normandy farmhouse. 'I'd like to live here always, Mummy,' he said. Wouldn't we all.
Not a Range Rover in sight
We'd been told to visit Uzes on a Saturday when its bustling food market would have us dribbling at the mouth.
The town itself is mouth-wateringly picturesque - a jumble of golden-stone towers, mansions and Renaissance facades. If this was in Tuscany it would be awash with British tourists. Out of season, there's not a Range Rover in sight.
The Saturday market is held in the arcaded Place aux Herbes. It looks like a film set and has been used as one on numerous occasions - most recently for Gerard Depardieu's Cyrano De Bergerac.
We arrive at noon, by which time the smell of fresh produce is hanging in the air. There's one pervasive scent that's quite unlike any other - rich, earthy and pungently aromatic.
C'est le weekend des truffes - truffle weekend - and local farmers and enthusiasts have turned out in force to display and sell their prizes.
The farmers could have popped straight out of a cartoon - noses like radishes, faces like red peppers, dungarees made of old denim. Perhaps they bought them in Nimes - after all, Nimes was the town that gave denim (de Nimes) its name.
A few farmers have brought along their dogs, which are used for sniffing out the truffles and someone's even brought a truffle-sniffing pig, sadly a rarity these days.
Truffles, it must be said, don't look very appetising. Imagine a little black nugget covered in warts, or a mummified mouse-brain in need of a good scrub.
But pick one up and hold it to your nose and you'll soon be a convert. They smell of damp woods and cinnamon, of mushrooms and old peat. And the flavour they exude is something else.
Our warty little brain costs £7 and we're given a stream of advice. Place it in a box of eggs, says one, and the smell will permeate the shells. Add it to cream sauces . . . risotto . . . pork stuffing. Suddenly we're surrounded by a jostling group of farmers handing out recipes invented by grandma Agnes and great-aunt Marie-Therese.
Another stall-holder approaches. 'What about my herb tea?' he asks, opportunistically. 'It's the best camomile you'll find.' We buy a bag of dried yellow flowers to keep him happy and a second bag of verbena; a sack of dried lavender and some herbes de Provence.
Patrolling the Promenade
For my visit, one of my self-appointed tasks was to trace the outline of the British (mainly English, actually) imprint on Nice. So, naturally, I started on the Promenade des Anglais, the grand, six-lane, palm-fringed boulevard which stretches along the entire bay of Nice, from the airport in the west almost to the castle in the east.
Today the Promenade is the bustling rim of Nice towards which everything points, but it began life as an act of English philanthropy (although perhaps one made with a shrewd eye for development) in 1821.
After the failure of the olive and citrus crops, unemployed locals were offered work by British families building a road along the shore which would link their grand mansions and make it safe for any innocent young English lady - Miss Anglaise, as she was known - to promenade safe from muggers.
We've missed the greatest days of course: the Belle Epoque and years between the wars, when it was lined with dozens of grand, stuccoed mansions, before the post-war spivs got to work with their iron balls and redevelopment plans.
But even with its utilitarian, modern, balconied apartment blocks, the Promenade is still one of the great social crescents of the world, peopled always with legions of Rollerbladers, joggers and old-fashioned walkers on a wide, wide pavement overlooking the beach.
You get everything here: vendors selling sugared nuts and nougat, girls with bunches of coloured balloons, old ladies walking manicured dogs and circles of young people practising the latest fashion in martial arts, a non-violent, non-touch display competition of cartwheels.
At any time of the day or night the Promenade des Anglais is a celebration of recreation and display. It's also a fairer place these days, no longer a reservation for just the super-rich. It might not look as beautiful, but we can't always have it both ways.
More thrills than a rollercoaster ride
Nausicaa is named after a mythical princess who found Ulysses lying on a beach. The idea is that the centre is a gathering of many things found on beaches, and in the water, too. It's a glorious, womb-like journey through oceans and along rivers, until you are washed up on a 'real' tropical shore. It's a multimedia experience in which the visitor is not so much educated as immersed.
As we entered Nausicaa's dark interior, hearing became our most important sense. The first exhibition room was awash with watery sounds - whale noises, breaking waves, all of which was punctuated by hypnotic New Age music. Our eyes adjusted to the blackness and we became aware of fish and plankton, transparent and elegantly simple, drifting in a tank before us. The children stood open-mouthed in wonder.
Ocean, we read, covers 71% of the Earth's surface. It's all interconnected - and we suddenly felt connected to it, too. Four-year-old Joe gripped my hand tightly. 'Mummy, are those ones real?' he asked when we came to the brightly striped clown fish.
The fact that it is all real is the trump card of this enormous fish museum. Perhaps that's what makes it preferable to a theme park for many parents. It also helps achieve Nausicaa's aim 'to increase public awareness of the fragility of the marine environment, and of the necessity to respect the sea as an essential part of man's heritage'.
A three or four-hour visit to Nausicaa leaves deeper impressions than any ride on a French roller-coaster.
Only hint of raunch
But, and this is the point that concerns us, he had a fine château. In fact he had three, but Mazan, which opened last June, is the only one the public can visit.
Lhermie spent two years renovating it. 'We wanted to call it the Hotel de Sade - but the de Sade family still exists. They were worried what sort of establishment we'd be running,' he said.
The only hint of raunch is a nude male torso on a table on the first-floor landing. Closer inspection shows it to be an ex-shop window dummy, and part of the decor.
Otherwise, the 18th-century château has been restored tastefully, with sparse decoration - different for each bedroom - and lots of light and space.
Service is efficient in an unbuttoned sort of way and, all in all, I can't think of many more appealing class hotels in France.
And here is the other point that concerns us. De Sade may have behaved like a monster of lust (he spent 30 years in jail for depravity) but he did so in some lovely surroundings.
Mazan is a place of stone streets and unexpected fountains. The giant Mont Ventoux and Nesque Gorges are at its gate. Avignon and Vaison-la-Romaine are 30 minutes away.
We took in a good slice of this selection before returning to the hotel for a dinner which surpassed imagination and style.
Then we retired to the bedroom for a glass of Scotch. Debauchery has gone sadly downhill over the past 200 years.
TRAVEL DETAILS:Le Château de Mazan, http://www.chateaudemazan.com tel: 00 33 4 90 69 62 61.
Poorhouse arisen
Step off the bustling high streets into Le Panier - the oldest part of Marseilles. The narrow, winding streets are more reminiscent of Morocco than France. You eventually reach La Vieille Charite, stunning considering its humble origins as a poorhouse.
Shopaholics are well-catered for in Marseilles - from trendy boutiques to the big shopping mall.
Don't miss the colourful markets - fresh fish every morning on the Vieux Port and the eclectic stalls around rue D'Aubagne, where everything from spices to live chickens are on sale.
If all that gets too much, visit the rocky coastal inlets of the Calanques - a haven from the bustling city.
Walk off those croissants and head up the steep hill to the Notre Dame de la Garde towering above all of Marseilles.
The Romano-Byzantine church is beautiful but the views alone reward the trek with the city sprawling below.
Then head off to catch a boat to the peaceful Iles du Frioul and the Chateau d'If - the latter a rocky island fortress immortalised in Alexandre Dumas's Count Of Monte Cristo.
Marseilles is easily accessible - there are cheap flights direct with Buzz or British Airways or take the high-speed TGV rail link via Eurostar.
Either way, you can be sipping pastis watching the world go by in the Vieux Port in no time at all.
It may not have the glitz or elegance of its neighbours, but Marseilles has a draw of its own, far away from the usual tourist hordes.
Anyone for duck?
The English made the Gascons build hundreds of fortified towers (many of which still stand proudly), since they were a thousand miles from home and surrounded, not altogether surprisingly, by a large number of hostile Frenchies with a much better command of the language and absolutely no fear of the local food.
Gascon food is hearty, simple and rustic with an emphasis on duck, duck and more duck. I would hazard a guess that there are more ducks in Gascony than people. Practically every field and farm you pass displays a 'foie gras sold here' sign, and market stalls bend under the weight of duck-related tins and jars - pate de canard, fritons de canard, confit de canard, gesiers de canard and so on.
We were passionately exhorted to try a popular delicacy, duck neck stuffed with mashed-up bits of duck head. I adore magret de canard, but I think I may have had my ration for the decade after my week in Marciac.
The countryside is unspoilt and the wildlife abundant. Mass tourism hasn't made any impact here at all and you find yourself wandering round villages that are like pristine period-drama sets, with all visual evidence of the modern age removed, not quite believing that in high season you have the place to yourself.
The fortified village of Bassoues d'Armagnac would, in any other part of Europe, be Essential Itinerary for coach parties and festooned with car parks and postcard kiosks. Here it is deserted - a small Cafe des Sports serving bowls of steaming duck to the locals, blissfully unaware of the staggering beauty that surrounds it.
Long may it last. My Irish friend Garrett was so taken with the verdant calm of the place, he immediately began looking in estate agents' windows for a ruined farmhouse (of which there are plenty). As Garrett runs the Gourmet Mushroom Company back in Eire, one can only hope he will in due course introduce the Gascons to a new culinary experience, Mushroom and Duck Soup.
After daily coffee and croissant sessions with him there is nothing I do not know about cultivating exotic shitake from pulverised oak, and nothing he cannot tell you about the superb baroque organs in the churches of Mirande and Auch.
Culinary pleasures within easy reach
Lyon is deep in the heart of France but you can now leave London mid-afternoon and be there for dinner. Just over four hours from the Tunnel I was checking out Lyon's reputation as the gastronomic capital of the world.
No need to eat in some rarefied gourmet haunt for this test. I found a typical Lyon 'bouchon' (local restaurant), the Bouchon aux Vins in the Rue Mercier, and ordered - always trust a restaurant with a small number of specialities - magret de canard, chased down with a glass of Crozes Hermitages.
I followed it with a tarte au citron with meringue for which I would have willingly walked there. My wallet hardly winced: £12.30.
The journey down had been exhilarating. The TGV line was built daringly, without cuttings and embankments, up and down hills, easily scaled by these powerful trains.
It's a sensation quite unlike flat rail travel. We seemed to swoop down into valleys, past villages, remote manoirs, lines of ambling cream cows, straggly rivers and nature-filled postage stamp fields too small to qualify for a Brussels subsidy. Steep valleys stretched away, their slopes cloaked with endless Beaujolais vineyards.
An hour from Lyon the people around me started phoning home, asking partners to put on the evening meal, so confident were they of their ETA.
We reached Part Dieu station, in the city's commercial quarter, several seconds early. I boarded the underground train on Lyon's Ligne B and took a seat behind the big picture window right at the front.
Surely something missing. Doesn't the driver normally sit there? No driver. No responsible human in sight. I peered into the void as this mind-of-its-own train swooshed down tunnels, rattled into stations. Fortunately, it was programmed to stop at Bellecour, my destination.
All arriving visitors should enter Lyon here. The station gives on to one of the biggest city squares in Europe - more than 300 yards by 200 - with a big statue of Louis XIV at its centre. My hotel, the newly renovated Globe et Cecil, was in the nearby Rue Gasparin.
Wolves roaming around
Then I drove on, grinning inanely at the grandeur of the scenery, to Sainte-Lucie and Europe's foremost wolf reserve.
The Parc du Gevaudan was started by a naturalist keen to release the animals back into the wild. Here he hit a snag. Precisely because their villages are so remote, Lozeriens are reluctant to have wolves roaming around again.
So the wolves stay in the reserve - where, it must be said, they don't look that threatening. 'They aren't!' cries current boss Anne Menatory. Even so, it's more reassuring to inspect them through a metal fence than, say, face-to-snout in a nearby forest.
Which is, however, pretty much how you meet the local bison. They were shipped into Lozere from Poland, the only place where European bison survive in the wild.
The idea was to create a remote second centre, in case bison disease hit Poland.
At Sainte-Eulalie, 45 minutes from the wolf reserve, you get right among them in a horse and cart - just you, two horses, a driver and these enormous shaggy items from pre-history.
'Don't disturb the mothers; they're excitable,' whispered the driver. To prove the point, a maternal bison lowered her head and charged the cart, pulling up inches short.
This was gratifying - few people can claim to have been charged by a bison in France - and so I set off south in bright mood for the Cevennes.
Here, the landscape grows more dramatic still. The road out to Le Pont-de-Montvert and Mont Lozere curves round the mountain, round gorges and through deep forest. Finer walking country doesn't exist.
A good place to start is Le Merlet, high on the mountainside above Le Pont-de-Montvert village.
Here, Catherine and Philippe Galzin have resurrected the farming hamlet into a rambling gites and chambres d'hote set-up perfect for hikers.
Beautiful villages
Yet within a few miles you find yourself crossing the famous causses (limestone plateaux) of south-west France. Here the scenery becomes barren and only a few hardy goats scratch a living. Yet, even here, dancing poppies flash brilliantly across the landscape and the steep, stony ground is coaxed into producing vegetable gardens.
You drive through gorgeous little villages like Labastide Murat (where Napoleon's friend and brilliant cavalry commander was born). Cabrerets is another picturesque little spot with a good hotel, the wonderful prehistoric caves of Pech Merle nearby and a most unexpected museum of humour. It would make a well-placed centre for expeditions round this oddly unknown part of France.
Drive on for another few miles, under huge outcrops of rock and you'll suddenly see a vast boulder that has bounced down in to the river. But how? And when? And should you accelerate or slow down? Don't worry, it happened nearly a century ago, but the stone is far too heavy to move. Soon after this you begin to glimpse, on the cliff top ahead, the dramatically beautiful village of St Cirq Lapopie.
You can also get there more directly by driving eastwards along the river from Cahors, but visit it you must, for this is one of France's most famous 'villages fleuries' - villages of flowers. From the topmost vantage point in St Cirq itself you understand why the local aristocrat in his chateau was master of all he surveyed. With the countryside around and the river that winds through it visible for 30 to 40 miles, no enemy could approach unseen.
The castle round which the village grew up long ago fell into ruins, but dozens of half-timbered medieval buildings remain, housing beneath their red-tiled roofs and gables a thriving artistic community of painters, potters and sculptors. To wander through these steep cobbled streets is to travel back 500 years.
Travelling even further back, to the 12th century, a visit to the shrine of the Black Virgin in Rocamadour, clinging to the vertiginous cliff face, is an extraordinary experience. Pilgrims of old would climb 700 steps - the most pious of all making the journey on their knees - to reach the holy chapel at the top.
The whole of this part of south-west France used to be a deeply religious area. Not far away lies the great church of Carennac, set amid a village overlooking a quiet stretch of the River Dordogne. It has a heartbreaking statue of the pieta inside and a marvellous man-dorla or almond-shaped sculpture of the risen Christ over the main doorway.
The locals, oblivious to the great church with its cloisters and priory, go about their business much as they did 500 years ago. It is a stirring and atmospheric place. Here, as in many French churches, concerts are often held in the evenings. Whether classical music or modern jazz, it's a great feeling to sit in the midst of soaring ancient pillars, watching the evening light fade as live music fills your ears.
Near to Carennac is the tragic chateau of Montal, built by Jeanne de Montal to welcome her beloved son's return from the Hundred Years War - only he never came back. Her sadness permeates every corner of this elegiac and exquisite monument to him. It is just one of the many places that draws one back again and again to this mysteriously overlooked corner of France.
Crumbling churches
Most development thus far has been around the Vieux Port, the old harbour, which bristles with yachts and cafes, fronting the old town's stepped alleys and tree-lined squares that conceal traditional shops, crumbling churches and historic buildings.
Food is eminently affordable, with set menus starting at £6 - though you'll pay a fair bit more for an authentic bouillabaisse. Work off your meal with a stiff climb up to the church of Notre Dame de la Garde, the city's highest point, where the views stretch for miles.
Save your legs by taking the rather slow and rickety 'Petit Train' to the top. It puts you in mind of our own railways. Thank goodness there's a smooth seven hours ahead of you as you speed back towards London on the TGV.
Travel facts: Go from London Waterloo to Marseilles, travelling on Eurostar and changing at either Lille or Paris. For reservations, call Rail Europe on: 08705 848 848.
Chateaux galore
The Loire chateaux were originally built as the holiday homes of French kings and queens. Adorned with turrets and towers and fancy staircases, and sitting in grounds the size of Windsor Great Park, they attract thousands of culturally minded visitors every year. We met many Britons and Dutch, some Italians and Japanese - but mainly the French themselves, who go there to marvel at their own colourful and vainglorious history.
Even our campsite had a chateau in it - just a little one, called Le Chateau des Marais (the Manor House of the Marshlands). It's not marshy these days, just flat, which makes it ideal cycling territory. So we hired bikes from reception and set off on a day of discovery. Bicycles are still the best way to see France. We pottered by the banks of the fast-flowing Loire river and tootled through a village with an ancient church, a deserted museum and a small bar.
This is the kind of village they put in brochures. What they don't tell you about are the juggernauts that thunder past the peeling and shuttered medieval houses. The air was hot and humming with flies. We pushed on, down long avenues of trees, past enormous fields of sunflowers with sorry heads - 'We've had enough of all that sunshine, we overdid it,' they seemed to say.
Cars gave us a wide berth. Joe, aged five, sat in the child seat behind his dad and shouted instructions. He's small with a very loud voice and would make an excellent rowing cox.
Then, finally, at the end of one of the longest avenues, we spied our first real chateau. Chateau Chambord is the biggest of all - a Grand 3B of a chateau, with its vast round towers, double-spiral staircase and interconnecting royal apartments. They say it has a fireplace for every day of the year, but what they mean is, there are too many to count. Look at Chambord and you see why the Loire region comes top of every French survey on the quality of life.
When Francois I built Chambord, he used to say 'Allons chez moi' ('Let's go to my place'), an invitation to his friends for a hunting weekend at the royal pied-a-terre. Unfortunately, he managed to say this only a few times in his life because he was so busy. So Chambord was rarely inhabited during its 500-year history, which was good news for the deer and wild boar that still roam its 14,000-acre park.
When Francois I created his weekend retreat with more than 450 rooms and 70 staircases, he was essentially building a visitors' attraction for the future; the first French theme park. The theme, of course, is history. With no concessions to modern marketing and without even furnishing many of its opulent rooms, Chambord is a honey-pot for discerning tourists.
Sound and light shows - son et lumiere - were pioneered at Chambord in 1952. They are now a compelling feature of any self-respecting French chateau. At Chenonceau, one of the prettiest, you'll see a traditional version with external light effects, music and the booming voice of a hidden narrator. At Blois and Amboise, a more theatrical display usually involves local actors depicting historical scenes.
But at Chambord, they've gone all experimental. At 10.30pm, I arrived with my two daughters for a chilling spectacle inside the darkened castle. Each party was given a lantern, and we made our way gingerly across the lawn and over the moat to the vast front door.
A screen of skeletal trees black and blue - was projected on to the facade of the building. Inside, crowds swarmed at random. Each room held different images and sounds: a lone violin player, shadows of dancers behind a translucent screen, projections of old paintings onto shards of broken mirror glass.
Unsettled and exhilarated, we return to our caravan. As I put the girls to bed, it occurred to me how safe I felt in my temporary home-from-home and how much easier it was to take a holiday now than in the days of Francois I. Still, I might try issuing an invitation to my friends next year: 'Allons,' I could say, 'chez moi.'
A rich history
Once from a farm on Tours' fringe I rode with my daughters across country to delectable but sad little Azay-le-Rideau, the 'Island Castle'. Built for a banker and for the hot sun in the early 1500s, its open stairways are chilly marvels. Over my many visits I've noted happily that the State has slowly added more furniture. It stares out, high-roofed with a slightly tragic air over its grey-green water carpet. There was a fearful massacre here in 1418.
Eight rosetted Michelin eating places lie within half an hour's jaunt of Tours. Azay doesn't have one. Fontevraud has the Licorne and a very adequate small hotel, the Croix Blanche, with menus from £25 and rooms at about £40. Fontevraud Abbey, a favourite haunt of mine, has been so shiningly restored it has lost its sense of 900 years of history. This is the restorer's dilemma; do you return a building to how it looked when first built or to how the modern world remembers it?
Under autocratic blue-blooded abbesses, Fontevraud ruled over five religious 'houses' including one for 'fallen women'. Its linked establishments stretched deep into southern England and northern Spain. Twice the place was shattered in the mad cause of religion. By the Huguenots in 1561, then by the Revolutionaries. Napoleon restored it. France now is spending millions on it.
They've moved our King Henry II, his wife Eleanor of Aquitaine, their son Richard Lion Heart and King John's wife Isabella from a side chapel into the body of the immense, white, echoing church. A remote ancestor of mine used to lie close by his monarch, Henry II, but where his tomb was is now glossed over. Our clever half-Dutch guide remembered his vanished tombstone and is trying to discover where that antique Herbert now lies.
The Loire's southern country roads have the dithering charm of English lanes. It's a different world from the Roman and Napoleonic highways which arrow across the plains of northern France. Here little roads meander between vineyards, maize, sunflowers and more vineyards. They squeeze through pretty, grey-stone hamlets following the Route Touris-tique des Vignobles. Pretty, grape-bunch roadsigns lead the way.
Tiny shops sell home-made honey. In a bar beneath a ruined castle the young patron presses glasses of pink bernache on us. This is grape juice plus a little wine and rather delicious in a puddingy way. We lunch in Chinon in the Maison Rouge, a timbered, old restaurant, leaning outward like the poop of a Tudor galleon. Almost next door below the castle is a house in which Richard Coeur de Lion probably died. A wound from a sniper's arrow, when he was checking on his soldiers, turned septic.
The patron of the Maison Rouge was a Parisian. Influenced by oriental dishes, he has evolved a menu whereby you pick half a dozen small starters from a score of dishes, plus just one grill for about £18. Idea good; execution dreary. He calls it Rabelaisian. This multitalented, coarse-writing old author, lawyer and doctor Rabelais was born nearby at La Deviniere. This little farmyard in a dull valley isn't worth the journey. Anyway, Rabelais was actually born in a field with his mother dying in the process.
We should have spent longer wine-tasting at the Domaine Daniel Chauveau at Cravant-les-Coteaux. The handsome young wine master is the son of the house and married to an English girl from Romsey, Hampshire. Their 25 acres billow away over an emerald ocean of vines.
It is part of the rapidly expanding 5,000 acres of Chinon Vineyards. The main grape is Cabernet-Franc, fragrant and smoothed in new oak barrels. The older, the richer, the smoother.
'Good Chinon really lasts,' says Christophe Chauveau, raving over a '47 he had recently relished. In their cellars a big family group was bottling, from its own cask, its own wine by a hand-cranked, old machine. I wanted to order a few cases of the '96. But 'it's all sold. Last year's and this, too. We export 50 per cent. The UK takes 25 per cent'. All along the Loire I find a swelling pride in their wines and the conviction that this area is moving up to challenge Bordeaux and Burgundy.
Bars and brasseries were buzzing
My father and I drooled like schoolchildren at the luscious displays in the windows of the charcuterie, boulangerie and chocolatier and wondered, as we always do, how the French remain so svelte.
In the afternoon we had expected to queue at the Palais des Beaux-Arts, a stunning 17th-century labyrinthine palace, yet on a Saturday it was practically empty, extraordinary considering it is second only in size to the Louvre.
Modesty, it seems, runs deep in Lille, for here was an exquisitely hung, permanent collection of Goya, Rubens, Renoir, Sisley and Van Dyck paintings.
So would, we wondered, this university city come alive at night?
Restaurants, bars, and brasseries were buzzing around the main square as we went in search of Flemish specialities such as beef carbonade, waterzooi - a fish soup with white wine and herbs - and flammekeuche, a sort of thin pizza with sweet or savoury toppings.
Visitors are usually pointed towards L'huitiere, a Michelin-starred art deco restaurant renowned for seafood. But we fancied something less formal, which we found at La Tasselle, a vaulted restaurant where we enjoyed snails and rabbit.
On Sunday, my father commented on the lack of church bells summoning the faithful. We never discovered why but I have a theory.
All the shops shut so everyone, it seems, heads to the massive outdoor market in Wazemmes, a quick hop on the metro from the centre.
Vibrant, hectic and quite medieval in noise and smell, you can buy everything from fresh mint from Moroccans, to carpets, coats, perfume and acres of fresh flowers.
Lille is neither a city that is so romantic you never want to leave, nor is it awash with attractions, but if you relish good food, art and sumptuous boutiques, it will sit prettily in your memory of relaxing breaks.
TRAVEL DETAILS:
The Sofitel Lille Metropole (http://www.sofitel.com tel: 0870 609 0964). Eurostar goes from Waterloo to Lille (tel: 08705 848 848).
De Gaulle's birthplace
It was, apparently, General de Gaulle's favourite patisserie and in Lille recommendations don't come higher than that - de Gaulle was Lille's main man and the Lillois make a big thing of the fact that he was born there. The town's main square is named after him and there's even a museum devoted to his memory - closed for refurbishment, alas, during our trip - where you can pay homage to his christening robe and the Citroen he nearly got assassinated in.
Next to de Gaulle, they get pretty excited about D'Artagnan, a real person whom Dumas made the most dashing of his Three Musketeers, even though he stopped over only for a couple of years on his way to swash a buckle somewhere else. You can see his point; there's a gentleness about life in Lille which would be anathema to any self-respecting musketeer - even the homemade waffles in Meerts wouldn't have been enough to keep him.
But I suppose it wasn't all that gentle in his day. If there is an air of resignation about the town, as opposed to the arrogance of somewhere like Paris, then it's probably because it's been battered by a series of hostile takeover bids.
Originally and geographically, it belonged to Flanders, then the Duke of Burgundy invaded, then Austria took over and then Spain, before Louis XIV claimed it for France in 1667.
We were seduced by Lille's quirkiness. I liked the fact that the cathedral, Notre Dame de la Treille, with its extraordinary modern façade, was directly opposite a seedy-looking tattoo parlour. And that several of the beautiful Flemish buildings which typify the city still have cannonballs embedded in their walls from the many battles fought to gain sovereignty over the place.
The Flemish/French influence pervades architecturally and culinarily, in a mussels-and-chips sort of way. We had a couple of very good meals (£14 can buy you three courses, a Kir Royale, coffee and a bottle of wine) and Marina, the finest cook I know, verged on the ecstatic over the sea bass in a restaurant called L'Ecume Des Mers.
Just so we could say we'd absorbed a bit of culture between our hectic bouts of eating and shopping, we nipped along to the Palais Des Beaux Arts - after the Louvre, the biggest art gallery in France - and didn't regret a minute of it. Even the entrance hall is a visual feast with its minimalist clean lines and open space and beyond that are Rubens and Van Dycks and Monets and what-have-yous and comfy chairs you can actually sit in while you marvel.
Then, at midnight, Marina persuaded me on to the enormous Ferris wheel erected every year for Christmas in the main square. I took some persuading because the thing goes at quite a lick, but you get the most spectacular view of the town and its quirky Flemish rooftops. We both vowed to come back.
A raffish glamour
Le Touquet looks genteel, even prim - like an English spa town swept to the water's edge. Then you realise it possesses a raffish glamour.
You'll find designer boutiques, expensive art galleries and overflowing restaurants buzzing with Parisians down for 'Le Weekend', and a clutch of France's richest people who have holiday homes here.
Finally, you notice the two casinos (no arcade tat: think high stakes and high heels, particularly in the Casino du Palais, which Fleming took as the backdrop to his first James Bond novel - Casino Royale.)
The town was built by two enterprising Englishmen who saw its potential as a genteel watering hole during the last hurrah of Victoria's reign. They designed Le Touquet on a grid; but unlike American cities, the central streets are narrow.
This lends them an intimate air, perfect for long, lingering lunches and shop pottering. But just when you feel you have Le Touquet's measure, you find wide boulevards, festooned with flowers, cutting through thick woodland.
Thatched cottages (one called Sevenoaks, another Wimbledon) mingle with Swiss chalets and turreted Germanic follies; it feels like you've landed in a slightly eccentric English garden suburb.
In some parts of France, Brits are as welcome as a live crab in the bath, but Le Touquet is resolutely Anglophile, probably as a result of the type of rosbifs it attracts: no white van men, but several Bentley gents.
Indeed, surveying sports cars guarding the Westminster (or Le West, as locals style it), we chugged round the back in our filthy saloon.
Once the hotel was so snooty you could only motor here if chauffeured (luckily they now turn a blind eye to ageing Rovers), though in the Thirties Gordon Selfridge preferred to charter a train for guests.
Le West's oak-panelled hallways are plastered with snaps of moustachioed cads leaning rakishly against Maseratis. There are also images of pipe-smoking lords peering down from yachts, and of holidaying celebrities, among them King Farouk and Marlene Dietrich.
Stocking up for a French picnic
If you're planning on a traditional French picnic, head into the twisting streets of nearby Uzes. The town's Saturday market is a treasure-trove for foodies and bargain hunters. Locals use it as much as tourists and it's also a fantastic place for souvenirs. Buy olive oils and tapenades, soaps, pottery, clothing, spices and plenty of snacks to keep your strength up.
Uzes gets very busy in high season and there is a dearth of hotels. Most holidaymakers base themselves in one of the gites or B&Bs outside the town, such as the pretty Les Pins de Jol in St Quentin La Poterie where we found ourselves for the night. It's quiet and remote, but great value at just 50 euros for the room with breakfast. It also has basic self-catering facilities.
The region is also popular with campers and there are plenty of sites well marked as you drive around. It's probably a good way to enjoy the landscape as it's easy to visit the Languedoc and drive from one pretty village to another without appreciating what's in between.
For mile upon mile, all that exists are olive and juniper trees, green oaks and mulberries. This landscape is the garrigue - Mediterranean scrubland which, while never truly green, has a harsh beauty even through the long, hot and dry summer.
The best way to see it is on foot. After a relaxing night at the beautifully restored Oustal des Baumes in Mas de Baumes, we took off into its depths at the heels of the hotel dogs, Max, Leila and Arthur, who, we were assured, knew the area like the back of their paws.
The garrigue is tough walking countryside with sharp stones underfoot but it offers fantastic views across the valleys. Two hours later and the dogs nowhere to be found, we made it back to the hotel. If you want to walk in the region, arm yourselves with maps, food and water, you don't have to wander far to find yourself completely isolated - a great feeling for urban visitors.
You might not survive long trying to live off the land yourself, but finding goodies to bring home with you is not a problem in the Languedoc-Roussillon.
The local crops are what's known as the Mediterranean trilogy - olives, vines and cereals. As well as forming the regional diet, wines, olive oils and tapenades are popular exports.
If you're heading to the seaside, you can also pick up fleur de sel de Camargue - rough sea salt produced on the southern coast. It's a coast not to miss. The beaches aren't Bermudan and get pretty busy in summer but the sea shelves gently and there are lots of facilities for kids. There's also plenty for them to see - the lovely Camargue horses, the pink flamingos in the lagoons.
It may not be glamorous, it may not be the party place but the Languedoc-Roussillon is full of charm and getting fuller. Don't wait too long.
Travel facts: Daily return flights from London Gatwick to Montpellier start from £99 until October 25 with GB Airways. Call 0845 77 333 77 - http://www.gbairways.com
Les Pins de Jol - from 49 euros for a room - 0033 466 03 16 84
Rooms at Oustal des Baumes cost from 85 euros for two people with breakfast from April 15 to June 10. http://oustaldebaumes.com
For more details about France, call the French Government Tourist Office information line on 09068 244 123 (60p a min) or visit http://www.franceguide.com
Beautiful medieval villages
The region is a part of la France profonde redolent with history, brought under the English crown as dowry by Eleanor of Aquitaine when she married Henry II, fought over by the forces of the Roman Catholic Church when they suppressed the Cathars (dissident Christians who opposed Rome).
The struggles are marked by romantic, fortified chateaux and castles round which cluster beautiful medieval villages.
It was near here that the Romans first began to plant vines, and the local Gaillac is famous. Duck, foie gras, lamb from the sheep that graze on the high meadows and local cheeses - Roquefort is the most famous - figure largely in the cuisine.
Inntravel walking holidays are based on the incontrovertible assumption that no one likes heaving their luggage around with them. Once arrived at your starting point - in our case, Albi - on the morning of your departure it is sent on ahead by taxi to the next night's destination.
You walk only with what's needed: sun cream, water, camera, sunglasses plus a picnic lunch - typically, a chunk of duck, sliced tomato, cheese, kiwi fruit, nectarine.
If the day's weather report - catch it at 8am on the TV in your room - suggests it, add a sun visor, sweater or light roll-up mac. We stayed at the friendly little Hotel Chiffre, just off the main square, where dinner on our first evening was foie gras surrounded by lentil salad with lettuce and balsamic vinegar, trout stuffed with crabmeat or duck, followed by chocolate with passion fruit or a sorbet - a menu priced at £10.
Next day, the owner of the hotel drove us to the small village of Marsal about 20 minutes away, where we started our walk. Up a hill was the beautifully restored house of a Russian painter of icons, whose son had decorated the tiny chapel.
At Ambialet we stayed in the Hotel du Pont, going to sleep to the gentle susurration of the poplars by the river, and setting off next day after a breakfast of nectarines, local grapes, croissants, butter and homemade plum and apricot jam.
Our second night was at Villeneuve-sur-Tarn, in the Hostellerie des Lauriers, run by the same family for 200 years. Here, after a dinner of foie gras with nasturtium heads, shank of lamb, green beans with roasted garlic and a cake of carrots, prune tart and local Gaillac wine, our host taught us a conjuring trick with wine corks.
The texture was slithery
Now strung, they're taken back out and dangled in the water from wood and metal table-frames. The Thau lagoon is covered with 2,400 of them. There the oysters hang for 12-14 months, longer in the Atlantic oyster parks - the action of the tide retards growth - pumping water and filtering out the micro-organisms they need.
Finally, having quadrupled in size, they're brought in again, cleaned and boxed.
Or handed to English visitors. 'Don't gulp it down!' ordered Jean-Pierre. 'People who gulp are afraid of oysters. Chew it.'
I recalled the oyster words of Miss Piggy: 'I simply cannot imagine why anyone would eat something slimy served in an ashtray.'
But I couldn't offend a senior French oyster man. I tipped the oyster into the mouth, trying to remember to forget that it was still living. The texture was slithery - imagine raw tripe - but the taste was, well, surprisingly interesting: salty, fishy and finally nutty.
Back at Jean-Pierre's shellfish snackbar, L'Arseillere - several oyster farmers have their own eateries in Bouzigues - I had a few more. The trick, I discovered, is to close your eyes, not think too much and drink consistently.
Joyeux Noël.
Gushing water
While the girls cooed over the three cabins and bathrooms and all the comforts of home, we wondered how we would steer the thing, especially in the confined spaces of the locks. We would soon find out.
To head out of Castelnaudary, the starting point, we needed to negotiate a series of four descending locks.
The cruising manual came with instructions and diagrams, and back at base the French technician was expressive and funny. But nothing quite compares with passing through your first lock by yourself.
My own memory will forever be of an accident in slow motion, of reversing and charging into the riverbanks and other boats, trying to field a spaghetti of ropes.
And shouting, a lot of shouting from me at my husband and the children, begging them not to fall in and get squashed against the lock wall. Insulted, the girls retired inside.
After the noisy pandemonium of gushing water, the bump and grind of boats knocking into each other, the screeching of the lock gates and an Englishwoman clutching at ropes, shouting - peace.
Nobody seems to mind that you have banged all the other boats as if in some vast turn on the dodgems.
Everyone is waving and smiling, as you move off. 'You know,' says my husband, mildly. 'We could possibly do this without the shouting.'
And he's right. Between the little canal-side villages, the water flows in silence. Half-past six and all the locks close for the night. There is no choice but to stop.
Suddenly, you become aware of the freedom of this kind of travel. You can moor your boat anywhere - in a small marina where you might have to pay a few euros, or next to a restaurant so you can eat cassoulet overlooking the water as in Le Segala, upstream.
Four different honeys
Leaving the chateau, we headed for the Tulla Pass, or Col de Tulla, through a spectacular panorama of valleys, hills and river enclosed in forests of cedar, oak, pine and spruce. An ideal spot for a picnic.
Our walk continued for another three hours through the Foret Domaniale which is home to roe deer, foxes, badgers, wild boar, hawks and eagles. The sun gently shone down as we walked on in perfect conditions without seeing another soul.
Another day we found ourselves descending to the village of Soulatge, where we stopped at the Chambre d'Hote La Giraudasse, a very special place - simple, tasteful and homely.
As classical music gently played, we sipped our aperitif while Monsieur prepared our four-course dinner. His specialities that night were tagliatelli, beans and duck, which we enjoyed by candlelight.
Breakfast brought a choice of four different honeys and 11 homemade jams to go with our yoghurt and home-baked bread.
Leaving Soulatge we started our walk in open flat country in the direction of our second castle, Peyrepertuse.
Wildflowers grew on either side of the road and we feasted on figs, walnuts and blackberries as we walked along.
We were fascinated by the different vines - some recently planted, others much older, barely able to contain all the bunches of grapes that hung from their gnarled trunks.
After an hour we came to the peaceful village of Rouffiac des Corbieres. We bought Coke from the one small shop and were glad to find an old bench in the village square where we sat with a one-eyed cat while a mongrel dog and a child played about us. The village bell tolled on the hour, every hour.
Refreshed, we started the steep climb to the great fortress of Peyrepertuse, whose ruined walls towered above us on a rocky outcrop.
Gently swaying masts
The French love their fish, with three seas of their own to choose from.
And they translate their addiction, with an excellent English caption on every display. 'The Moorish idol [a type of fish],' reads one notice, 'is worshipped in parts of the Pacific.'
La Rochelle, population 78,000, claims one of the biggest marinas in Europe.
Whenever things go quiet they seem to drain a marsh and build themselves an even bigger yacht basin.
From a mile away I could see the latest one, Les Minimes, a forest of gently swaying masts of vast, ocean-conquering boats.
'Marseilles think they have a bigger one but don't listen, they are the Texans of France,' said my guide, Raymond Rohou, as we stopped for a drink at the Cafe du Nord.
This is where the fans gather to chart the progress of France's maritime heroes as they round Cape Horn or pass Bermuda.
There wasn't a spare table when the BT Global Challenge race restarted here.
The lucky few with a fortnight to spare can sail from Britain to La Rochelle, halfway down the Atlantic coast of France.
Now there's a quicker way. Buzz flies direct from Stansted. You arrive at a little, low-stress airstrip just out of town.
While I waited for the local bus to take me into the centre for 80p, corn buntings jangled their song in the tangled greenery opposite.
A scene from Chocolat
Berlioz was forever calling at the house where he was born and where his doctor father practised, dropping in to ask for money. I looked out over a courtyard behind the house from a balcony.
It was easy to believe it inspired his Romeo And Juliet overture. Outside the narrow streets are lined with houses made of pebbles washed down by glaciers.
In a scene that could have come from the movie Chocolat, a temptress in the village chocolate shop offered me some dentistry-destroying Damnation (from Berlioz's Damnation Of Faust).
The open-sided 12th Century market hall became a concert hall for the annual Berlioz Festival. When they perform the amazing Requiem - the Boston Symphony Orchestra chose it to commemorate September 11 - the sound carries as far as the Alps.
For accommodation, the family-run two-star Hotel de France is all you need. At dinner, le patron - culinary honours sewn into his tunic - toured the tables, shaking hands.
Together with his eventual wife Harriet, Berlioz is buried in Montmartre Cemetery in Paris, but his remains will be moved to Le Pantheon on June 21, 2003.
The most moving celebration will be on the day of his birth, December 11, with a performance of L'Enfance Du Christ in the 900-year-old church up the hill where he was baptised. On the top is the chateau home of the Paradis du Chocolat Museum. Yet more free samples.
Exploring the region, I spotted the architectural masterpiece of this area, the abbey at Saint Antoine l'Abbaye, built into the side of a hill. I then made a diversion up a valley near Grenoble to Meylan.
Berlioz described the valley, hamlets and mountains as 'one of the most romantic spots I have ever admired'. Ah yes, there was a girl involved. 'I fell in love with her, desperately, hopelessly.' That's Berlioz - toujours l'amour.
TRAVEL DETAILS:
Ryanair (0871 246 0000, http://www.ryanair.com) flies from Stansted to St Etienne-Lyon.
Holiday Autos (http://www.holidayautos.co.uk, 0870 400 0010) offers car hire from St Etienne.
The Hotel de France, 16 Place Saint Andre,38260 La Cote Saint Andre.
How green is my valley
And what secrets! For some, it might seem there's not a lot to do deep in the woods apart from looking at trees and watching nature, virtually unchecked, getting on with the selfish business of life and death. And certainly, it's an awful long drive from the bright lights of the Cote d'Azur. But strike out into the forest and you'll find much to discover. Because, while the rest of the world has been succumbing to urbanisation, the Haut Var has been in reverse. It's been turning greener.
A hundred years ago - as recently as 50 years in some parts - it was a place of well-kept terraces along the south-facing hills; of olive trees, vines and broom; of fruit orchards and lavender fields. But it must have been a backbreaking life. Because little by little the peasant families gave up and moved to the towns, selling their land - beautiful to look at but impossibly difficult to tame - to whoever would take it.
So while almost everywhere else in Europe has seen towns encroaching into areas of green belt, the Haut Var has witnessed the opposite - rural depopulation and the reclaiming of the land by the forest. Look into the undergrowth on those sun-facing slopes and the chances are you'll find among the banks of overgrown blackberries remnants of another age and another way of life.
Here are ruined, centuries-old olive mills alongside the rivers, an abandoned, roofless stone chapel high in the woods and ancient, long-neglected fruit and olive trees on crumbling terraces, a testament to man's battle to control his environment which, for a time at least, he seems to have lost.
At the turn of the century in the valley we visit - which lies high in the hills between Seillans and Bargemon - well over a hundred people made a hard living from the earth. As late as 1949, an aerial photograph showed well-cropped grass, neatly tended orchards and olive groves on the terraces. There were even some sheep. Today, nearly all is forest wilderness again.
It is enjoyed in the summer by perhaps only a dozen or so mainly city people who have rebuilt the peasants' abandoned farmsteads as second homes - when they were still allowed - and the wildlife which, with few natural predators, can never have had it so good.
Chief among these is the wild boar. Hunted to extinction centuries ago in Britain - although their reintroduction is now causing problems in Sussex - the striped, tusked boar of the French forests seem ceaselessly to multiply in the woods of the Var, where 20,000 are shot and eaten every autumn.
Apparently, a few years ago, someone had the bright idea of replenishing boar stocks by crossbreeding a few with another variety of the animal which manages two litters a year. Now, with hundreds of square miles of thick cover, the hunters and their bell-ringing dogs can't keep up with them.
To locals, boar are a pest, their long snouts digging up the gardens around the towns and wrecking vineyards down towards the plain. But for urban romantics like me it's a thrill to see one, a joy to feed an orphaned Babe of a piglet with supermarket apples. (I know, next year I'll probably find myself eating him in a restaurant). Which brings me to the hill towns of the Haut Var.
Hard work and enormous fun.
Les Voyages d'Asterix was the theme of this year's sand festival. The poor little sandcastles we have made on beaches past bore no relation to these monumental structures featuring Cleopatra, American Indians and detailed pages from the Asterix cartoons.
Despite stiff competition from America, Russia, Ireland and Estonia, the winner this year was the British-born sculptor Timothy Handford, with an immaculate scene of The Laurels of Caesar.
Back at the sandface, Frances and Joe toiled away. Joe's forearms and lower legs were caked in sludge. His face was covered with a grin. It was hard work, and enormous fun.
At the end of two hours, we stood back to see that the cheeky face of Idefix had miraculously appeared before us.
Sand School was an inspiration for the rest of the holiday. Beaches on the Côte d'Opale are glorious and stretch up to 15km. They contain all grades of sand: the soft, pale grains for lying on; the dark, smooth sort that's great for walking barefoot; and the rippled, water-soaked kind the offers up seashells and driftwood.
Here, children build their dreams, digging the deepest holes, scurrying to the sea with pretty plastic buckets, forming the sand into perfect creations that will have disappeared by the morning.
Then they all trip home, taking with them a little reminder or two of what holidays are all about.
TRAVEL DETAILS:
Hotel La Matelote, Boulogne, bookings and information tel: 0870 200 09 29 or visit http://www.seafranceholidays.com
The Giant Sand Sculptures (Sculpture de Sable Geantes) exhibition in Hardelot runs until June 29.
Echoes of a Celtic past
Overlooking the miles of salt pans stands medieval Guerande, still encircled by its stout city walls. And deeper inland, lost among the low-lying fields, lie the marshlands of La Briere - a Gallic version of the Norfolk Broads - where every cottage is thatched with reeds and boatmen will take you exploring down the peaty canals in their traditional flat-bottomed punts.
It's well worth spending a day here, if only to lunch at the Auberge de Breca, near St Lyphard, and sample the authentic marshland treats on offer: roast goose, frogs' legs or maybe a dish of stewed eel garnished with parsley.
As in Cornwall, the Breton countryside is haunted by its Celtic past. The fields bristle with standing stones. Many of the place names - Trescalan, Pen ar Ran, Kerguenec - would not look out of place in Cornwall, and the fishing port of Piriac-sur-Mer reminded me of St Ives. Even the lie of the land itself - the reefs and rock pools, the mossy oaks and ferny hedgebanks - is as Cornish as clotted cream.
On my last day I drove across the salt marshes towards La Turballe once more, then doubled back down the narrow sandspit of Pen Bron to sunbathe in the dunes. From here I could watch the tide running out in the estuary until only a thin blue line of water remained, its winding channel marked by wooden posts and watchful herons. It was unbelievably peaceful.
Across the bay the white gable ends of Le Croisic's harbourside houses gleamed in the sharp Atlantic light. Curlews called from the tide's edge and far out on the wave-wet sands cockle-pickers were strolling, filling buckets with shellfish for a free evening meal. But in all that immense vista of dazzling sunshine, sand and sea, they were the only people in sight.
Nicklaus designed course
The elegant town of Chantilly provides a perfect base from which to explore the courses north of Paris.
Venue of the French Derby, Chantilly is the home of Gallic horse racing and its Living Horse Museum is worth a visit.
Founded in 1909, Chantilly Vineuil is one of the oldest golf clubs in France, and is ranked number three in Europe, behind only Les Bordes and Valderrama.
There are two courses, the older of which presents a challenging but fair test for high and low handicappers.
The rough is deadly and the greens are lightning-fast, but the closing three holes, all of which cross a huge ravine, provide a stunning finish.
The typically laissez-faire attitude of the French towards golf works in favour of visitors to the country.
"I don't think they'll ever be a golf-crazy nation," says Morgan Clarke, whose company has been organising trips for 22 years.
"There are very few French players - particularly midweek - so that leaves beautiful courses with empty fairways and very reasonable green fees."
Designed by the great Jack Nicklaus, Paris International is one course all visitors to the region should play.
In immaculate condition, the course offers birdie chances while punishing wayward shots - the par-five 10th and 18th holes being the pick of the holes.
The off-course facilities (which include a jacuzzi) are second to none but most memorable is the warm welcome that is typical of French courses.
The website http://www.frenchgolfholidays.com carries details of more than 200 hotels and 100 courses throughout France.
Three days' golf at Domaine de Raray, Paris International and Chantilly Vineuil, plus two nights' B&B and return travel via Eurotunnel start at £301-400, depending on the time of the year.
Those keen to play further afield can check out http://www.golfplanetholidays.com
Birthplace of Pasteur.
Dôle, former capital of the region, is a 'once-was' place founded a thousand years ago. The Franche-Comte became a free province of the Duchy of Burgundy and dealt with the German emperors. This infuriated the French kings, who ravaged it in the 15th Century. Louis XIV gave the poor place two more trouncings in the late 17th Century. The French also removed both the parliament and university from Dôle to the new capital, Besancon. I realised why the locals of the Comte are not exactly mad about Paris.
For all Dôle's 17th century architecture - corner turrets, mansions with courtyards - it has a mournful air. But its church is grand with a colossal organ, which was at melodious full blast as I wandered around, and a remarkably rich side chapel.
The town is also the birthplace of the Comte's most famous son, Louis Pasteur. His father was a humble tanner and the family house is now a neat little museum at the canal's edge.
Later, in far more charming Arbois - a truly pretty wine growers' town with a fountain square, stream and an instructive wine tasting at Chateau Pecauld - I found Pasteur's final family home. It is furnished exactly as it was at the great chemist's death, river at one side, vineyards running down his garden and, almost next door, a splendid new restaurant, the Balance, run by a local wine expert.
Old Besancon is gripped by the River Doubs and has a line of good old buildings along the Grand-Rue. Its huge attraction, the Citadel, broods on high. Up in this immense fort, constructed by the French master builder Vauban, the Germans shot more than 100 Resistance fighters during the Second World War.
The ramparts nevertheless provide magnificent views of the horseshoe gorge beneath. There is a particularly good restaurant, The Vauban, on the outer ramparts and another, the somewhat over-praised La Chaland, on a romantically decorated old barge.
Just as I had not expected Arbois and its Pasteur house to so intrigue me, so I drove yawningly to explore The Royal Salt-Work at Arc-et-Senans. Nothing could sound more boring.
Gloriously wrong again. For here, stuck out in nowhere, stands the beginnings of a dream city, it looks half Twenties Hollywood film set, half Third Reich built 220 years ago by the architect Ledoux in the grandest classical style.
His idea was to create a modern city-state of contented workers producing salt from salinated water springs piped down through the forests from Salines. Though it never worked fully efficiently, it lumbered on for more than 100 years.
An exhibition reveals some of Ledoux's further notions for happy communal living: work and play areas resembling space stations, halls of culture and amusement and a phallus-shaped building lined internally with rows of cubicles. 'He wanted to avoid the complications of marriage,' remarked my guide dryly.
Best for families and food
Best for family beach holidays - Languedoc-Roussillon
With more reliable sun than Brittany or the Vendee, and fewer poseurs than the Côte d'Azur, France's other southern seaside region has beaches running in an almost unbroken line from the Rhône river to Spain.
They're mainly flat, safe and easily able to soak up summer crowds.
The resorts (Carnon, Cap d'Agde, Valras, Port Barcares, St-Cyprien among them) may be more functional than quaint, but that just means they're tooled up for the holiday trade, by day and by night.
Your children will prefer that to pretty churches.
And there is picturesque scenery, too, down by the Spanish border, where the flat coast becomes rugged and rocky around older resorts such as Collioure and Banyuls.
Best for food - Dordogne
The French regularly cite this region as their own food favourite, so why disagree?
Besides being a tourist destination, the Dordogne is traditional farming county - its fields, forests and orchards produce some of France's finest fare.
Best known for truffles, foie gras and every bit of the duck bar the beak, its other produce is just as good, as are freshwater fish from its rivers.
So, go canoeing or castle-visiting if you must, but then get in among the markets.
The best are in Sarlat (go on Wednesdays; Saturdays are heaving), Perigueux on Saturdays and Issigeac on Sundays.
Then do lunch. Top restaurants include Le Centenaire at Les Eyzies and Le Moulin-de-l'Abbaye at Brantôme.
You'll emerge £50-a-head lighter, but I doubt you'll care.
As undeveloped as the Cotswolds
Near Truinas, which is deeply rustic, you'll find a neat B&B, Les Volets Bleus. South-west of Crest is a delicious cluster of hilltop villages - Mirmande, Chabrillan and Cliouscat - as quiet and undeveloped as our Cotswolds used to be.
Beyond the Rhone the Ardeche has beautiful villages, too, such as Larnas, St Montan, Balazuc and Labeaume with its famous gorge. This is spectacular but buzzes in summer with hordes of kayaks and canoes.
At Vallon-Pont d'Arc it's well worth calling in at the tiny museum to see the reproductions of beautiful 30,000-yearold wallpaintings discovered in a cave nearby. (There's a good little restaurant, Le Chelsea, down the street).
In the northern Drome past Romans - a city of bargain shoe shops and a good museum - is the bizarre Palais Ideal at Hauterives.
This moving and unforgettable monument was built more than 33 years, generally at night after his long day's work, by a humble, scarcely literate but visionary postman called ' Facteur' Ferdinand Cheval.
He used stones he collected on his rounds to create images he'd seen in the magazines he'd delivered.
And thus home, pleasantly and cheaply out of a little rural airport, which Buzz says is at Grenoble but is miles away near the hamlet of St Etienne de Geoirs. At nearby La Cote-St Andre there's a good little hotel and excellent restaurant called La France.
TRAVEL DETAILS:
Buzz flies daily from Stansted to Grenoble . http://www.buzz.co.uk tel: 0870 240 7070.
For further information on the Drome visit http://www.drometourisme.com or call 00 33 4 75 82 19 26.
Montpellier
Stand in the Comedie and you're on Europe's largest, most elegant pedestrian square.
This is a university town (with the world's oldest school of medicine). Great townhouses mingle with merchants, a real Mediterranean mix in the older districts.
Mornings: Start at the Comedie to explore 17th and 18th-century classicism up the great avenue to the Arc de Triomphe and Peyrou promenade.
Dart into the old town, where huge wooden doors conceal grand courtyards and shopping is lively - from antiques to fashion.
Cross to Antigone, the city's modern attempt at recreating ancient Greece, before lunching at one of the new bistros fronting the River Lez.
Afternoons: If it's Saturday, take the excellent English-language city walking tour (book at OT, just off the Comedie).
Montpellier has France's oldest botanical gardens, a free zoo and a superb planetarium at the new Odysseum centre. Get around on the hassle-free tram service.
Hire a bike (27 Rue Maguelone, £4 a day) for the six-mile track to Palavas, Montpellier's seaside resort. It's a great ride, beside lagoons rich with flamingos.
Evenings: Le Jardin des Sens (11 Avenue St Lazaire) has three Michelin stars, with prices to match. You could eat three times at Fabrice Guilleux (36 Avenue Jacques-Cour) for the same cash, and even more than that at La Tomate (6 Rue Four-des-Flammes) in the old town.
Trendy bars are around Place Jean-Jaures, dancing at the Macadam (1 Rue des Ponts) and live music at the Rockstore (20 Rue Verdun).
GETTING THERE:
BA flies daily from Gatwick (http://www.britishairways.com tel: 08457 733 377). Ryanair from Stansted,. Ryanair can also book hotels (http://www.ryanair.com tel: 0870 156 9569).
Burgundy and Alsace
BURGUNDY
Burgundian wine-making is smaller-scale than in Bordeaux and somehow more rooted in its history.
The A-list stars line up along the Côtes de Nuit and Côtes de Beaune, south of Dijon - great to ogle as you pass, but the best place to stop is Beaune.
It's a lovely town, plump with ancestral prosperity and wine-visiting potential.
At Maison Champy they show you round the oldest wine business in Burgundy, then you get stuck into tasting a great range (5, rue Grenier-à-Sel; tel: 0380 250999; cost: from £4.85, book ahead).
Meanwhile, Yves Darviot, one of the region's most cultivated smaller producers, gives the impression that you've got a classy friend in the world of wine. (2, Place Morimont; tel: 0380 247487; cost: free, but book ahead.)
Further south, after Macon, Le Hameau-en-Beaujolais is simply the most extensive and imaginative wine-related museum in France. (Romaneche-Thorins; tel: 0385 352222; cost: £7.30.)
ALSACE
At the hinge of the Vosges mountains and the Rhine plain, the Alsace wine route is the most charming in Europe.
Stop anywhere and you won't be disappointed. If you need an address, however, head for Becker in Zellenberg, between Riquewihr and Ribeauville.
The family has been making wine there for 400 years, so it knows a thing or two about riesling and muscat (4, route d'Ostheim, Zellenberg; tel: 0389 479016; cost: free for tours, wine tasting from £1.89).
'Look for a grey horse with a fringe'
Auberge de Festival 30140 Paussan, Mialet, Gard (tel: 0033 466 850 058)
This one is truly rustic. It started out as a farm restaurant with no menu. You just hoped for the best - and no one was disappointed. In the sleepy hamlet of Paussan, in Camisard country near Mialet, the area is famous for its remoteness - the Huguenots hid out near here in the 17th Century during the religious wars. The event of the year nowadays is a boules competition beween four men. I only found the place because I was told to look out for a horse in a field with a grey fringe - and the farm would be opposite ('You can't miss it'). Nearby are the show caves of Trabuc and Anduze antique market.
Le Chateau d'Isis 30440 St Julien de la Nef (tel/fax: 0033 467 735 622)
You are likely to be allocated a suite of rooms with original vaulted stone ceilings, wrought-iron beds and your own turret in this grandiose 14th Century folly with its own bubbling spring on the banks of the River Herault. It is worth staying here for the experience alone, but the restaurant side of it was rather like Fawlty Towers on the day I was there. However, you can always eat in Ganges, where there are several restaurants. Who knows what history lies behind these walls? Certainly not the owners (they changed its name from St Julien to the Egyptian god Isis, for some reason, when they moved in). There are country walks in the castle grounds and a Saturday market in Le Vigan, a 20-minute drive away.
La Begude de Vers 30210 Vers Pont du Gard (tel: 0033 466 371 811)
This is the only one on a main road --right opposite the magnificent Roman viaduct, the Pont du Gard. It is a working farmhouse (olive oil, wine), offering meals using regional produce. Look outforthebric-à-bracshopalong the road selling rural antiques such as you've never imagined. I found a pair of boots with what appeared to be cram-pons attached. 'These are for climbing chestnut trees,' said the owner. Nearby is the town of Uzes.
La Poterie de Pierroux Claire Chemery, 84220 Roussillon, Vaucluse (tel/fax: 0033 490 056 881; www.pierroux.fr)
A meandering country lane just outside Roussillon in the Luberon, one of the prettiest villages in France, will lead you to this Provençal pottery studio with accommodation. Five-day pottery courses are available and ceramics are for sale. Claire offers home-made preserves and an extensive breakfast in the sunlit, pastel- coloured garden conservatory. There is a courtyard kitchen for guests' use (no evening meals) but they seem to have a symbiotic relationship with the marvellous Petite Auberge de Roussillon (menus from £8.50, tel: 0033 490 056 546), five minutes' walk along the lane, offering regional specialities and Côtes de Ventoux wine. It also has accommodation. Don't miss Roussillon's ochre trail - a fantastic desertscape in dusky pink, orange, red and yellow - the largest ochre deposit in the world. Okhra, the ochre conservatory near La Poterie, offers courses in interior decorating and uses of ochre. Nearby is the Roman town of Apt.
You can ring most gîtes direct, but many owners do not speak English.
Travel facts: Nearest airports: Montpelier, Nîmes. Useful publication: Bienvenue à la Ferme £14.99 from World Leisure Marketing, Derby. Tel: 01332 573737. Gîtes de France: Metro Trinite, 59 rue St Lazare 75439 Paris Cedex 09 (tel: 0033 149 707 575).
An exciting new era
The company has successfully run special direct ski services from Waterloo to Bourg St Maurice since 1997 - however, the Avignon plan is the first step in a bold new direction.
Major developments over the next few years will set Eurostar on a course to an exciting new era.
In the eight years since the Channel Tunnel opened, Eurostar has carried more than 100 million passengers (it now takes 65 per cent of all people travelling between London and Paris).
On September 28 next year the first leg of the Channel Tunnel Rail Link is being opened, reducing the London-Paris journey time to just two hours 35 minutes (when the Link is fully open to the new Eurostar terminal in St Pancras in 2007 the Paris run will be just two hours 15 minutes).
With a Dutch high-speed rail link opening in 2006, Rotterdam will be just a three-hour train ride from London.
Further extensions to the French TGV network to Brittany and Strasbourg - and a German high-speed rail link, which will cut the journey between Brussels and Frankfurt to 90 minutes - should mean that, on short-haul routes, the high-speed train will continue to eclipse the plane.
Avignon has been selected for this summer's direct service because it is the most popular destination with Eurostar customers (next most popular are Lyon, Nice, Marseille and Angouleme).
Eurostar is keen to promote the fact that dozens of Continental destinations can be reached via an easy change of platform at Lille.
As well as expanding its list of destinations - plans are in hand for an additional direct service to Bordeaux next summer - Eurostar is spending £35 million on a Philippe Starck-designed refurbishment programme to give a new look to everything from carriage interiors to staff uniforms.
With return fares from London to Avignon costing from £115 (first-class returns look an especially good buy from £195), the new service is certain to do well.
Avignon offers good rail and road links to the rest of the South of France, Italy and Spain.
So, were they dancing on the bridge at Avignon in excited anticipation?
Almost.
TRAVEL DETAILS:
Further information from Eurostar (http://www.eurostar.com/cgi-bin/eurostar/es_Init.jsp tel: 08705 186 186) and Rail Europe Direct (http://www.raileurope.co.uk/ tel: 08705 848 848).
Bridge France (tel: 0870 191 7289) is offering inclusive packages to Avignon using the new rail services.
Most majestic and romantic
Most majestic: Chambord (East of Blois): This is the jaw-dropper, an extraordinary slab of white stone splendour in 13,000 acres of park and woodland.
Almost 200 yards long, it rises imperiously to a roof festooned with domes, cupolas and chimneys, like a gigantic hedgehog on a bad hair day.
Within is the monumental and celebrated double-spiral staircase. Your queen could go down one side, your mistress up the other and they'd never meet.
Much of French history schemed and seduced its way through the 440 rooms.
The scale and style illustrate the lust for absolute power. Take a guided tour (free) or audio guide (£2.80) to make sense of it. Entry:£5
Most romantic: Chenonceau
Chenonceau (South of Amboise): Spanning the river Cher on a series of arches, this fairy-tale spot was mainly the work of women.
Henry II's mistress (the one he took at 12) started off the huge gallery across the river.
Catherine de Medicis, his wife, finished it, though not before she'd booted out the mistress. Both women created formal French gardens.
The result is a breathtakingly beautiful ensemble, though the chateau interior is less interesting. Entry: £5.70
Best in-town chateau: Blois
Blois: The splendid old town was effectively second capital in the 16th century, its chateau a hub of royal power.
Each king who passed through wanted to leave his mark, so there's a cacophony of architectural styles.
Enormous rooms are awash with dark, rich decor - no minimalist chic for a French monarch - and regal memories. Entry: £4.40
Best for inventors: Clos Luce
Clos Luce (Amboise): In need of Renaissance genius, the French king Francois I brought Leonardo da Vinci across the Alps and put him up here for the last three years of his life.
The rooms are as they were in 1519 but more fascinating are the contemporary models of Leonardo inventions - from a swing bridge to a multi-barrelled machine gun and armoured tank like a bell-tent. Entry: £5
Shopping, fashion and cafe society
SHOPPING
The French have worked a little con on us here. To hear them, they do all their shopping in markets and the characterful little shops you see in the guide books. In fact, most spend their money in the country's 7,500 super and hypermarkets.
That said, traditional commerce survives better than in Britain.
How? (a) by being handy; (b) by going upmarket.
Markets also continue to flourish. Verdict 7/10
FASHION
Paris used to be the leader. Now London and Milan share the Euro-limelight.
But visit the painfully chic boutiques of Paris's rue de Faubourg St. Honore or avenue Montaigne and you'll still feel you're at haute couture HQ.
While most French women aren't wearing YSL or Dior, they remain among the smartest in the world. To follow suit, head not for the Left Bank of Paris but Troyes south-east of Paris for the factory shop centre of France. Verdict 5/10
CAFÉ SOCIETY
Sitting on a cafe terrace: this is a classic French moment. And, though cafe numbers are falling, there remain enough to serve us all.
They don't necessarily come cheap: allow a tenner for four cafe cremes on a Paris terrace. The decor may be basic and the toilets unspeakable but the waiters are rarely as rude as legend suggests, and you can nurse a drink as long as you like. Verdict: 4/10
Rules of the road
WHO GOES THERE: 'Priorite a droite', the system which gives priority to traffic from the right, has died out at roundabouts, which now work like British ones.
But it still operates in many built-up areas, so give way to anyone coming out of a side road on the right.
SPEED: Speed limits are 31mph in built-up areas, 56mph on normal roads, 68mph on dual carriageways and 81mph on M-ways (68mph if wet).
OTHER RULES: Seat-belts must be worn front and back, no under-tens in the front passenger seat, no under-18s behind the wheel and no more than 0.5mg of alcohol in the driver's blood.
Overtaking across a solid white line is a particular no-no.
THE POLICE: If pulled over, act slightly stupid. If you understand French, pretend not to. Whatever document is asked for, hand over a different one.
Even gendarmes get fed up eventually, and it can help you avoid hefty on-the-spot fines.
LOCAL COLOUR: Two other characteristic sights on French roadsides are: (a) lightly-dressed ladies smoking heavily. They are not interested in men travelling with families; (b) 'Frites' signs heralding a snack shack.
STOP FOR A MASSAGE: Proper motorway service stations are further apart than in Britain (though there are intervening picnic areas with toilets).
They have surprisingly comprehensive facilities - shops, restaurants and even picnic baskets (£5: look for the 'Piqueniquez Malin' sign).
Also play areas, walks and, in summer, supervised activities such as archery and mini-motor-cycling.
Arrive at at Montelimar on the right day and you can even get a massage. Check http://www.autoroutes.fr for details (in English).
A 'station de gonflage', is a place where you can have your tyre pressures checked for free.
From Alsace to Berry
HAUTS DE HAUTE ALSACE
Why go? On the border with Germany, Alsace gets beaten up every time Europe comes to blows. Yet few places on earth look less like a war zone.
This district, east of Colmar, is the heartland. As the plain edges up to the Vosges mountains, lovely medieval wine villages succeed one another. Here the walking, riding and living are wonderful.
Must-sees: Riquewihr, Ribeauville, Eguisheim and Kaysersberg villages; Val d'Argent; Haut Koenigsberg castle; Hunawihr stork and otter reserve.
Hotels: Hotel Europe, 15 rte de Neuf Brisach, 68180 Horbourg-Wihr. Fourstar luxury on the outskirts of Colmar. From £85. 0033 389205400.
Getting there: Air: Heathrow to Basel/Mulhouse, British Airways (http://www.ba.com 0845 7733377). Airport to Colmar, 37 miles. Gatwick to Strasbourg, Air France (http://www.airfrance.com tel: 0845 0845111). Strasbourg to Colmar, 49 miles. Car: Calais to Colmar, 413 miles. £22 for tolls.
Information: County tourist authority: http://www.tourism-office.org/tourisme/france/alsace/Haut-Rhin/Haut-Rhin.htm 0033 389201062.
BERRY
Why go? 'You must pull aside the branches to discover this countryside.'
French writer Alain Fournier knew the wooded, watery landscape bang in the centre of France better than anyone.
The adventures of his hero, Le Grand Meaulnes, reflect its secret flora and fauna.
Must-sees: Town of Bourges; village of Epineuil-le-Fleuriel, home of Alain Fournier; Noirlac Abbey; Sancerre, hill-top wine town.
Hotels: Auberge du Moulin de Chameron, 18120 Bannegon. Isolated from everything except its own lovely surroundings. From £40. 0033 248618380.
Getting there: No useful air link. Car: Calais to Bourges, 334 miles, £22 motorway tolls.
Information: County tourism authority: 0033 248249453.
Bertie in his element
Bertie was in his element. His favourite pastime was dropping a tennis ball in the swimming pool at the house and then trying to get it back again with a combination of frantic paw strokes and nudges with the nose. A couple of times, he fell in.
It seemed it had been a great decision to take him. But now here we were in M. Vandenhecke's surgery, wondering how to get hold of the certificate that would allow his re-entry to Britain.
We had made plans, of course. You have to have the skill of a general in charge of the D-Day landings if you want to take a pet abroad and, more importantly, bring it back.
It is just that we had not specifically asked the vet if he had any of the cursed re-entry forms when we booked an appointment with him the previous week.
At this point, M. Vandenhecke said he would ring the prefecture in La Rochelle to see if they had any. But it had been a public holiday the previous day, and as it was now a Friday, no one had bothered to turn up for work.
He rang the national vets' organisation, but they answered the phone only in the mornings. It was now 3pm, and our ferry sailing back to Portsmouth was 24 hours away. (The dog has to be treated between 24 and 48 hours before departure.)
I rang P&O. They didn't have any forms. I rang the DEFRA pets helpline. They didn't have any either, and said bleakly that, unless it was a French-issued one with a special serial number, it would not be acceptable.
Then I rang a charming man in London at an organisation called Dogs Away, and he said he just happened to have one of the forms in front of him, and would go down the road to the local stationer's to fax it over.
It had not come from France, and did not have a serial number, but M. Vandenhecke filled in the space with his own registration number and wished us bon voyage.
After a sleepless night and a 6.15am start, it was with some trepidation that we approached the P&O Terminal in Le Havre. The assistant took the sheaf of papers and studied them. So did a colleague.
Biggest British pilgrimages
'If fools we are, thank heavens we're numerous,' said a woman from the Society of Our Lady of Lourdes, which organises one of the biggest British pilgrimages.
'People feel threatened by openly expressed religion. But cynicism rarely lasts long.'
Spot on. On my first visit, years ago, it soon became obvious, even to a heathen, that something extraordinary was going on.
Take the nightly torch-lit procession. At 9pm, thousands of pilgrims walk the Domain, holding candles and led in worship by priests praying over the PA in six languages.
Cynicism turns into an uphill struggle: the spectacle is serious, subdued and awesome.
The torch-lit event starts at the Grotto, where in 1858, the Virgin appeared 18 times to Bernadette Soubirous, a poor, sickly and illiterate 14-year-old.
The Virgin, for Her part, was in white, with a blue belt, a yellow rose on each foot - and, as Bernadette herself pointed out, quite unlike the statue which marks the exact apparition spot.
No matter. Soon folk were turning up in droves. The Lourdes phenomenon was on - fuelled, of course, by miracles.
Physical cures were never mentioned by the Virgin, but She did direct Bernadette to uncover a water source.
An early visitor plunged a paralysed arm in, pulled it out healed and word spread.
More than 65,000 sick and disabled people went on official pilgrimages last year, which is why Lourdes streets have wheelchair tracks instead of cycle lanes.
The chances of a cure are, however, negligible. Of 6,000 claimed miracles since 1858, 66 have been recognised.
The Church explains: 'The real miracle isn't physical; it's in spiritual renewal and regeneration of love.'
The cynic's hackles rise, but something very like that is happening.
Most pilgrims come together for the huge afternoon procession. The sight and sound of 25,000 worshipping together delivers an emotional punch.
And the sick and disabled are everywhere. While they may secretly hope, most know they're not going to be cured.
So what are they doing there? Perhaps it is because Lourdes is the one place on Earth where they are not only fully accepted, but actually feted.
'Most people leave Lourdes with the idea that the world isn't as bad as it seems,' one pilgrim had concluded earlier.
I'd second that.
TRAVEL DETAILS:
For details of Lourdes - religious and secular - contact the Tourist Office (http://www.lourdes-france.com tel from GB: 00 33 562 427 740).
Several companies organise individual or group pilgrimages. Among them is St Peter's Pilgrims, London. http://www.stpeter.co.uk tel: 020 8244 8844.
Music to our ears
The agent, a young woman called Sylvie, took us on a three-hour tour to visit the properties they had on their books. There was a little farmhouse, she said, that might be of interest. It came with a ruined barn and an outhouse, a loft to convert and an old stone range. And it cost a mere £35,000 - music to our ears. You couldn't buy a shed for that price in London.
The village of Chastellux sur Cure would win every prize in a regional beauty contest.
The local chateau sits perched on the edge of a towering bluff, while the rest of the village is clustered on the opposite hillside. Far beneath, the River Yonne tumbles through waterfalls and ravines.
'That's one of our houses for sale,' says Sylvie, pointing to a woodland cottage. It's lovely, in fact we'd like to buy it, but it's a whopping £95,000. Maybe when we've won the Lottery. 'We're almost at that cheap, little farmhouse now,' said Sylvie, as she swung into a tiny hamlet next to Bazoches.
When we pulled into the farmyard our hearts skipped a beat. Just £35,000 for all this? Inside the smell of wood-smoke gave it a homely air.
'Look at the fireplace,' said Mrs Milton, pointing to a romantic stone hearth. 'Yes,' I said, 'but look at the wiring.' A great tangle of spaghetti was hanging from the ceiling.
There was no real kitchen, no hot water. And there were no drains.
The couple slept in the garden-cum-living-room-cum-bedroom. It looked charming, but not very practical. The roof was in danger of collapse and there was no lavatory.
'It's only £35,000,' said Sylvie, which on paper sounded cheap.
We drove back to our hotel and tucked into a salad of crab and shrimps, washed down with Chablis. We hadn't found a property, but we would be back. Oh yes, we'd be back.
Travel facts:
SeaFrance has daily crossings between Dover and Calais (08705 711711 or visit http://www.seafrance.com). Tour operators offering self-drive holidays to Burgundy include VFB's France a la Carte (01242 240310), Travelscene (020 8424 9648), Motours (01892 677777) and French Life (0870 444 8800).
Good family destinations
When and where should we go?
Off-season trips are ideal for younger children, who prefer not to be dive-bombed in the swimming pool. But be aware that some facilities (the onsite shop, for instance) may not open until July. Also, many operators run children 's clubs only in school holidays. Check before you book.
Wherever you go in France there are regional delicacies to sample, markets to raid and festivals to celebrate. So there is no need to go far. The south of Brittany and west coast of Normandy boast warm summer days and safe beaches, without a boring car journey. But if you seek guaranteed sunshine, head down the Autoroute de Soleil to Provence and the French Riviera.
As the kids grow up, and you get more adventurous, break long trips with overnight stops at campsites or hotels (these can be booked in advance).
Top Tip: The Vendee is a wonderful family destination - up to four hours' drive from the Brittany ports, with a Mediterranean-style microclimate. From Vannes to Royan, pretty, well-kept towns are interspersed with evergreen forests and miles of sand dunes. Of course, the sea is anything but Mediterranean: watch out for strong tides and crashing surf.
How should we get there?
Your package includes a short Channel crossing (usually Dover-Calais), which saves you money if you don't mind a long drive. However, it will save mileage if you land at the closest French port.
The Channel Tunnel is the quickest way to cross, but many families enjoy winding down on overnight crossings. It is great to wake up refreshed for your first morning in France.
Top Tip: If you want to speed south in your sleep, put your car (and yourselves) on the Motorail train at Calais and be in Biarritz, Narbonne or Nice by morning. It's not cheap, but gives you maximum flexibility.
Statues and ornate towers
Aficionados claim that the flavour, like wine, explodes in the mouth, producing dozens of savours. It's addictive, too. Once smitten, you'll come back for more.
Mrs Milton was right after all. Dijon mustard is the essential ingredient in vinaigrette. Since visiting the factory, my salads have been mouth-watering.
Dijon, however, has a great deal more to offer than mustard. This exquisitely beautiful city was once the capital of the formidable dukes of Burgundy, and its powerful rulers lavished their fortunes on fountains, statues and ornate towers.
Dijon's greatest period was the first half of the 15th Century, when the benevolent Duke Philip the Good held sway. The most powerful sovereign of his day, and ruler of Western Europe's largest territory, Duke Philip curried favour with the English by handing over the captured Joan of Arc for 100,000 gold coins.
The city's splendid Ducal Palace was begun during his reign, although little of the original structure survives. Today's rambling building, decked with towers, spires and ornate courtyards, is an eclectic mix of styles and periods.
Duke Philip's stately kitchens hint at the magnificent feasts prepared for his guests. The three double-hearth fireplaces are each large enough to roast an ox.
The lavish Burgundian food, washed down with copious quantities of local wine (and, no doubt, mustard), did no harm to Duke Philip's health as he died at the ripe old age of 71.
His extraordinary tomb is the highlight of the Musee des Beaux Arts, in the former ducal palace. A vast slab of marble supports his statue, while the tomb is encircled by hundreds of miniature models of medieval mourners who process around his tomb in eternal mourning.
Dijon's centre, with its winding streets and narrow alleys, is astonishingly picturesque. Medieval dwellings lean on renaissance mansions and bourgeois homes stand proud against gabled hotels.
Fastest passenger train in the world
The final 100 miles of the trip were the fastest and even a helicopter with a TV cameraman hanging from the door was quickly overtaken. Avignon was passed with no sight of the famous bridge as the train swung south-east, skirting the Camargue, before arriving in Marseille.
The only problem I had with the train was in the buffet car. As on most TGVs, it is possible to stand and eat a croissant, or drink a beer, at high counters. There are even several round and swivelling bar stools to sit on - and these were the cause of my problem.
On high-speed corners it was necessary to hang on to the table to avoid being spun around. The first time this happened I nearly spilt my glass of wine over my neighbour, and from then on I kept one hand firmly on the table top. My companions who were standing had no such problem.
SNCF has produced a whole new travelling experience. Technically, they have introduced some design tweaks to the engines and they have laid new track, allowing them to run faster. It has also increased legroom between the seats by four inches, enabling passengers to stretch their legs fully.
Best of all there were cameras installed in the cab, and TV screens throughout the train, allowing passengers to see forward. It was like taking part in a video game, or watching Formula 1 on TV.
The impression of speed seemed far greater when looking at the screens: bridges would grow larger as they approached then flash past the driver's cab. A second later it would wink past my window. The screens are temporary and will not be there on scheduled services, but I'm sure it would be easy and beneficial to install them on all trains.
The French are justly proud of their new train, even if its scheduled services won't be running at quite the high speeds I experienced. While the TGV holds the world record for speed (one ran at nearly 319mph in 1990) the fastest scheduled passenger service is operated by the Japanese with their Bullet train, with speeds approaching 175 mph. However, next week the French will take that honour when their TGV Mediterranee service opens to the public.
Travel facts: Rail Europe (08705 848848) offers Eurostar Plus tickets from London Waterloo to any destination south of Lyon, including Marseille, to Nice in the east and Perpignan in the west. They involve a change in Lille or Paris on to the TGV, and must be booked at least seven days in advance. The easiest connection is via Lille, with about four trains a day to most destinations and one a day to Nice. For example, you can board the 8.53am Eurostar, arrive in Lille at 11.51am (local time, which is one hour ahead), join the TGV there at 12.17pm and arrive in Marseille at 4.46pm. In Paris you have to change from the Gare du Nord to the Gare de Lyon, but there are more frequent TGV services than from Lille.
Get on your bike
Mountain bikes are the best way to explore Val Joly.
The hire centre has different standard bikes for all ages and the instructors can even take you on a guided tour. Helmets are included.
All needs are catered for with the six well-marked routes of between 4.5 and 45km. And keep an eye out for deer and even wild boar in the deepest part of the forest!
You can't go to France without trying the local cuisine and Le Nord is home to good, earthy cooking, making the most of the fresh local produce.
So, be ready for generous helpings of beef in beer, succulent sausages and sweet pastries made in heaven.
Cheese-lovers should not miss out on the seriously strong Le Quesnoy's - good enough to make the eyes water - while the pates are out of this world.
Val Joly: Accommodation is based around a village of 30 very clean, ultra-modern chalets and a three-star campsite with shops and restaurants.
Alternatively, treat yourself to a stay at the fantastic Chateau de la Motte - formerly a 16th-century farmhouse. Tel: 00 33 327 618194.
P&O European Ferries has seven ships sailing between Dover and Calais from £89 return. 0870 0600 0600.
www.cdt-nord.fr
Mareis: open seven days a week
Mareis is not so much hands on as hands in. The tanks that house new-born species caught by the fleet are at knee height so you can touch the young sole, turbot and cod.
All the latest 3-D and interactive technology enables you to experience the harsh and dangerous life of the trawlerman and the role of his family.
Fish, it says, is the last wild food available to man.
As memorable as fine cuisine such as that served at Aux Pecheurs d'Etaples can be, don't forget that in France you can dine in style on bread and cheese.
But the craftsman baker in France is under threat, baking from frozen, part baked dough is now the norm and regional variations are disappearing.
Under the influence of too much Buzet at dinner, I quizzed the waiter as to the best boulangerie in town.
My waiter recommended the bread at JP Laine, but I need not have bothered asking - the next day the conga-style queue out of the shop confirmed Mr Laine's reputation.
Crisp, nutty baguettes - four francs worth of perfection - were being snapped up in moments.
Mareis is open seven days a week in July and August. A five-day P&O ticket costs from £159. 087 0600 0600
Home of Impressionism
The numerous orchards provide Normandy with its regional drink, cider, which is drunk with a main meal instead of wine. Calvados, another speciality, is a stronger, more distilled version of cider, often drunk as an aperitif.
Traditional Norman cuisine is based on foods produced locally on farms or caught from the sea.
Dairy products are the mainstay of the local diet with a lot of emphasis on cream, butter and many wonderful cheeses such as Camembert and Livarot, which has a rather pungent flavour. As a result the food is rather rich and local dishes include pork in cider and chicken in a creamy Calvados sauce.
Normandy is rich in history, from the Vikings to the D-Day landings in 1944.
The region has 40 sites of historic significance, but of particular note is the Chateau de Vascoeuil near Rouen, which shows history does not have to be presented in an old-fashioned way.
A rebuilt Norman manor house from the 15th century, the Chateau combines a sculpture park and permanent exhibition to French historian Michelet.
With its lush green landscapes, it is no surprise that the Impressionist art movement was born in the region.
Claude Monet, the Godfather of Impressionism, lived and had his studio in Giverny. For non-art lovers, his gardens alone are worth the visit.
Also in the town is the Museum of American Art which highlights work by US artists inspired by Monet, who moved to paint the same beautiful scenery.
As well as its rich historical and cultural background, Normandy is a fine destination for people interested in outdoor pursuits.
The countryside makes it ideal for walking and cycling, while the region has been voted one of the top destinations for golf courses.
Trips to France via EuroTunnel start from £9, for details call 08705 353535 or visit http://www.eurotunnel.com.
Fields of sunflowers
Perigord Vert in the north of the Dordogne covers almost half the region. It is known as Green Perigord, and it's easy to see why. This is an open, hilly landscape of forest and pasture, occasionally lit up by brilliant yellow fields of sunflowers and offering some of the least visited and quietest countryside in the region.
Here, too, is my favourite Perigord town, Brantome. It is half encircled by a meander in the River Dronne - which is so clear that from the town's bridges and quaysides you can spot dozens of fat trout lolling lazily in the water.
Perigord Blanc - even the man at the tourist office in Perigueux admitted that it was spurious to call the central swath of the Dordogne White Perigord - supposedly because of the chalky ground, but in my favourite area, around Hautefort, the soil is a rich, deep red.
Hautefort itself is a lovely town, with a splendid, round-towered, white-stone chateau at the top of the hill. For real rural escapism, look for a gite or cottage (there are lots to be had) in tiny villages in gently rolling countryside southeast of Hautefort.
The two best castles in the Dordogne virtually face each other across the river - Beynac (a French stronghold) and Castelnaud (held by the English during the Hundred Years War).
They tower over the landscape, dominating villages clustered on hillsides. The best for young children is Castelnaud, which has lots of reconstructions of siege engines, medieval weapons and suits of armour, and some good videos and explanations. To see Beynac, you have to go on an official guided tour.
Canoe trips make a great day out for families with older children - you are transported up river, then paddle back down to the start point. There are lots of hire points but the prettiest section is around Beynac and Castelnaud.
Village du Bournat at Le Bugue is perhaps the best family entertainment in the Dordogne. It's a sort of educational theme park - a reconstruction of a 19th-century French village with a working beehive, blacksmiths, carpenters, bakers etc. It's fascinating.
A picturesque chateau
However, during those brief morning hours, the grey, arcaded squares of the small Bastide towns -built during the Hundred Years War - are at their prettiest. And the bigger towns fill out with a satisfying bustle.
A happy way to arrange a stay in The Dordogne is to search out a market each morning, en route to the day's other diversions - the Romanesque church or picturesque chateau, the canoe expedition or subterranean excursion.
Local restaurants tend to put on a special market day spread, but it can be more fun to buy the ingredients for a pique nique or for dinner back at the gite.
If nothing else, 'self-catering' gives you a chance to eat some of the fresh, locally-produced fruit and vegetables, for restaurants are almost vegetable-free zones.
Some scraps of lettuce scattered beneath a collection of goose-gizzards is about as far as most go in the direction of salad.
And yet the markets are full of tempting things: peas, beans, pale white asparagus, yellow waxy potatoes, frilled lettuces, cherries, pears and Agen prunes.
The plump, round tomatoes of Marmande are noted for their flavour and - so the local tourist board insists - their aphrodisiac qualities.
(A rather fetching statue, the embodied spirit of the Pomme d'Amour, stands in the centre of the town.)
This is wine country, too, and the gently rolling landscape is quilted with well-tended vineyards. The wines of Bergerac and Côtes de Duras are all around; the sweet whites of Monbazillac are close at hand, and the famous vintages of Bordeaux are just to the west.
Outside almost every chateau a sign announces Vente Directe.
For those of us accustomed to the off-licence, the arcana of the cave and the tasting room - not to mention the presence of the genial producer - can be a bit daunting.
The wisest plan, it was explained to me, is to take note of any wine you particularly enjoy when dining out, and then track it to its source.
Following this course, we were inspired, after our meal at Côte Bastide, to search out Chateau Masburel.
We found the chateau nearby, in the hands of an enterprising English couple, Olivia and Neil Donnan, who had taken on and transformed the vineyard over the past six years.
We came away with a dozen bottles of their prize-winning red Bergerac (a blend of Merlot and Cabernet Sauvignon). It is dark, rich and smooth. And very good with duck.
TRAVEL DETAILS:Eurostar travels to Libourne, Call 08705 186186. Ryanair fly from Stansted to Bergerac. Call 08712 460 000 or visit http://www.ryanair.com
Matthew Sturgis's travel to the Dordogne and week at Carrouze, Armillac, near Miramont-de-Guyenne, were arranged by Allez France. Call 0870 160 7502 or visit http://www.allezfrance.com
Travelling the Cote d'Azur
Travelling by train along southern France's Cote d'Azur is cheap by UK standards, and easy to do.
Fares to Cannes, about two hours from more affordable base Cap d'Ail, cost just over £4 and the lovely coastal route past Eze, St Jean-Cap Ferrat and Antibes is worth every penny.
Hillside towns along southern France's gorgeous Cote d'Azur are best explored by car to save time and if walking miles uphill is not for you.
Our Pierre & Vacances apartment in Cap d'Ail was only accessible via 200 steps leading up from the town centre, or by a long slog up a winding road.
That being so, the resort is a basic, peaceful base and good for couples. A great pool and views are highlights.
Budget travellers tempted to join 100,000 others for the Monaco Grand Prix 2003 can buy £30 tickets sold on the day that allow partial views.
Failing that, sipping beer alfresco at a cafe and watching the Formula 1 race on TV as it roars on behind you is absolute magic - and virtually free.
A week at Cap d'Ail Pierre & Vacances costs from £575 for up to five people sharing, with return ferry crossing, through EuroVillages. Car hire is from £113/week. 0870 366 7562.
The capacity to surprise
On Saturdays, the city centre is transformed into one huge market. Fishermen lay out the morning's catch in baskets, with seabirds screeching overhead.
In the crowded streets, it required patience to get a seat at the Cafe des Tribunaux. This cavernous 17th-century building is a Dieppe landmark, once used as the town hall.
It's also famous for its clientele - Wilde was a regular. French artists such as Monet, Renoir and Gauguin were also drawn to the town, partly by the strange, luminescent quality of the light.
And there's art a-plenty at the museum housed in a chateau on the cliffs at the western edge of town. You wander from room to room, stumbling on unexpected gems at every turn. One room is given over to ivory carvings from the former French West Africa.
On my way back to town, I passed a column of vintage cars climbing the hill for a rally. Dieppe hasn't lost its capacity to surprise.
Second only to Cannes
The season in Deauville, when the fashionable set from Paris is in town, lasts from the beginning of July to the end of August.
It culminates in the Golden Cup of the international polo championship, and an international yearling sale.
Just at the end of the season, Deauville hosts its annual American Film Festival - second only to Cannes - which attracts a smattering of US stars.
It would be fair to say that you would need several suitcases full of cash to spend a few days in Deauville during the season.
On the other hand, nestling just beside Deauville across the river is the luxury resort's embarrassingly common twin: Trouville-sur-Mer.
The physical distance between the towns is 100 yards, but the social difference is immeasurable. While Deauville is exclusive and aristocratic, Trouville is inclusive and touristy.
In Deauville, the last visiting plutocrat retires to his suite at 10pm. Trouville stays open until the early hours.
In Deauville, the clubs are prive, so you need to know the right names to get past the bouncer. In Trouville, the bouncers throw people into the clubs.
While Deauville is sedate and discreet, Trouville is brash and upfront.
Its principal street, along the riverfront, is a neon-lit stretch of bars, cafes and restaurants.
Step down gently
Our take-off site was at the top of a mountain in Champagny, and somewhat intimidating. After a few metres it dropped off to nothing, to fir trees and scree far below.
After security checks, we took just one step and the wing was in the air above us.
As it moved forward so did we. A couple more steps and we were off the ground. We rose quickly and the land and trees dropped below us.
My heart was beating wildly - I was terrified. Craig quickly found a thermal and we started circling higher and higher, miles above the ski lifts and the treetops in the clear blue sky.
At one stage we were the same height as several mountains in the distance - higher than I'd ever been without an engine.
It was amazing: there was absolutely nothing between us and the ground, thousands of feet below.
With just the wind beating our faces, it was chilly up there, but exhilarating: I'd never before sensed such space and silence.
As we moved out into the valley, more stunning mountain views rose in the distance. Above us Pete was circling in a thermal. He seemed tiny and fragile.
Eventually we made for the landing area, slowly losing height. Paragliders naturally lose height at a rate of one metre a second, which sounds a lot but feels like nothing when you're up there.
Coming down over the trees, avoiding the power lines and the river, we seemed to be going at a terrific rate, but just as the ground reared up, Craig flared the canopy so that we slowed to enable me to step down as gently as a lady from her carriage.
Holiday of contrasts
Towering above the old town of Nice is the Parc du Chateau, a great place to picnic and escape the bustling streets.
You can earn your lunch by climbing the 92m hill, past a waterfall that cascades down to the sea. A lift runs for those who like to take it easy.
The view stretches into the mountains behind Nice, across the city and out to sea. You can also see the ferries sail for Corsica from the port.
The beachfront Promenade des Anglais and beyond is where the nightlife happens.
Explore the maze of streets of the old town of Vieux Nice with its honey-coloured buildings and shops selling Nicoise specialities and wines.
Then slip into Cours Saleya, a medieval square which buzzes all day with cafes and restaurants and stages a midnight market selling gifts and local wares.
The contrasts of such a trip are not to be missed and are surprisingly inexpensive to sample when combined.
- BA fly from Gatwick to Nice. Prices start at £79. Radisson SAS hotel prices start from £130 per night.
- Provence campsites start from 10 euros (£6.75) a night. Chemin de Fer tickets from Nice start at a few euros. Travelling the whole route takes about three and a half hours.
A pleasure to mooch
The first night we were there, one group of children had a foam rocket that, courtesy of some kind of footpump, was being shot some 100 ft in the air.
It was the landing that was the problem; it crashed into umbrellas and on to restaurant tables, although nobody seemed to mind moving out of the way as waitresses tried to dislodge it with a broomstick. Can you imagine such a relaxed attitude back home?
Only a few miles from Valbonne is one of the Cote d'Azur's famous village perches, Biot. Mostly pedestrianised, it's a genuine pleasure to mooch round its shops and galleries.
As well as being known for its hand-blown glassware, Biot was home to Cubist painter Fernand Leger, and there is a museum named after him.
Larger and more spectacular than Biot is St Paul de Vence. It is stunning. We arrived between thunderstorms and it was soaked in wet, golden light and rammed with tourists.
The streets are steep and cobbled and the shops and bars are upmarket - great for the grown-ups but the children were quickly bored.
Again, this village has long enjoyed a close association with sculptors and painters - which must have something to do with the remarkable quality of the light.
It seems that many bar, restaurant and hotel owners were happy to take works of art as payment for food, lodgings and booze.
The most famous of these hotels is La Colombe d'Or, where works by artists including Picasso and Matisse still adorn its restaurant, transforming it into a Mecca for some of the world's biggest movie stars.
Nick peered forlornly through its gates and into the beautiful courtyard beyond, before admitting that there was little on its menu to satisfy the kids.
Defeated, he dutifully pushed the buggy up the hill in search of chicken nuggets or pizza.
Like a movie set
It's no surprise that Cannes is twinned with Beverly Hills as so much of this area looks like a movie set.
If a building appears ancient, it is not modernised but remains eternally, elegantly distressed.
The local authority will often insist that these apartments, with their tall wooden shutters, are painted in certain shades like crimson or terracotta.
The Riviera may be a popular holiday destination but the French use all of it.
The fish caught and brought into harbour and the flowers grown on the hillsides are all daily for sale.
So if you are looking for wild and unspoiled, this is not the place for you.
However, if you want a beach where the sunbeds will match your nail varnish, this is the place.
The only downside is that, while all resorts have free public beaches, the best-accessorised ones charge for a day spent with their sun-loungers and parasols.
They cost between £7 and £9.50 a day for a mattress and from £3.20 to £4.50 for a parasol.
Not cheap, but you also get five-star treatment from probably the best-looking beach boys you have ever seen, who will happily serve cocktails until sunset.
If you don't want to pay for your sunbathing kit, you can get the same view just for the price of a meal
The Beverly Hills of Europe
With so many ordinary Joes now roaming the Riviera, it has withdrawn to zones of exclusivity such as Cap Ferrat, east of Nice - 'the Beverly Hills of Europe'.
Great villas speckle the wooded headland, their guards, gates and security cameras providing privacy to reassure the likes of U2 and Madonna.
Or Bill Clinton, who was welcomed into the extraordinary luxury of the Grand Hotel du Cap Ferrat a few months ago.
'Absolutely charming man,' said employee Diana Aldenzee. That's all she said. Too much blabbing and Bill would not return.
Further east, Monaco packs in the prestigious as if it were an exclusive cocktail party. The patina of wealth coats everything.
'Glamour?' said the lady in the tourist office. 'Kylie Minogue and Destiny's Child! They're in town for the World Music Awards tonight!'
I waited a full 12 seconds - my star-seeking limit - on the steps of the immoderate Hotel de Paris, but none of the girls showed. No matter. Knowing they were there was enough.
No stars, either, in the world's most celebrated casino across the way.
The belle epoque splendour was alive only with coach parties apparently in from Osaka, Turin and Bournemouth.
That's the thing about glamour. Its aura brings in the sightseers who, precisely because they are there, see only other sightseers.
Ideal bandit country
It was worth sniffing your way along the harbour before deciding on lunch. It all seemed so slow and somnolent that the sight of half a dozen dark blue-clad policemen toting submachine guns and stony expressions brought you up short.
They were at the junction of a climbing street and the quay, ranged around two police wagons. Between them was an armoured car. They had shut off all three ways but the locals did not appear to notice them. I asked a man drinking a glass of wine at a single table, not attached as far as I could see to any cafes, what was happening.
It was some moments before he understood and seemed to notice the show of armed force for the first time. 'Ah, monsieur,' he said. 'They are moving money from the bank.' 'And they need eight policemen with guns to do that?' He puffed out his cheeks and spread his arms and his smile.
'Monsieur,' he said. 'This is Corsica. It is a dangerous place.' It did not look very dangerous down there. Up in the secret clefts of the mountains it may well have been. I only explored a short distance of the road but it seemed ideal bandit country.
There are rocks and rivers below the whitefaces of the tallest peaks. There is supposed to be a railway through the valleys reaching south to Ajaccio but no one seemed to know when the trains ran, or indeed if they ran.
I suppose I could have asked at the station but, despite helpful gesticulating on the part of several inhabitants, I could not find the station either. It was too warm a lunchtime to look far.
Corsica was one of those confused islands where the inhabitants awoke one morning to find that they had changed nationality overnight, a not uncommon event in the 18th and 19th Centuries. We and the Germans swapped our island of Heligoland for their Zanzibar; the French inhabitants of St Barthelemy in the Caribbean were justifiably miffed when they were traded to Sweden in return for some warehouses at Goteborg. And the United States paid a knockdown price to Denmark for what are now the American Virgin Islands.
In Corsica the people were Italian, or more accurately, Genoese, one day and French the next. In the church of San Ghjuvanni Battista at Calvi the memorials to the old families display their Italian names, including the Colombos.
The locals still insist that Christopher Columbus was born there and, despite the fact that they are way down the list of claimants, have erected a statue of him. He stands with an expression on his carved face which might easily be saying: 'This is my hometown.'
Fantastic sunsets
Our relief at finding the lovely Maison Fillippi intact was a fitting reward for surviving the sometimes hairy journey getting there. A greater reward still, having made the hill climb, were the fantastic views the house affords.
With the Col de Teghime and Serra di Pigno towering behind, you gaze out over green forested valleys and jutting vineyard-dotted hills towards the clean, clear blue of the Mediterranean beyond.
From the villa's palm-shaded terrace we saw a spectacular sunset every evening, cooled by the constant mountain breezes that sometimes stir themselves up into what can feel like gale force winds.
Maison Fillippi also boasts a remarkably sheltered swimming pool whose sun-loungers provide a sun trap that grilled my Mum to a turn. So, once ensconced in the house, the temptation is not to leave at all.
There are apple, pear, fig and walnut trees in the garden, an out-door ping-pong table and, joy of joys, a washing machine. (Washing and pegging out are a Northern obsession and Mum and I took full advantage of the fantastic drying days.)
A five-minute walk up the hill we discovered a little grocery which sold fresh bread, croissants and everything we needed to knock up a salade Nicoise, right down to the anchovies and capers. But there was no fresh milk. Corsicans don't seem to go in for it and the kids weaned themselves, reluctantly, on to Long Life.
Occasionally we did venture out. Driving down the hill from Barcaggio, you constantly feel like the back marker in a 24-hour car rally that runs every day of the year.
The Corsicans' answer to the lively roads seems to be to spend as little time as possible on them, and they therefore drive as fast as they can.
Not just for the wealthy
Cannes may be a haven for the wealthy but it is possible to enjoy a cheap night out - if you're prepared to drive. Taxis are exorbitant but parking along the Croisette is free after 7pm. You may need to drive up and down to find a space but that's half the fun.
If the ridiculous restaurant prices strike fear into your wallet, pick up a huge baguette from one of the street vendors for around four euros (£2.50).
Or save your money to enjoy one of the vast ice creams sundaes sold in many of the outdoor cafes.
Alcohol is expensive but it's perfectly acceptable to order a cafe au lait and nurse it for hours as you watch the world cruise by.
In the summer months, Cannes offers a lively nightlife unrivalled in the rest of France.
Come October, things are a bit calmer. Hotel bars offer great views but can be a little tame. Things liven up as you head to the casino.
A trip inside needn't break the bank. Try your hand on the fruit machines or pay the 10 euro (£6) cover charge and head into the gaming rooms.
When your Cannes night out comes to an end, your biggest saving comes when you drive away from the bright lights.
The Croisette may have stunning hotels, from the gorgeous art deco Martinez to the palatial Majestic, but there are lots of good two-star hotels in town.
From St Tropez to Monte Carlo, the French Riviera may consider itself the home to the rich and famous but there's room for all budgets if you know how.
One of the best ways to save money is to stay out of town.
There are lovely seaside spots between Cannes and St Tropez. Unpack your high heels, jump in the car and head into town along the coast or on the tolled motorway. Style can come cheap.
A week in a two-bed Les Restanques sea-view apartment, in St Pons, 8km east of St Tropez, costs from £666, with ferry crossing. Contact Perfect Places on 0870 366 7562. http://www.perfectplacesonline.co.uk
Some things never change
As ever in France, even a town as small as this boasts several splendid places to eat. The Acadie Saint Victor, 300 metres along the seafront, provides wonderful food at around the same price, while the Bar a Huitres - aptly-named given the vast oyster beds at the adjacent village Les Boucholeurs - was almost as good, but at a little over half the price.
We didn't only eat. There was the colourful, daily indoor market to wander around and La Rochelle, with its picturesque harbour, history and shopping, is an 80p, 25-minute bus ride away.
The car had been left at Stansted, so we hired bicycles from the Hotel Les Goelands on the seafront for the princely sum of £3 each per day.
On two wheels, we meandered northwards along the coast to neighbouring Angoulins with yet more deserted sandy beaches and one more fine fish restaurant overlooking the sea. Or inland, along peaceful country lanes and through sleepy villages.
Pretty much all the time the sun shone, and sometimes fiercely. Particularly at the marche gourmand held over the weekend, where local producers exhibited fine Charentais produce, and pretty Charolais cows were tethered in the main square.
Rather incongruously, on Sunday the local folk-dancing group, performing in clogs and vaguely Amish-style costumes, had to vie for attention with a cavalcade of 90 Porsche motor cars that roared into town at the end of a rally around the region.
It was a day of contrasts, as was the holiday. But, reassuringly, some things never change. We had left England flush with the joy of that 5-1 victory over Germany and were looking forward to the game against Albania.
Pub L'Academy in the centre of Chatelaillon had satellite television and yes, of course, we could watch the game that evening.
Ten minutes before kick-off, we arrived to find the bar deserted save for five French teenagers carefully nursing one beer and a couple of coffees between them.
The TV was on, football was being shown. A French junior national side playing a friendly against Spain. Would they turn it over? What do you think?
TRAVEL FACTS:
Buzz currently travels to La Rochelle from Stansted http://www.buzzaway.com or tel: 0870 240 7070. Hotel les Flots - tel: 0033 546 562342.
Perfect spot for daredevils
Morillon boasts the beautiful Marvel, a 5km green slope that winds through Alpine forests and has gorge views.
As can be expected from such an expansive ski region the facilities are impressive.
There is the ESF ski school, an adventure Jam Park with jumps for the daring and special children's ski areas where kids can be left for the day while the parents are on the slopes.
Surprisingly, it's not overly crowded so being run down by another skier or queueing for lifts isn't really a worry.
If you fancy an afternoon off the slopes in Grand Massif, there are many other activities to try.
Daredevils can paraglide over the slopes or for a less nervewracking journey you can take a balloon trip. Speed freaks will love the rush of a nocturnal snowmobiling trip.
There's dog sledding, snow shoeing, telemarking, an adventure assault course and even archery.
Grand Massif is a fantastic all round ski region for all standards and ages.
Geneva Airport is the best gateway. Airlines from the UK include easyJet, KLM, British Airways, Ryanair, bmibaby and Flybe.
The resort of Samoens is offering an Easter family promotion between April 2-22 for kids under the age of 12.
The perfect end to a day
Later, the evening meal bubbles up with a tall flute of Monsieur Perardel's "Grand Cru" a l'aperitif champagne and a first course, described on the menu as an 'emulsion de concombres et salpicon de homard' - a deliciously curious lobster and cucumber mousse/sauce dish.
A bottle of white Puligny-Montrachet 1999 Louis Carillon complimented the John Dory fish course - which came with the most imaginative serving of potatoes ever. Sliced so delicately and heated so highly, on delivery they resemble a honey-coloured stained glass window, so crispy thin you can see through them.
The main course - Cote de veau de lait rotie - a tender tasting veal, was enhanced by a bottle of red - Chateau Laroque 1995 Saint Emillion and an enthusiastic appearance by the chef, who autographed, on request, several of the evening's menus.
Following a huge selection of local cheeses - Epoisse being a particular favourite - the main desert followed. A sorbet made of sheep's yoghurt surrounded by strawberries in a basil sauce sounds questionable.
But it is testament to Chef Blandin's inventiveness and daring in blending such ingredients that this desert tastes like heaven.
The meal eventually concludes with a brandy which, astoundingly, was bottled just three years after the end of the Second World War in 1948.
It is a truly potent and remarkable drink, which coinciding with the midnight chimes of the cathedral, marks the perfect end to the day.
For daytrippers on a booze cruise to Calais, Monsieur Peradel's wine house is worth investigating. The only 5 star wine market in the area, it's a fresh break from visiting the usual hypermarkets in Calais.
As for a short weekend break, 'Aux Armes de Champagne' proves irresistible. For 244 euros per person (around £150), guests can enjoy a two night stay with breakfast plus two dinners. Just don't bother taking a packed lunch.
TRAVEL INFORMATION
Getting there: P&O Stena Line operate ferries between Dover and Calais. Fares start at £154 (five day return) and £284 (standard return) to take a car.
Getting around: A self drive break will enable you to travel to L'Epine.
More information: Contact P&O Stena Line on 0870 600 0600 or www.POSL.com
For Aux Armes De Champagne call: (0033) 03 26 69 30 30 or www.aux-armes-de-champagne.com
Getting there and where to stay
Here's how to get the best out of a visit.
GETTING THERE: Ryanair (http://www.ryanair.com, tel: 0871 246 0000) flies to Carcassonne twice daily.Fares are usually much more expensive around weekends.
Carcassonne's airport is just three miles from the town centre: a taxi into town costs around £6, the bus 60p (you need to catch a second bus to reach the Cite).
WHERE TO STAY: Prefix phone numbers 0033 4. There are only two hotels actually in the Cite. The Hotel de la Cite (http://www.hoteldelacite.orient-express.com , tel: 68 71 98 71) is a Gothic-styled, luxury pad with a Michelin-starred restaurant and TVs that rise out of glass boxes at the touch of a switch in many bedrooms. The cost aside, it may be too formal - and too full of Americans - for some tastes.
The Hotel le Donjon/les Remparts (http://www.hotel-donjon.fr, tel: 68 11 23 00) an ancient building with attractive, modern bedrooms and a hidden courtyard garden, is a bargain - but steer clear of les Remparts' annexe, which doesn't have any public areas.
Also in the Cite is a splendid little chambres d'hote (French B&B) above a clothes shop run by Nicole Cordonnier-Trucco (tel: 68 25 16 67).
Two of the three bedrooms are vast and ideal for families. They have fine old furniture, a lovely terrace or balcony, and a fridge and kitchenette (breakfasts are DIY).
Otherwise, consider Hotel du Pont Vieux (tel: 68 25 24 99), an ancient building in a pretty quarter of Carcassonne below the Cite's walls away from the tourist hubbub. Though rooms are small and simple, some have amazing views of the citadel.
They like France
The Gastronomes, meanwhile, want to make a proper day of it - possibly an overnighter - to savour the experience.
They like France. They like food. They want to enjoy their shopping at leisure, talk to the shopkeeper or stall owner, sample the produce, ask for advice, eat well.
This is where it pays to drive more. Ignore Cite Europe, drive into Calais and aim south for the older, prettier part of town.
In a narrow street, next to a charcuterie full of glistening terrines and galantines, you will find Monsieur Morvan presiding over 3,300 different wines in his spacious shop, Le Terroir.
I know little about wine and my French is appalling. M Morvan knows a great deal about wine and his English is appalling (only five per cent of his customers are Brits). We got on famously.
With much sign language, he conveyed that the era of the British being ignorant about wine and unable to cook was over - I signed back that I liked cooking stews and did he have any drinkable suggestions for around a fiver?
His eyebrows shot up. Oops. I've had that reaction in my local off-licence before. But I'd misjudged. 'Why spend so much?' he said, taking me on a whirlwind tour of wines from £2.50 to £7.50.
My notebook filled up with regions, grapes, vignerons and prices. He whipped open a bottle of sparkling white wine - Grandin - a pleasantly dry alternative to Champagne at £3 per bottle. A 'top, top wine for cassoulets, seven years old' would set me back £3.50.
Down in the cellar, thousands of dusty bottles catered for the elite.
'My job is to taste, to select, to explain,' he said simply, 'for someone who spends £4.50 on a red to go with their cassoulet, or someone who spends £650 per bottle.'
Serenaded by yellowhammers
I chose instead La Colonne Blanchard route, about seven miles inland, which promised a gourmet restaurant and a woodland assault course.
Leaving Calais, I was almost immediately on a drowsy road with scarcely a car in sight, serenaded by yellowhammers and dodging the water bazookas that irrigate fields here.
First stop was the little town of Guines, where Henry VIII took on Francois I of France in the unofficial world power-dressing championship at the Field of the Cloth of Gold in 1520.
It was Friday lunchtime. The long weekend, based on France's 35-hour week, starts here. Everything was shut, except La Ferme Gourmande restaurant, where the walls were festooned with awards.
This was France, so no maitre d' fussed over my state of undress. 'Table for one? Certainly, Monsieur.' The meal cost no more than I pay in my local pizzeria.
My three-and-a-half-hour circuit began here. Had my dining been wise? Le Tour riders eat a big breakfast, but don't have a postlunch drag up into Guines Forest to contend with.
At the top I felt like a qualifier for Le Tour's King of the Mountains jersey. I had scaled the first hill in France.
In 1785 balloonists Jean-Pierre Blanchard - the cycle route takes his name - and John Jeffries landed here after the first aerial Channel crossing.
A few miles on, three young RAF pilots lie in beautifully tended Commonwealth war graves. One headstone bears the heart-rendingly cheery rebuke to fate: 'I died in a Spit, doing my bit. Happy landings!'
My route took me through quiet villages like Fiennes, where the castle was trashed by Henry VIII's troops, and Boursin, with its derelict features like a crumbling barn disguised with cascades of flowers.
Canny Calais veterans
Row after row of £4.99 wines sell for £2.99 a time, and £3.49 bottles (e.g. South African Chenin Blanc) for just £1.49. Champagnes are £4 to £6 per bottle cheaper than in the UK - and, as a bonus, the uniformed staff speak good English.
With Auchan selling food, bikes, clothes, toys and electrical goods, you don't need to go anywhere else. But for the ultimate Calais shopping experience, visit the vast indoor complex that is Cite Europe.
Squatting like a large silver butterfly enmeshed in ring roads, Cite Europe houses three (out of 200) shops that are prime destinations for bulk booze-hunters.
Carrefour, a 58-checkout hypermarket, dominates the upper floor. Its heart clearly lies in French wine, but it makes an effort to cover other countries, too.
It's not smart. There's a permanent aroma of garlic sausage, seafood and washing powder, curiously popular with day-trippers. The beer and champagne section at the back is bare-walled with a gale blowing through it.
But this is the ideal one-stop shop, especially if you want to bung a few whole Bries into your trolley, at just £2.80 a time.
Tesco Vins Plus is a rather more elbow-to-elbow experience. Here the hardened footsoldiers of the Britshop army do their best work. It's not pretty and you may have to queue at the checkout for half an hour - but it's cheap (£4.99 Australian wines at £2.49).
Canny Calais veterans will have rung a week in advance so their orders will await them in the warehouse.
It stocks all the familiar wines, even Piat d'Or (£2.19), which is practically impossible to buy in French shops.
Practically every big outlet is offering Famous Grouse whisky at around £12.75 a litre, and 1.5 litres of Smirnoff for just £16.
But forget fine wines. 'Import duty to the UK is about £1.50 per bottle,' says Carl Rostrup, manager of Oddbins in Cite Europe.
'While £1.50 represents a big percentage saving on a £4 bottle, it's not going to make that much difference to a £20 bottle. People who come expecting a Chateau Lafite for a fiver will be disappointed.'
This medieval underworld
The real draw at St Bris le Vineux is Louis Bersan et Fils - a family-run business that produces first-class wine.
Their cellar is labyrinthine. Narrow passages lead off in all directions and there are steps down to numerous different levels. I follow one path, only to find myself in a cobweb-covered cul-de-sac. I take another and am blocked by thousands of bottles of wine.
'These cellars are more than a thousand years old,' says Monsieur Bersan proudly. 'They interconnect with other cellars and link the entire village.'
This medieval underworld is a reminder that families such as the Bersans have been producing wine for as long as anyone can remember.
They've certainly been selling it to the English for at least 1,000 years - by the Middle Ages, England's courtly nobles were quaffing vast quantities of the stuff.
If the ancient chronicles are to be believed, the Burgundian wine producers had the last laugh. They shipped all the duff stuff to the unsuspecting English. They probably still do - another good reason for turning up at their cellars and beating them at their own game.
I head, instead, for the nearby village of Chitry. This small rural backwater is Burgundy's best-kept secret. Its vineyards border those of Chablis and many of the wines are almost identical.
But because they lie just outside the boundaries of their famous neighbour, the producers are forbidden from putting the magic word 'Chablis' on their labels. The result is fine wines at a fraction of the price.
I've been told to visit Olivier Morin, a small-scale producer who makes big-scale wines. Morin produces a handful of white wines and a couple of reds and proceeds to uncork the lot.
His white Chitry is heavenly - perfect with the Christmas bird - while the £3-a-bottle red is light, fruity and a pleasure to drink.
'We've had a spectacular summer harvest,' he tells me. 'If you like this stuff, then you should certainly come back next year.'
'I will,' I tell him. 'Definitely.'
TRAVEL DETAILS:
Eurotunnel (http://www.eurotunnel.com tel: 08705 353535). Bridge France (tel: 0870 191 7289) and Great Escapes (tel: 0800 7312929) offer self-drive packages to Burgundy. Arblaster & Clarke (tel: 01730 893344) run wine tours of Burgundy.
Wine tasting of chardonnay
Walking being faster than barging, I'd occasionally step off and ramble the mile or so to the next lock, then climb back on board.
The feisty lady and the life-and-soul whizzed off on bikes, exploring small villages and regularly catching us up at locks. On deck, Hank clicked away with his Nikon.
Not one vineyard, duck, dog, lock-keeper, swan, weeping willow, chateau, herd of cows or cloud effect escaped Hank's zoom lens. Unwind the spools of film he used in six days and they'd probably reach to Chicago and back.
And who could blame him? On all sides the scenery was pure picture postcard - wisteria-clad walls, hawthorn hedges, buttercups, sulphur yellow rape fields, foaming pink apple orchards and the silver, splashing froth of weirs.
French lock-keepers are a law unto themselves. Arrive half a second before their sacred lunch break and they'll keep you waiting until it's over.
At one lock-keeper's cottage, chickens pecked and goats frisked; at another, an army of gnomes stood guard and knickers flapped on the washing line.
Minibus excursions included a wine tasting of chardonnay and pinot noir in the famous 12th-century cellars of Monsieur Berson and a visit to Vezelay's Roman Basilica of St Mary Magdalene where, until recently, women crawled up the steeply cobbled hill to touch the shrine containing the saint's elbow and pray for fertility.
A highlight was a foie gras tasting at the Ferme de Misery. The 650 male ducks looked happy enough and didn't seem to mind having funnels full of corn pumped down their throat twice a day. The foie gras was delicious, but if I was a duck, I think I'd prefer to be free and dabbling for rations in the canal.
And the second high point was a four-hour gourmet lunch at the Michelin-starred Auberge De L'Atre where chef/owner Francis Salamolard proffered course after course, wine after wine, each more delectable than the one before.
Horses from hell
Assured that our horses were obedient and well trained, we set off along the sunny, grassy path. Unfortunately the grass was our downfall. It appeared there was nothing getting between a horse that had been stabled for several long winter months and the sweet, juicy grass growing in abundance along the roadside. My pony practically yanked me over his head in his greedy dash for a mouthful of weed.
It wasn't until we reached the mulchy, muddy paths of forest that the horses finally started behaving and, confidence restored we went along with our instructor's breezy: "Let's gallop!". For about three seconds anyway. All hell broke loose as Laura head-butted her horse (or was it the other way round?) and my horse inexplicably turned sharply into a tree catapulting me forward and leaving me dangling by a mane hair from its neck. I knew I hated horses.
Of course, there's nothing like a hefty five-course meal with wine to set you up for an afternoon in the saddle. It had been eight years since I'd dared get on a horse, the last one having bucked, bolted and scraped under a huge tree branch in a failed attempt to get me off its back. So while getting drunk may not be the way Tom Cruise prepares for a dangerous stunt scene, it was exactly what I needed to give me the Dutch courage necessary to mount my steed.
As it was such a clear and sunny day we decided to take our hot air balloon ride after horse riding and while some of us had left our fears behind at the stables others could barely peer over the side of the basket to admire the magnificent views of medieval Vezelay and its Saint Madeleine Basilica, a major pilgrimage site dating back to the 9th century.
The patchwork of surrounding fields were dotted with grazing Charolais cattle and the manicured lawns of ancient chateaux. We spotted several deer and even a wild boar as we glided quietly over the hills and valleys of the Yonne region.
Landing next to a nearby chateau, we had a drop of local bubbly, this time quelling our fears for our next expedition. Yes, not only was I attempting rock climbing for the first time, but I was trying it at night, in the dark. Hm. I gulped the champers quickly.
Half an hour later we parked at an ancient quarry, one of many in the area that were used to provide the stone for such grand monuments as the Palace of Versailles and the Statue of Liberty. Now the disused quarry had been converted into a rock climbing school with a series of death slides, rope bridges and metal rods drilled into the rock walls to create a rocky, outdoor climbing frame.
It was Touching the Void and Cliffhanger all rolled into one. Once I'd mastered the annoying but vitally important clipping and unclipping of the safety harness to the safety ropes around the course, I thought I was doing well.
Although once we'd got round the course and negotiated the smaller rope bridge to get to the top of the death slide, everyone was discussing the bat cave that we'd squeezed past. I hadn't noticed a single bat squeak. Obviously I'd been concentrating far harder on not slipping off the side of the rock than I'd realised.
It wasn't until we were sitting around a camp fire knocking back yet more local wine and eating a hearty barbeque meal that my shoulders finally relaxed.
During the long, painful days that followed, when even breathing hurt, I came to the conclusion that perhaps I'm more of an action film voyeur than a participant. In the future I might leave the hard stuff to Tom.
For more information on France, visit www.franceguide.com and for Burgundy, www.burgundy-tourism.com. You can find out more information about holidaying in France by calling 09068 244 123 (calls charged at 60p/min) or email info.uk@franceguide.com.
Train fares from London to Dijon start at £79 return, standard-class. New for 2006 is the France Railpass, a rail rover ticket offering unlimited travel at economy rates. For more information or to book visit www.raileurope.co.uk or call 08705 848 848, or call in at the Travel Centre, 178, Piccadilly, London W1.
Wild-coloured houses
Gourmets are well catered for in the Champagne-Ardennes region but if you want a particular treat there is Aux Armes de Champagne in L'Epine.
Here you can tuck into Philippe Zeiger's Michelin-starred cuisine or book in for a cookery lesson with the master himself.
He's passionate about food and, fortunately, you don't feel he's about to descend into a Ramsay-style rant.
Heading further south is Troyes, home to a higgledy-piggledy assortment of half-timbered houses.
Many of the houses are being returned to their former glory, which means painting them their original colour. So, while it may look like Laurence Llewelyn-Bowen has had his paint brush out, those wild colours are actually the originals.
The old cobbled streets are atmospheric and well worth a wander. A word of warning, some of the town is still being pedestrianised, though it shouldn't spoil your enjoyment of the main streets.
Heading out of town, there are outlet shops where you can stock up on labels such as Versace or Hugo Boss.
Further south still from Troyes is Essoyes, once home to Renoir. It's easy to see where he got his inspiration with the delightful small villages and attractive panoramas. Essoyes was his final resting place and you can visit the family plot in the cemetery.
The area of the Cotes des Bar has some great viewpoints — the Plateau de Blu looks out over miles of vineyards and lush hillsides.
Depending how far you want to drive (and at over four-and-a-half hours from Calais, it's a bit of a stretch) you could head out to Langres. The town is set on top of a hill and from its walls you can see for miles.
You can also see a big, ugly factory directly below but the town has to make a livelihood somehow. Within the town walls there are narrow streets and Renaissance houses which give it a feeling of a time past.
After a three-night break in the Champagne-Ardennes, I headed back to Calais with a feeling I'd be back. There was still plenty I wanted to see.
It doesn't have the dramatic scenery you might find in other parts of France, but with its unspoilt villages, tranquility and sprawling countryside it is well-worth a visit... if you can drag yourself away from the lure of champagne-tasting long enough.
Tips for touring the Champagne-Ardennes
- It makes sense to drive, as many places are not easily accessible by public transport.
- The drink/drive limit is lower than in the UK so keep that in mind if you intend to taste at the Champagne houses.
- It takes around 2hrs 3mins to drive to Reims, 3hrs 30mins to Troyes and to get to Langres, in the southernmost part of the region, takes 4hrs 30mins. Take into account road tolls, as a guide, Reims costs around e16 one way.
- Return prices for a car and passengers between Folkestone-Calais with Eurotunnel start from £173. Tel 0870 535 3535.
- Website: tourisme-champagne-ardenne.com
Try 250 cheeses
Boulogne Hoteliers Club has nine properties favoured by weekending Brits. Tranquil Hostellerie du Chateau des Tourelles in Le Wast, cosy Hotel Restaurant Paul et Virginie in Wimereux and grand, three-star Hotel Le Clery in Hesdin L'Abbe are very good options.
Shopping at Boulogne Auchan may be easy and under one roof, but the town's specialist stores should not be missed.
Philippe Olivier in Rue Adolphe Thiers is a 100-year-old, award-winning shop that sells 250 cheeses, many of which you can try before you buy.
Hediard - an Aladdin's cave of upmarket treats for foodies - in Rue Porte Neuve is decorated with lavish table settings created by its eccentric manageress.
Sightseeing, golf, children's attractions and museums make the Opal Coast around Boulogne good weekend break material.
Napoleon Bonaparte once lived in Boulogne Old Town and there's a famous collection of Inuit masks at Chateau Musee (closed on Mondays).
The new town's Nausicaa aquarium with sea lions is a hit with families and at The Dunes club in nearby Hardelot, golfers play on neat, rolling greens.
On Wednesdays and Saturdays you can buy entire roast meals at Boulogne's market - cooked rosemary potatoes and all.
Produce is plentiful if not exhaustive. Skinned rabbits with heads attached lie next to tubs of flowers, vegetable and cake stalls. After hypermarkets and pretty boutiques, it's a fascinating look at Boulogne in the raw.
P&O Stena Line has ferry fares from £15. For details call 087 06000600.
Test your mussel power
After a leisurely, musselly lunch washed down with a hair of the dog bottle of Syrah we headed out. It was about 4.30pm and the number of people on the streets seemed to have tripled. Whereas in the morning the crowds were merely a Saturday afternoon on London's Oxford Street, now just taking a step forward seemed like a challenge.
Collapsing in a cafe at 7pm we worked out we'd wasted over two hours battling down streets in a fruitless search for a foot massage. Beauty shop Sephora, an Ali Baba's cave of perfume and make-up, had directed us to a health spa offering braderie discounts. But when we finally got there they were understaffed and unable to soothe our battle-worn toes.
Although I imagine my stamina for shopping had been affected by lack of sleep and too much lunchtime wine, the way the Braderie made Lille appear to burst at the seams with people caused plenty of tempers to fray.
It was a relief to get back on the Eurostar just so that we could sit down and not be surrounded by scrums of people. But as the horrors of the claustrophobic crowds diminished with the passing miles, the thrill of the bargains we'd got resurfaced and the whole day seemed worthwhile again.
Tips for the day:
- 1. Wear comfortable shoes.
- 2. Take a rucksack or other comfortable bag to carry around what you buy.
- 3. Withdraw your euros at the Eurostar station, or get your money in London. And keep it safe - the crowds make this event a pickpocket's paradise.
- 4. Start early, and retire before the afternoon's crowds arrive.
- 5. Get a map of the town centre.
- 6. Remember that Sunday morning is less crowded - especially if you are taking children with you.
- 7. Take a rain jacket rather than an umbrella as there are too many people around to put up an umbrella.
- * Eurostar (08705 186186) offers up to 10 daily services from London Waterloo to Lille. The journey takes from one hour 40 minutes. Fares start from £55pp return.
History, bargains and lovely food
One of the prettiest places in Picardy is the 15,000-hectare Cuise forest near Compiegne, marked with trails for walkers and cyclists. Stroll through it and enjoy the shade of thousands of beeches and oaks
Compiegne itself is attractive without being touristy. Its streets are wide enough to wander along without making you feel hemmed in. Moreover, there's lavish Compiegne castle, with its grounds and a park teeming with exotic plants.
Back in the centre, a curious Gothic town hall dating from the 15th century is topped by one of France's oldest working city clocks, and there's decent shopping from a range of nationwide chain stores.
To make the most of Picardy you need a car, particularly if you plan to shop.
The early October Rederie (bric-a-brac market) in regional capital Amiens is a great opportunity for bargain hunters.
Buried under piles of old clothes, household tat and detritus you can find amazing antiques for just a few euros. China, porcelain and furniture are especially good buys here. So a car is essential to lug your treasures home.
Helpfully, most objects at the market are labelled with a price in euros but if your French is up to it vendors are happy to haggle. The market spreads over the whole of Amiens city centre and many stalls sell similar items, so one useful tip is to browse first before buying to avoid losing out on a better deal nearby.
Amiens is surprisingly sober for a university city. Even in early autumn its streets were devoid of noise and people and there were few late-night drinking venues.
It deserves a visit nevertheless for the adorable canal-crossed zone called Saint-Leu, lined with little pastel-coloured terraced houses and flower-strewn cafes, to see France's largest Gothic cathedral and to tuck into tasty regional restaurant dishes.
Locally made cheeses, veal and wild boar products, pates and wines are delicious in Picardy, which sits within France's champagne-growing region. If what you want from a holiday is a fairly cheap long weekend, touring an unassuming and authentic pocket of France, Picardy is for you.
- A Eurotunnel Short Stay Saver Return (two to five days) fare for travel any day, any time to Coquelles/Calais is from £173 for a car plus passengers, if booked at least seven days in advance. Call 08705 35 35 35 for further details.
- Rates at two-star Les Fabliaux, a simply furnished roadside hotel in Chateau Thierry that serves super four-course set dinners from 15 euros per person, start at 44 euros per night for a double room. Continental breakfast is from 8 euros. For more information on holidays in Picardy call the tourist board on 020 7836 2232 and visit website picardy.org
For fascinating history - try a hole in the ground
Touring the skeleton of a disused coal mine might not necessarily sound like everyone's cup of tea.
Trust me - you will eat your words at the end of a trip down inside the old Delloye colliery, and around the Mining History Centre in Lewarde, particularly if you enjoy social history.
From 1931 until the mine closed in 1971, thousands of miners toiled to shift 1,000 tonnes of coal every day.
Tours of the old colliery and Mining History Centre in Lewarde are conducted by former miners.
The tours trace three centuries of mining in Northern France.
The constant danger, claustrophobia and noise are clear. Our guide, whose miner father died from the colliery disease black lung, started in the pits when he was 14. Guaranteed to stop you complaining about your workplace.
The city of Douai could well be one of your first stops in the Nord.
It's home to the excellent Musee de la Chartreuse, featuring works by Renoir, Rubens and Sisley. It's in a former convent and some of the architecture is as impressive as the artwork.
For family fun, why not try to get to Douai in July for the Festival de Gayant, when giant models of the city mascots parade the streets.
One of the prettier cities in the Nord is Cambrai. It has a renowned museum, but its general appeal seems fairly limited. The city is, however, known for its legendary boiled sweets.
Eurotunnel fares can be as little as £9 for an afternoon trip. Spring breaks are from £59 per car including passengers. Accommodation in the Nord is reasonably priced - good three star double rooms from about £80. Eurotunnel information: 08000 969 992
- Matisse Museum (e-mail details: museematisse@cg59.fr)
- Mining History Centre in Lewarde (e-mail details: contact@chm-lewarde.com)
- Tourism details: http://www.cdt-nord.fr
Winning ways
Aix-les-Bains locals like a flutter. The town's two casinos are ideal if you fancy your hand at being James Bond or Mata Hari for the evening. Or even Parker and Lady Penelope out of Thunderbirds if you really want to be posh.
Black tie is the order of the day around the flashier gaming tables, but those after a more rustic betting environment and a little less formality can head on down to Aix-les-Bains' racetrack, Hippodrome de Marlioz.
There, people get away with dressing however they like (they'd probably even let John McCririck in) and once ensconced punters can scream the winners home without any fear of spilling daiquiris down their front.
They say Paris is the capital of romance, but the rustic allure of an area like Aix-les-Bains has a similarly bodice-ripping effect on the senses.
Sitting drinking a beer by the side of the beautiful lake on the final night, I considered trying to catch the eye of the barmaid one last time.
It was a fool's errand. Sometimes even the most extreme wannabe lothario just has to make do with wine, cheese, sunshine, and yet another gallic shrug.
- Aix-les-Bains is easily accessible from airports at Grenoble and Geneva, as well as Chambery, which is only 10km away.
- For more details about accommodation and activities in the region, see the town's website at aixlesbains.com, or the Savoie website at savoie-tourisme.com
- For flights to Chambery, see the flybe.com website.
Feeling inspired? Book a holiday
Shopping and socialising after the slopes
There's nothing better when you've come down a mountain at the end of the day than having a cold beer with your friends in one of the many bars. Apres-ski is one of the legendary aspects of skiing holidays - and deservedly so.
Our favoured spot for that first refreshing beer was the Bar du Sports in the centre of Val d'Isere - relaxed, unpretentious and no problem getting a table. But there are plenty of fun places for drinking and socialising if you are heading out later.
It's a good idea to find out when they are at their best - and to make use of any "happy hours". We timed it wrong a couple of times, finding the famed Dick's Tea Bar and the quirky Le Petit Danois a lot quieter than expected, but other places such as the Moris, Pacific and Bananas were very lively.
If you're in chalet accommodation, there's the scrumptious, traditional tea and cake, and later a good evening meal, to be enjoyed. If you can stretch to it, it's worth paying the extra.
We went to Val d'Isere with YSE, staying in a spacious, comfortable chalet, with great views of the mountains. Apart from a horrible light fitting that caused bumped heads and much cursing, and a log fire that sometimes resisted burning, it was excellent.
One disadvantage was that it was a little way out of the village and, despite Val d'Isere's fantastic, frequent, free buses and having a minibus on call, there were times when it caused inconvenience. So when booking, it's worth checking whether your chalet's location is good for you.
Shopping is a great part of the skiing experience - there's all that wonderful gear to buy or hire. After all, you do want to look good on the pistes.
Some items might cost a bit more in the resort, so it's a good idea to buy or borrow what you can in advance. You can also get discounts by booking ski gear hire before you leave.
But, whether you're buying or not, delving around in the wonderful shops of a place such as Val d'Isere is a very good way to pass some time.
All in all, at the end of my very first skiing holiday, I have to recommend it. It was enormous fun and I definitely will do it again.
Feeling inspired? Search for a ski holiday.
On course for a relaxing holiday
After an overnight stay at a quaint B&B in Favieres, we headed for the fairways at the Golf de Belle Dune, a gorgeous 18-hole course set alongside the sand dunes at Fort Mahon.
It's already a favourite with Brits - about 80% of the cars in the car park were UK registered - and it's easy to see why. I'm no golfer (although I did hit some spectacular shots, even though I say so myself) but even I was struck by the beauty and quality of the course. That and the fact it's open to anyone, costs only e40 and you can be there from the UK before you can shout "fore!".
In the evening, I joined a jolly family from Cambridge and a well-travelled Scottish couple to learn the secrets of gastronomy in the kitchen of a modern little hostelry in Fresnes Mazancourt.
Under owner Mme Martine Warlop's critical eye, we wielded frying pans and kitchen knives and were soon eating the fruits of our labour - creamed mussel and vegetable soup followed by delicious cheese-covered crepes stuffed with creme fraiche, mushrooms and ham. Throw in plenty of wine tasting - well, wine drinking - and the night was complete.
The following day, a bike ride through the forests of Compiegne was enough to clear the fuzzy head. You can hire a bike to pedal for two hours along some of the 37 miles of designated tracks that criss-cross 35,000 acres of woodland for about 14 euros .
If you're lucky you'll spot deer or wild boar as you make your way to one of the many villages that greet you with the smoky warmth of a hundred oak-fuelled fires. We stopped off at the exquisite La Bonne Idee in Saint Jean Aux Bois to demolish a fine meal of oysters and smoked salmon, wild boar from the forest and chocolate surprise and coffee to finish.
To end the trip, we donned our finest for a night at the opera, to see Halevy's Noe - as completed by Bizet - at Compiegne's Theatre Imperial. It was undoubtedly crafted brilliantly and a must for opera buffs, but, I must confess, it zipped straight over my head.
Eurostar (08705 186186) London Waterloo to Calais-Frethun costs from £70. Cookery lesson and double room in a B&B is e80 per person. Tel: 0033 322 854 949.
For more information about the region, visit the picardy.org website.
On top of the world
The Chamonix Valley is 20km long and sits snugly between the Mont Blanc and Aiguilles Rouges mountain ranges in the Alps. Cable cars and ski-lift lines cover the mountains and hillsides like a neat web.
Rumour has it that long ago climbers felt they could garner the protection of God by bolting metal icons of the Virgin Mary high up the peaks - but things didn't quite go to plan.
These icons acted (and still do so) as lightning conductors. And anyone nearby during a thunderstorm could be in for pyrotechnics that are likely to make your average Hollywood action film look like an episode of The Tweenies. So much for health and safety.
With all this to consider, the climbers, hikers, bikers and thrill-seekers flocking to Chamonix require more than fresh air to keep them going - so look forward to solid, rustic fare. Most menus are filled with meat, potatoes, bread, and cheese. And more meat. Vegetarians could find the going as tough as some of the region's rockiest mountain paths.
Pork is particularly popular while the Savoie region's abundance of freshwater lakes means fish is easily available. Those with a delicate sense of smell will be assaulted by the aroma of the local dairy produce, with varieties such as tomme, reblochon, raclette and Beaufort giving cheese outlets in the area the bizarre aroma of a peculiarly tempting old shoe.
There's plenty of cream and pastry in the desserts, and heavy dark chocolate is an obvious essential for the backpack. Similarly, the local sweet crepes are filling enough to keep even the sturdiest climber going.
Those in need of a snifter or two will obviously be able to take advantage of some of the local wines and beers, but a speciality of the region is a series of potent liqueurs made with a variety of mountain flora. Chartreuse, brewed by Carthusian monks, is the most famous of these and it's claimed more than 130 herbs and plants are needed to make it properly.
Apparently at any one time only two monks know how to make it, which shows a degree of secrecy those in charge of a certain colonel's fried chicken recipe could only dream of.
A trip up to the peak of the 3,800-metre-high Aiguille du Midi, sitting in the shadow of Mont Blanc, is a spectacular way to view the region and costs 30 euros.
It takes a while to get up there though. You need to take two cable cars and a lift to reach the summit, so there's plenty of time for vertigo sufferers to prepare themselves. And they will need to prepare themselves. The view from the top is startling on a clear day, but it's not for those whose legs become eel-like at the thought of a trip to the top of the Blackpool Tower.
The only sound that high in the air is the wind. So try not to be too surprised if a climber appears from the sheer white wastes, axe in hand, and clambers up next to you. They do it often. And, unsurprisingly, it won't be to ask which aisle the washing up liquid is on.
- The tourist office of Chamonix can be contacted on 00 33 4 50 53 00 24, or those planning a visit can view the chamonix.com website.
- Holiday requirements for the region in general can be researched via the rhonealpes-mountains.com website.
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| | | | Modern city of romance
I've been back to Paris so many times since then. I've done jobs there, been with family and friends, discovered new parts of that great city, and (always) fantasised about owning a little attic flat on the Left Bank.
Still, I made a special pilgrimage for this article - just two days to loiter in the old haunts Helen and I discovered all those years ago. This time there was no shaking plane: I travelled by the excellent Eurostar and took the Metro everywhere, admiring French public transport and wondering why on earth Londoners have to put up with such an inferior system. That's the trouble with both growing up and travelling. It can make you discontented with the status quo at home.
But Paris can never disappoint me, and none of my memories are ever diminished by returning. The jazz club Helen and I went to in the Rue de la Huchette is still there (dark, smoky, loud and raffish, as all jazz clubs should be) and so is the little craft shop, except that it sells only ethnic goods. The bouquinistes all wrap their books in clingfilm so you can't browse so easily, and the selection doesn't seem so good anyway. Shakespeare & Co hasn't changed at all; and going there this time I found myself gazing fondly at bookish teenage girls, who reminded me so much of me at that age.
The magic of Paris is many layered. I no longer 'do' the tourist sights like the Eiffel Tower - obligatory all those years ago. But pictures, books, interesting small shops and that old atmosphere of anti-establishment romance - all of it appeals as much as ever.
Nowadays I can afford to eat more than baguettes, but still love the cafe culture and easy availability of cheap, good food. This time I dined with friends at Le Vigneron (Rue du Pot de Fer) and still marvelled at a lavish set menu of superb provincial cooking at just 118 francs (£11.65) each. The Beaujolais Nouveau was only £8.90, and the simple little restaurant was buzzing with atmosphere.
After dinner my Parisian friend Catherine led the way to a little Brazilian bar, where music from two guitars, a drum and a tambourine drifted into the street and we drank rum cocktails until late - when we took the safe, clean Metro back. That's what Paris is about, and always will be for me. It is a truly great city which works efficiently at the same time as being romantic, offering new delights each visit as well as confirming you in the old.
Next morning I stood looking towards Notre Dame, imagining poor Quasimodo among the gargoyles. I watched the Seine lap cold and brown against the steps and thought of that teenager standing in sunlight 36 years ago, dreaming of who-knows-what future. And I realised with a great burst of joy how little 'my' Paris had altered and how little I had changed, too. Both of us - that sexy, clever old floozy and me - are still crazy after all these years.
Cafe cremes and tea
Even at the counter in daytime, however, drink is not given away. Cafe cremes and tea are £1.40, beer £1.30 and espresso 70p.
That's a mark-up of about 1,000 per cent on seven grammes of coffee, sugar and hot water.
'The highest margins are on coffee, tea and sparkling soft drinks, the lowest on quality wines,' said Andre.
Yes, but 1,000 per cent? 'We have charges,' he grinned. 'Rent isn't the half of it. The biggest cost is labour.
'We're in the business of welcoming people, so we need a lot of staff.'
In the old days, Parisian waiters didn't earn wages; they pocketed the tips. Then customers' generosity declined, so the service charge was integrated into the bill.
Thus, when you see 'Service compris ('service included') 15 per cent' you are not giving the waiter a tip, you are paying his salary.
Salaries of kitchen, admin and cleaning staff are similarly pegged to turnover.
Depending on hours worked and the season of the year, a Colibri employee will earn £1,000 to £1,800 a month.
Andre must find a further 50 per cent for employer charges. 'It costs me £2,250 to pay someone £1,500 a month,' he said.
The wage bill eats 26 per cent of an annual turnover of about £800,000.
Priceless objects
The private apartment has been kept as it was on Chanel's death. It is a treasure trove of her favourite bits of furniture and objets d'art. During the day, she used her apartment as an escape from the hustle and bustle - in the evenings she entertained the likes of Picasso, Diaghilev, Colette and Dali.
The rooms are grandly furnished with bronze statuettes and gilded mirrors. At the entrance is the large chair in which she was famously photographed languorously smoking a cigarette.
All the furnishings are exquisite, including several engraved oriental screens and lavish antiques - oriental lions (her astrological sign was Leo) are everywhere.
'Isn't it wonderful?' says Marie-Christine. And it is. Our final stop is at the Chanel jewellery shop on the Place Vendome. We are ushered inside for a cup of coffee and a chance to browse. One of the staff hands my wife a copy of an original Chanel piece - her comet necklace.
'As a matter of interest,' I ask again: 'How much is that?'
'Seven hundred thousand US dollars - about half a million pounds.'
Anything a bit cheaper? 'A lot of people want the new Chanel J12 diver's watch.' How much? 'That's about £15,000.' It seems a bargain.
Carla leads us, slightly dazed, back to the more affordable luxury of the Crillon. Tomorrow, she says, our special treat is a visit to the workshops of Louis Vuitton or to the jewellery workshops of Van Cleef & Arpels. Any free samples? Perhaps, says Carla...
TRAVEL DETAILS:
British Airways is running a new service to Paris Charles de Gaulle from London City Airport. Tel 0870 850 9850. www.britishairways.co.uk
Crillon Hotel. Tel 0033 144 71 1500.
France at war again
Barely had the lovely little town of Compiegne completed its memorial on the site than France was at war again and it was the Germans' turn to humiliate the French: they dragged the carriage out of the museum and Hitler arrived in great good humour to accept the surrender.
The railway carriage was taken to Berlin and put on display (it was eventually destroyed - the wagon-lit carriage on view now is of similar vintage). There my father, a First World War buff, pored over the original documents on display and looked through curiously inappropriate 'what the butler saw' machines to view chilling 3-D pictures of mayhem on the Western Front.
And then it was back to the airport. It was, we agreed, a Paris weekend with a difference. At least I know what to get my mother for Christmas - a Jim Morrison CD.
Travel facts: Thomson Breakaway Cities (0870 606 1476) have short breaks to Paris from 20 UK airports. Guided tour of Monet's Garden, between April and October including transport from Paris, is extra. A two-day Paris Visite Card can also be purchased at the time of booking. This entitles the holder to reduced prices travel on public transport and cheaper entry to museums and galleries.
Tapestry is a must
The famous tapestry is a must and do take the English headphones. Late Saturday afternoon when the crowds have thinned is the best time to enjoy this dramatic 230ft-long frieze. Accusing fingers point like guns, King Harold, with Ian Botham old-style moustache, stands uneasily before William, horses smile in the boats setting out from France, men plunge thigh-high into the water as they disem-bark in England.
After the battle, terrible scenes of carnage, with severed limbs and bodies stripped of their clothes, strewn across the bottom of the frieze. Gripping stuff. The shop's high quality too.
The sheltered inlet of Port-en-Bessin, Normandy's leading fishing village, is only six miles from Bayeux but is often missed by British visitors. Which is a pity as it is quiet and un-touristy with a handful of shops, quayside cafes and restaurants and a striking memorial on the harbour wall to those lost at sea. In the low season the King Hotel sometimes has en-suite rooms for £20 a night.
Visitors to the weekly Sunday morning market strung out along the quayside buy jars of local honey and home-made glazed apple tarts while locals, shopping for Sunday lunch, go for mint-fresh vegetables, fish and cheese.
We rounded off our visit by lunching at Le Bistrot d'a Cote, a highly regarded fish restaurant in a narrow side street and, like the civilised French, we enjoyed a long and superb meal surrounded by large and cheerful local families eating oysters with great delicacy.
TRAVEL FACTS:
Bayeux's Office du Tourisme, is on the Pont Sanit-Jean. Hotels on its list range from the d'Argouges, a quiet 18th Century town house to a Novotel. Tel: 00 332 31 51 28 28, email: info@bayeux-tourism.com. Brittany ferries (0870 5 360 360) sails from Portsmouth to Caen. P&O Portsmouth (0870 2424 999) sails from Portsmouth to Cherbourg.
A few whiffs of truffle
There's cheese, fish (we decide it won't keep), dried sausages and smoked hams. 'We're hungry,' say the children. And so, too, are we.
France, unlike England, adapts its food to the seasons. If you only come in summer, you'll miss the hearty winter fare. Autumn and winter are the months for truffles and game, slabs of cheese and solid red wines.
As we tuck into a hearty platter of venison, we raise our glasses to the grey skies of England.
In the sparkling sunshine, we drive to the Pont du Gard, perhaps the most audacious feat of Roman engineering. When local springs of Nimes could no longer supply the demand for water, the emperor's deputy, Agrippa, ordered the construction of an aqueduct to link the city with a spring near Uzes.
It was a herculean task, which involved carrying water across 30 miles of near impassable terrain, as well as crossing the mighty Gard river.
Undaunted by the challenge, the engineers designed a massive, 150ft-high aqueduct on three tiers of arches. The water was fed through tunnels and across valleys, and the gradient was calculated with such precision that it arrived at Nimes at exactly the right pressure.
The Pont du Gard is one of France's most visited sights, especially now it's been restored. Yet out of season there's scarcely a soul in sight.
This is not the only Roman relic in the region: Nimes itself is littered with left-overs from antiquity. The great amphitheatre is the most impressive sight, more complete than any other in the Roman empire. In the empire's heyday it was used for gladiator fights; in the Middle Ages, it was a castle; by the 1800s, it had become a shanty town for the poor and homeless. Later in the 19th Century it was reopened for the famous corrida - the bull sport - which is Nimes's great passion.
The locals have bulls in their blood, a hangover from the Romans who decorated the 2,000-year-old portal with two carved bulls.
Nimes's other great sight is the Maison Carree, the world's best preserved Roman temple. Half close your eyes, black out the brash Modern Art Museum (designed by Norman Foster) and you're back there with the Romans.
Our weekend draws to a close: the drizzle and damp beckons us home. But buried in our luggage is our magical keepsake - a hint of our spontaneous holiday. In a small glass jar, sealed from the air, a warty brain is exuding its scent.
We open the lid and inhale deeply. Aagh! That's good. A few whiffs of truffle and we're back in the marketplace of Uzes.
TRAVEL FACTS:
Details from Ryanair 08701 569569 or visit http://www.ryanair.com. Tour operators with holidays in Nimes include Driveline 0870 757 7575 and French Travel Service 08702 41 42 43.
Discovering Matisse and Chagall
Nor did the developers quite claim everything. The Hotel Negresco with its painted glass dome, outside which Isadora Duncan was accidentally strangled in 1927 when her long scarf got caught in the wheel of her Bugatti, still remains, as does the Palais Massena, and the façade of the Art Deco Palais de la Mediterranee, along with relics-in-name of another time, hotels called Windsor and Westminster.
All those idle British and European aristocrats didn't live here in isolation, however, no matter how snooty they were towards the locals or how many English servants, teachers, plumbers (very important), civic engineers, and gardeners (who landscaped many beautiful gardens along the entire coast) they brought with them.
So from the Promenade des Anglais I found myself wandering into the old town - the small, triangular, terracotta-roofed place Nice was before the 19th-century tourists discovered it. And straight away, looking down its narrow alleys and salmon, ochre and yellow medieval buildings of artisans and shops, I felt I was in Italy.
Being in the old town of Nice is actually like being in a different city. The Cours Saleya - with its daily market of flowers, which are delivered all over France - is the centre, always busy with cafes and stalls and looked down upon by the baroque 18th-century Chapelle de la Misericorde.
Until the early Seventies the old town was a slum, but now it's the trendiest part of Nice, containing a real social mix. Restaurants and nightclubs are cheek by jowl with working men's bars, and all of it built on the side of a hill which leads up to what the locals call 'the Chateau'. On the far side of the Chateau gardens is the small Port Lympia, once the ancient Greek beginnings of the town, now a little Italianate gem.
Today's Nice is a modern city of museums and galleries built on a wealthy, artistic past. There is the Matisse Museum in a red-walled mansion where the Mediterranean light makes beauty of everything.
If that weren't enough, just down the road is the Chagall museum, with his floating mermaids and biblical evocations. Apparently jealous of Matisse all his life, Chagall must be fed up to see that Matisse got a bigger museum - though for me there was more fun in the Chagall.
I walked myself into exhaustion in the time I was there (which I'm sure is more than Queen Victoria ever did), only able to scrape the surface in a weekend (I didn't have time to see the Museum of Modern Art or the Monastery at Cimiez), and was surprised always to see such a wealthy and varied city behind that dazzling front.
And, to be honest, I could only come up with one complaint. I know Queen Victoria liked dogs, but what a pity she didn't think to bring a few thousand poop-scoops with her. Nice needs them.
Curiouser and curiouser, said Alice
We descended to the next level and entered a shimmering room with a vast tank of tuna. Alice, aged eight, was appalled. It had never occurred to her that the filling in her sandwiches had once been alive, swimming and free. As we toured the trawler-fishing exhibit and learned more about the dolphin debate, large tears rolled down her cheeks.
She took a seat and announced she was going to become vegetarian. 'Well, I won't eat fish. I'll just eat chicken,' she said, with youthful conviction.
If they did for chickens what Nausicaa does for fish, another generation of children might turn completely vegetarian. We saw flat fish buried in the sand and irritable conger eels twined round a mock shipwreck. We put our heads into glass bubbles to view lobsters and marvelled at the silver go-faster stripe on a cod.
Then we emerged into daylight, to find out what Man (it's always Man, isn't it?) is doing to ruin the oceans and all that lives in them. We sipped exotic drinks in the Tropical Lagoon in a wild gesture of beachside tourism. The main difference between this and other cocktails I've tasted is that the waters below were genuinely shark-infested. In a few moments, we were able to rub noses with the sharks that patrolled the underwater observatory.
The longer we watched, the more we saw. Fish following their own kind. Baby fish following big fish as if they'd got a crush on them. Fish who were permanently hungry, lazy or busy. One with a face like a prize fighter. Little red ones playing in the stones.
A whole community of fish. And, as if that wasn't enough, a 3D fish film, complete with specs. 'Hello!' said the children nervously, as turtles poked their noses out of the screen.
Alice, finally, was allowed a view of her favourite marine animal, the sea lion - or rather, its Californian cousin, the otary. Otaries swam over, under and around us in a vast glass tunnel, playing and catching each others' tails. She then had the chance to tickle a ray fish's tummy in the Touch Tank. The oceanographers' message had been transmitted with an encounter of the tactile kind. For Alice, the fish-to-human bonding process was complete.
Nausicaa is a big fish in the fairly small world of sea-life centres. And like big fish everywhere, it is hungry for more space. New Nausicaa centres are planned - one in Montpelier in the south of France, another in Thailand and a third in Ramsgate, due to open in 2002. It will be interesting to see how all the smaller sea-life centres react to French competition in their waters.
The vibrating Cushion of Health
One thing I can tell you about Gascony, though, apart from the fact that almost every town has its own lake providing nautical sports to suit every taste, is that in the unlucky event of you putting your back out waterskiing you will find no such thing as an osteopath.
This is true of France as a whole, apparently. Normal doctors turn their noses up at what they call charlatans, and the only people with osteopathic qualifications have acquired them in America. I only discovered this because my wife Val had a sudden recurrence of earlier back trouble and needed urgent attention.
In London she sees an osteopath for this condition who manipulates and adjusts her sacroiliac so expertly she is as right as rain an hour or so later. However, in deepest rural France they have everything but a straightforward osteo. Generally, the French medical system is extremely good (the previous year French doctors had successfully treated me for salmonella poisoning and an infected giant termite bite in the same week!), so we were puzzled at their old-fashioned attitude to my wife's condition.
Having made an appointment with a man described as a rheumatologue, the next best thing the French offer, we stopped in Marciac for a distracting coffee, where we found the jazz festival in full flow and, amazingly, an entire church hall full of alternative health stalls. Quelle chance!
The first stall that caught our eye was one demonstrating 'The Cushion of Health'. Though you may by now have an image of this church hall which is all hippies and assorted nutters promising Elixirs of Life and Miracle De-Ageing Creams, bear with me. We were happy to take any comfort or alleviation of pain mankind could offer at this point - Val was in agony, and the appointment with Bone Man was still hours away.
'The Cushion of Health' turned out to be a rubber device with nine bumps on it that vibrated automatically if you sat on it. In the excitement of the moment all six of us gave it a test sit, and all three couples purchased one at £22, imagining cold winter evenings in front of the telly with the throbbing cushion to calm one's aching spine.
Later that night, around the dinner table, we encountered The Cushion of Health's limitations. The vibrating noise it made sounded like the neighbours were attending to a little night-time tractor-mowing.
History, lights and fountains
Lyon is big on history. Much of old Lyon, which was capital of Gaul under the Romans and has the largest Renaissance district in Europe after Venice, is a Unesco World Heritage site. By the tourist board's reckoning there are 15 hours of walking to take in the main sites.
They divide old Lyon into five walks and sell you the city-card for about £9 which buys you the freedom of the public transport system including bus, metro, trolley-bus, boat and the super-smooth tram system opened in January.
Visitors in a hurry can catch Lyon's main players in history on the fresco which covers all four storeys of a building at Quai Saint-Vincent. They include Emperor Claudius, the Lumiere brothers (pioneers of cinema), Saint Exupery, author of The Little Prince, and chef Paul Bocuse. In all, there are 150 painted walls in Lyon. Another, close to the historical fresco, is a big bookcase with painted people like the Little Prince hanging out of windows among the tomes.
French cities are big on lights - here they tease aspects unseen by day out of 150 sites and monuments. In the Place des Terraux, 69 fountains are each lit from inside by night. The square's big feature is the fountain by Bartholdi, designer of the Statue of Liberty, which depicts four snorting horses, legs splayed out like double-jointed cancan dancers.
My City Ticket included free entry to 27 museums and galleries. In the Fine Arts Museum - the 'Little Louvre', the second museum of France - I found yet another version of that famous 3-D embrace, the Rodin Kiss.
Perhaps the best view in all Lyon is from the trolleybus, which buzzes easily up the steep climb to the Croix-Rousse district where there are still working silk makers. Behind you is a staggering distant view of the snow-covered Alps rolling into the azure distance.
Lyon's ubiquitous skateboarders must know the extreme sports route back from Croix-Rousse down the interlocking system of staircases and traboules, the covered passageways. It's steep enough just walking.
There's one more mode of transport around here that I saw as I awaited my return TGV at the station. Some teenagers in reversed caps on the next platform were hugging immense snowboards, waiting for a day-trip train to the mountains. And in a few weeks they will be back - for that one-and-a-quarter-hour train ride to the Med. Oh, lucky Lyonnais!
Sensational surroundings
I hiked no farther than out onto a terrace - but I've never drunk elderberry juice in more sensational surroundings.
And so to the Gorges-du-Tarn, the only bit of Lozere that is really well-known and where, therefore, you'll meet other tourists in any number. It's one of the most grandiose sites in France.
Over 32 miles, the Tarn river has carved out a course between limestone plateaux soaring 1,700ft above. Stare up and it quickly becomes dizzying.
Tourists need facilities, and places like the glorious village of Sainte-Enimie have a satisfactory spread of shops, bars and canoes-for-hire. After the natural austerity of the rest of the county, it's good to be among holiday colour.
But it was also good to get away north again, and walk the uplands round the remote Lac de Charpal. For three hours, I met no one. No matter. Even I can't get lost round the perimeter of a lake.
TRAVEL DETAILS:
By air: Stansted to Rodez, daily with Ryanair (http://www.ryanair.com).Rodez is one hour from Lozere.
By car: Calais to Lozere, around eight hours.
Grand Hotel Prouheze in Aumont-Aubrac. Tel 0033 466428007. The Château-de-la-Caze. Tel 0033 466485101. Inntravel. http://www.inntravel.co.uk tel 01653 629028.
Keeping the kids amused
Small children don't want to traipse around chateaux all day, so here are some great ideas for keeping them amused.
Take them to the Maison de la Magie in Blois, a new museum of magic featuring rooms full of tricks and the history of famous magicians, including Robert-Houdin, the famous French illusionist who invented the son et lumiere. Super auditorium with an excellent magic show.
Cut the chateaux down to size at the Parc Mini-Chateaux in Amboise: see more than 40 models of all the famous chateaux in one child-friendly swoop.
Escape the history lessons for a trip to Futuroscope - the museum of the moving image - only an hour down the motorway at Poitiers.
For fairytale enchantment, visit the Chateau d'Usse, said to be the inspiration for The Sleeping Beauty. The story is told in tableaux as you move from room to room.
Choose a campsite with lots of facilities for children: ours had swimming pools, a waterchute, football, tennis and table tennis, a play area, bike hire and pony rides. Look for extra attractions in the chateaux grounds: horse displays and boating at Chambord; hound feeding at Cheverny (5pm daily); train rides and boat trips at Chenonceau. And finally, for parents, try the animated wine museum at Chinon.
Wine tasting
We slept in Saumur in the old-fashioned hotel Anne d'Anjou between the chateaux and the river. Good views from both sides of a creaking, understaffed but characterful hotel (marvellous staircase). But the river means the road and the road means zapping motorbikes.
Just behind the hotel we dined in Les Menestrels - and not very well; greasy food, slow service, one poor fatigued waiter. It was preceded by tastings of local wines made by what used to be called the 'Methode Champenoise'. The champagne boys banned the use of this adjective. Actually, this turns out better for the Loire 'fizzies' it no longer makes themsound second rate. But the winemaking method remains the same.
I've never liked champagne, except for, perhaps, the very best. There's too much second-class stuff around; too sharp, too green-apple skinned, too busily gassy. I was offered a '97 red Saumur off old vines for a mere £2.20 a bottle plus local taxes and about £1 a bottle transport to England.
But the Loire also produces not only very fine whites and rapidly improving reds but, as we tasted to our delight at Chateau de Fesles, south of Angers, some superb developments from that ancient grape, the Chenin Blanc. With this, these maestri are making a range of delights from fresh lightweights to the glorious Bonnezeaux which, in its delicious complexities, knocks spots off most of Bordeaux's sweet, pudding wines. And, so far, much cheaper.
We lunched in a troglodyte restaurant, Les Caves de Gen-evraie. Some of these caves are normally inhabited, not by trogs or paupers, but simply because it suits. I found the gloom and guttering candles gimmicky and claustrophobic. But the fresh, hot loaves baked by the patron in the next cave are delicious. You cram on butter and coarse terrine as soon as you can bear to hold the hot bread. Local reds wash it down.
The fame of Chateau de Fesles is such that if you are going round the superb five-storeyed Chateau de Brissac, the young energetic Marquis de Brissac will remark in his fluent English: 'After de Fesles you won't want to taste ours!' The Chateau de Brissac, gazing haughtily over its lake, has been in his family since 1502. It hasn't been altered since 1621. The family have been waging a long war simply to repair it.
'Now I want to make here an English garden,' said the Marquis. He learned his English staying on school holidays on Colonsay off Scotland's west coast. He and his father, the present Duc, farm the estate, keep horses, make wine and take in rich paying guests in a lodge in gigantic splendour.
As a group of wealthy Americans came down the grand staircase, a posse of horsemen back from the races at Angers came in for drinks in the glorious, tapes-tried drawing room under its richly painted beamed ceiling. Unmissable, and so close is the lovely Loire.
Popular with gastronomes
But to remind you that glitz is not gone, the bar is decorated with pictures of recent visitors, including Rampling and co-star Carole Bouquet.
Le Touquet is certainly popular with gastronomes. In the famous Perard, a fish shop-cum-restaurant, British visitors feel at home under a portrait of Churchill, though it trades on reputation. When the maitre'd heard we had received the wrong order, we were treated to a Gallic shrug of UN proportions.
The restaurant at the Casino is delightful, with oysters as fine as you'll find. Le Touquet attracts health nuts and sportsmen. The first diving board was pioneered here, then considered outre when bounced upon by young ladies.
It boasts three golf courses, one opened by Balfour (then Prime Minister), tennis, racing and horse riding along the seafront at dusk (for the romantic) or by moonlight (for the mad).
You can also be tutored in sand-yachting by a world champion, and children will adore Aqualud, full of state-of-the art adventure.
France is swimming with stylish enclaves, but few can match Le Touquet's natural beauty. Clamber over dunes to see a magnificent estuary where fishermen and seagulls compete for prey, and think surely this is too unspoilt for 2003 - why hasn't it been abolished by an EU directive?
Even the hardest heart will wander back to memories of idyllic childhood trips to the seaside, and in the soft grey of early evening Le Touquet shows that the sun will never set on the balmy, barmy old bucket-and-spade holiday.
Intricate designs and patterns
Next day we passed the only other British people we met, a party of four walkers, before reaching Brousse le Chateau, another medieval stone village with an arched Romanesque bridge and a castle dating in part from the ninth and tenth centuries.
Here again our hotel, the Relays du Chasteau, had been in the family for generations, its impressive menu - salade compose, daube de porcelet (suckling pig), crayfish with a saffron sauce, apricot tart - enhanced by one of the red wines of the Aveyron, a Marcillac.
Next day, as the taxi arrived to take us back to Albi, the rain came down like stair rods. It was a day to view the extraordinary cathedral, the biggest brick building in the world, built as an uncompromising statement of the power of the Catholic Church after the suppression of the Cathars and their allies.
High, plain and fortress-like from the outside, every square inch of the stone interior is painted in intricate designs and patterns by imported Italian artists.
A £3 entry fee took us into the former archbishop's house, now the Toulouse-Lautrec museum, where the early work of the dwarfish artist - paintings of peasants on his family estate nearby, the predatory look of an artilleryman eyeing the impressive cleavage of a seated woman - lead to two rooms dedicated to the familiar posters of the stars of the Montmartre cabarets.
A last watery glimpse of sunshine, and it was time to head for home.
TRAVEL DETAILS:
Inntravel offers a wide selection of walking holidays in Europe. Tel: 01653 629 010.
Local wildlife
Oh, and the bullfrogs. And the nightjars. And the crickets. Turn off the engine, and all the wildlife of the water carries on around you.
You see and hear things you never would away from a boat. Like a lock's peacock sitting 40ft up in a tree, his tail trailing through the branches, wailing.
'He does that every night,' says the lockkeeper. 'Flies up, then cries to come down. He's strange that way.'
A day into our break, though, with a lock every few hundred yards it still seems like hard work. Others manage it to make it look easy.
On the ascending locks, men stand nonchalantly dangling ropes while their boats buck each other in the rising waters like great big dogs. Meanwhile, their companions stay on deck, reading, gossiping, doing nothing.
That's the secret. You need enough of you to share the work and the fun. The most laid back boats we saw seemed to contain a minimum of four people.
At the end of my bit of rope it occurs to me that we are two adults doing the work of four.
Meanwhile, inside our boat, two children sit bored and sulky because their mother has nagged them away from the water. Time for a change.
At the next lock, they are in the thick of it, tossing ropes, noses against the lock walls. We slide into the lock, hardly touching the sides. They have a job to do and, suddenly, are having the time of their lives. We all are.
Fields of poppies spread out either side of the water. My husband veers to the left to avoid a raft of ducklings. Another baguette disappears overboard to make sure they don't starve. No more shouting, and in our wake, the best fed ducks in Europe.
TRAVEL DETAILS:
Booking information: The Port House, Port Solent, Portsmouth PO6 4TH. Tel 0870 240 8393.
Flights by Ryanair from Stansted, return to Carcassonne. http://www.ryanair.com.
The Pyrenean peaks
The fortress is one of the finest examples of military architecture in the area. Dating back to Roman times, it incorporates two castles, one to the east, another to the west, with the higher Chateau St Georges only accessible on foot.
Struggling up the steps, each hewn out of the rock, we entered the Barbican gate before wandering through the two great castles.
Finally we reached the top at 2,600ft where, perched on a ledge, we enjoyed our picnic while far below hawks and eagles soared and circled in the clear blue skies above the deep green forests.
In the far distance you could see not only the Pyrenean peaks but also the castle of Queribus, another Cathar refuge.
On the way down we stopped at a spring called Fontaine de la Jacquette - whose refreshing waters had also once been enjoyed by the medieval Queen Blanche de Castile, the granddaughter of Eleanor of Aquitaine, who was married to Louis VIII of France as a young teenager.
After proving her valour in battle she was made Queen Regent after her husband died and until her son - Louis IX - was old enough to become king. She ruled wisely and was very popular.
Back on the flat, and once again among the vineyards, we came to Cucugnan, a living village built upon a medieval site in the form of an amphitheatre.
After a much-needed drink in Auberge du Vigneron Hotel we wandered through narrow passageways and cobbled streets to find Cucugnan's neo-gothic church. In the South Chapel there is a remarkable statue of the Virgin, one of the very few depicting her pregnant.
In the centre of the square stands a three-bell campanile - the oldest bell dating back to the 17th Century.
Our last day was spent discovering our final castle: Queribus. This was another sanctuary for the Cathars during the 12th and 13th Centuries.
The Crusaders' army attacked the Cathars in the castle, and they were finally crushed in 1255 after several sieges, raids and massacres.
Compulsory tourist viewpoint
Next day Raymond, a dapper, erudite Rochellais of an earlier age, started our search for more differences with a surprising observation.
'This is our cathedral. The great writer Henry James said it was "uninteresting". That was an overstatement.'
Raymond tells it as it is. For him, spin is something you impart to a boule in a dusty French square, not to a tourist commentary.
'We have no churches to speak of. See that one? Hasn't been a church for 100 years. It's an Ibis hotel. It used to be a storeroom before that.'
There's a good reason for the absence of religious buildings. All the historic Catholic churches were knocked down in the religious wars of the 1500s, when La Rochelle became truly different.
Many French Protestants (Huguenots) took refuge here, the 'Geneva of the Atlantic Ocean'. The town cemented friendships with Protestant England and Holland.
In 1627 Richelieu, the king's minister, besieged the town to bring it back onside.
The Duke of Buckingham lent offshore support and earned himself a place on the statue in the square where I saw the electric car.
'When we were English,' said Raymond several times. Did I detect a note of nostalgia?
We stopped at the old harbour, a compulsory tourist viewpoint, to admire the old ally's work. A tricolour fluttered over the massive, English-built Saint Nicolas Tower.
They used to hang a chain between it and the Tower of the Chain, on the other side of the narrow harbour entrance, to block invaders.
Pretty hill towns
There aren't many, they're all small, and - as you'd expect - all are delicately beautiful with their pink and orange, triple-layered, Romanesque tiled roofs and pale, mottled stone houses.
Seillans is probably my favourite. Wrapping in on itself up to the crest of the hill, like an ice-cream cone without an obvious centre, it's a russet-coloured, walled sanctuary, honeycombed with alleyways down which you always expect a medieval Gerard Depardieu to bowl along at any moment.
No doubt 50 years ago Seillans and all the other little villages of the south of France were poverty-wracked and unsanitary. But the French - above all others, I think - have a genius for preserving and modernising simultaneously, without knocking down or spoiling, so that the cars can get through (they have to skirt the centre).
Seillans, with hardly a shop window in the village, is a gem of a very ancient town. To spend any time there - in the cobbled streets with the small galleries and kilns, the honey and lavender, the annual pottery exhibition, the mustard-coloured abandoned cork works by the gorge, the fountains and open washrooms in the Place du Thouron - is to see why photographer Robert Doisneau and surrealist Max Ernst chose to live there. And why, for a month in August, its few restaurants have a definite tenor of Home Counties franglais about them.
Taking the road northeast from Seillans you come to a fort called Mons. The view as you drive there is spectacular. But it's also rather bleak once you get above the tree line, so I always prefer to move westwards through the woods towards Bargemon. This is an equally ancient place which was inhabited by the Romans and, after being flattened by the Moors, rebuilt in 950 as a fort. The arched ramparts remain, mostly turned into apartments favoured by Dutch and Danish visitors.
I've spent a lot of time around Bargemon over the past 11 years and I'm very fond of it. It's beautiful and leafy and the fetes there in the summer with rock 'n' roll bands are terrific. There seems to be a fete in one Haut Var town or another every other day, with the same bands playing the same songs and the same things to buy.
That said, I wish they'd do something about their dogs. I've nothing against dogs particularly, but when two or three get together in a mob of bottom-sniffing and barking and capering up and down the main square when you're trying to enjoy a nice dinner under the plane trees, it can really become a pain.
The waters of Bargemon are said to be extremely therapeutic, and with fountains playing in every shady square it has the air of a tiny spa town in the hills, without the retired colonels (unless they're the chaps who own the dogs, of course). South of Bargemon lie the even quieter villages of Callas and Claviers, and beyond them hundreds of hectares of new forest which are rapidly replacing those burnt or taken by woodcutters.
Further south still are the vineyards of Esclans, said by locals to produce some of the best rose in the Var. The biggest inland town in the Var by a long way is Draguignan which seems quite sophisticated after a couple of weeks in the backwoods.
Best for history and nightlife
Best for history - Moselle
France is packed with castles and fortified towns. One of the areas's most famous World War II sites is the Maginot Line along the Franco-German border.
Believe me, the visit is worthwhile. The line was the biggest defence structure built since the Great Wall of China.
If it didn't stop the Germans in 1940, that's because they came through Belgium.
Its underground forts were vast, technically impressive and remain intact (including the cannons).
The Hackenberg near Thionville housed 1,000 men over 380 subterranean acres, along six miles of galleries.
The Simserhof near Bitche re-opened last year with underground railway and special effects to introduce the Maginot experience.
Best for nightlife - Côte d'Azur
No getting away from this one. The very words 'Côte d'Azur' sparkle with glamour. And when the sun goes down, the heat stays up in places such as Nice, Cannes and Antibes.
But remember: beautiful lives are lived late. Arrive at the nightclub before midnight and you're an anorak.
Start, instead, at a trendy bar or restaurant - the chic Le Karr or the new Le 70s in Nice, Le Baoli in Cannes.
Then, and only then, stroll along to Nice's l'Ambassade, Cannes' Le Cat Corner or, if you want the best starlight, all-night bopping by the sea at La Siesta in Antibes.
Biarritz
This was an ocean-side village living on whaling memories until French Empress Eugenie discovered it in 1854. European nobility followed, putting up astonishing palaces.
Our own Prince of Wales, the future Edward VII, walked the beaches by day, pursued pleasure by night.
Biarritz remains both grandiose and racy.
Mornings: The four-mile walk from the lighthouse around great beaches, headlands and creeks is a must.
Walk over the bridge to the Rocher de la Vierge outcrop for splendid views of the Basque coast. Lunch at a cafe or bistro on the Port-Vieux inlet.
Afternoons: Stylish shopping can be found in Avenue Edouard VII, through Place Clemenceau and on to the more animated Rue Mazagran. Visit the Musee de la Mer near the Atalaye headland (seal-feeding at 5pm).
Golfers might tackle the Golf du Phare (green fees are £27, full-set club hire £10.) Cyclists could hire a bike to pedal round the wonderful coast. (Sobilo, 24 Rue Peyroloubih, £8 a day.)
Evenings: Grandest address in town is the Hotel du Palais (1 Avenue de l'Imperatrice), where royalty lodged and whose restaurant has Belle Epoque splendour.
More modestly, Chez Albert on the Port des Pecheurs creek is a Biarritz institution for fish and atmosphere. Clubs and music bars abound, including the Blue Cargo on Ilbarritz beach.
To honour our ancestors, visit the great Casino (1 Avenue Edouard VII). Gaming from 6pm-3am.
GETTING THERE:
Ryanair flights daily from Stansted. Ryanair also does hotel bookings (http://www.ryanair.com tel: 0870 156 9569).
Cotes du Rhone and Loire
COTES DU RHONE
Strung along the Rhone valley, this is a wine region of two halves. Up north are the terraced slopes of Hermitage, Cote Rotie and similar big-money crus.
Down south, there's Chateauneuf-du-Pape, but also the bouncier world of the Cotes du Rhone wines everyone can afford.
The best way in is via the village of Cairanne (near Orange), where - a fine wheeze, this - you may visit the local vines on horseback or horse-and-buggy.
It's a full day, includes tastings and a midday meal with a winemaker (Richard Sommer; tel: 0609 883814; cost: £50 on horseback, £32 in buggy).
While in Cairanne, call in on British producer Nick Thompson at Domaine de l'Ameillaud. He's got an excellent range (tel: 0490 308202; cost: free).
Equally interesting is the Chateau des Tourelles, where wine-maker Herve Durand recreates Roman wines using the equipment and techniques of the era.
Ungimmicky and engrossing (Route de Bellegarde, Beaucaire; tel: 0466 591972; cost: £2.90).
LOIRE
France's longest river (635 miles) wanders through the country's greatest variety of wine styles - from the reds of Chinon and Bourgueil to the white sauvignons of Sancerre.
There are also the whites and sparklers of Vouvray, where Frederic Bourillons-Dorleans will show you the chalk caves where his wine ages.
His arty friends have also adorned the caves with contemporary sculpture (30 bis, rue de Vaufoynard, Rochecorbon; tel: 0247 528307; cost: free, but ring ahead).
There are caves and a good welcome, too, at Couly-Dutheil - a fine spot to tackle the tannic reds of Chinon (12 rue Diderot, Chinon; tel: 0247 972020; cost: from £1.90).
Best gardens
Best gardens: Villandry (East of Tours): Formal French gardens are attempts to impose order on nature and nowhere in the Loire is the effect more dramatic.
Across 12 acres, vegetables, flowers, water and hedges are worked into strict patterns alive with symbolism.
Cabbages, it would appear, signify sexual corruption. However, you don't have to understand that to be stunned by the display.
Little is really added by visiting the chateau itself. Garden entry: £3.60
Best visit: All categories
Valencay (South of Blois): Though a glorious Renaissance pile, Valencay's great days came in the 19th century when Talleyrand - Napoleon's foreign minister - took it over.
English-language audio guides lead you round the rooms - the most sumptuous and best-furnished of any chateau. You will learn that Talleyrand, had a child with his niece - not bad for a former bishop.
Outside, there's a little farm zoo, castle climbing frame and brand new maze - good news for kids who, frankly, get bored to death in most other chateaux.
In summer, strolling players re- create the Talleyrand times. If I could see only two chateaux, I'd choose this one and Chambord. Entry £6.15.
TRAVEL DETAILS:
Travel VFB has cottages in the region, plus two-day breaks at the lovely Hotel Perce-Neige, near Tours. http://www.vfbholidays.co.uk. Tel 01242 240 310.
Eurostar - with change at either Paris or Lille then on to Tours, Orleans or Poitiers. Tel 08705 186 186.
Hotels Chambord: The Hotel du Grand St-Michel. Tel 0033 254203131.
Chenonceau: La Roserie. Tel 0033 247239009.
Blois: Hotel de France et de Guise. Tel 0033 254780053.
Clos Luce (Amboise): the Vieux Manoir. Tel 0033 247304127.
Villandry: Du Manoir in Tours. Tel 0033 247053737.
Valencay: Le Grand Hotel St-Aignan, in St-Aigan, 20km north-west of Valencay. Tel 0033 254751804.
* Prices correct in July 2003.
Ooh-la-la, heritage and festivals
OOH-LA-LA
Think France and you think ooh-la-la - long-legged lovelies wearing little and kicking high. And they're still hoofing at the Crazy Horse and Moulin Rouge - big production revues with semi-nudity dressed up like a French gateau, although the entertainment is impossibly dated and outrageously priced.
And in-town entertainment can get a lot racier. If tourists want sex shows or dinner with a wife-swapping option, the range is challenging. The French are not in a permanent state of shock about sex. Verdict 2/10
HERITAGE
Guide books are full of chateaux and old town centres - justifiably so.
If in doubt, wander round the old town at Sarlat or Carcassonne. Problem is, they are too good. It sometimes seems every wall older than 10 years old has a preservation order and associated museum. And many of the finest sites may be flanked by appalling commercial sprawl. Verdict 4/10
FESTIVALS
Every town and village proclaims itself 'en fete' sometime during the summer, and they're not lying. This is another French sphere of expertise - though beware: the festivities can be weighty.
You might not get the best out of the great Avignon and Aix culture-fests if Moliere and Mozart (respectively) aren't your idea of July fun.
No matter. There's big-name jazz along the coast and, in the villages, outdoor eating, dancing and dressing-up in period costume. Don't bank on much sleep. Verdict 7/10
Break the journey
SIGN LANGUAGE: Place names on a sign with a blue background mean you're going there by motorway, on a green background by normal, non-toll roads.
'Bis' after a place name indicates a secondary or alternative route, allegedly avoiding the crowds. 'Rappel' is a reminder of a restriction in force.
COURTESY: For reasons of national temperament, French drivers are reluctant to let you into a stream of traffic, so insist. Nor do they tend to stop for zebra crossings.
BREAKING THE JOURNEY: The new breed of low-cost, no-frills hotels, often on the outskirts of towns or by motorways, has boomed in France.
Try Etap (http://www.etaphotel.com tel: 0033 323 670 334), Fasthotel (http://www.fasthotel.com tel: 0033 142 352 600), Formule 1 (http://www.hotelformule1.com tel: 0208 283 4500) and Mister Bed (http://www.misterbed.fr tel: 0033 146 143 800), which all have rooms starting at about £20 or less.
Balladins (http://www.balladins.com) from around £25, and the more upmarket Ibis (http://www.ibishotel.com tel: 0208 283 4550) start from around £36.
Note: prices may vary according to demand and location.
MOUNTAIN SAFETY: On mountain roads, the French authorities are choosy where they put their barriers. Not all sheer precipices qualify.
No driving conditions in Britain can prepare you for some of the trickier Pyrennean, Corsican or Alpine passes. If you have vertigo, hand the wheel over to a companion.
Lozere to the Alps
LOZERE
Why go? To stand aside from mainstream Europe, breathe untouched air and be among ways of doing things which haven't changed much in 100 years or more.
At the southern end of the Massif Central, this mountain bastion land is the least populated, least-developed county in France.
Must-sees: Wolf reserve, St Leger-de-Peyre; Bison reserve; Gorges du Tarn; Aven Armand cave, Meyrueis; Musee du Desert, Mialet.
Hotels: Hotel Relais St Roch, 48100 St Alban-sur-Limagnole. Romance in style. Rooms from £65. 0033 466315326.
Getting there: Air: Stansted-Nimes, Ryanair (http://www.ryanair.com tel: 08701 569569). Nimes-Mende, 90 miles. Car: Calais-Mende, 550 miles.
Information: County tourism authority: 0033 466656011.
ALPES DE HAUTE PROVENCE
Why go? My most terrifying moments last year came as I drove the cliff top road 2,600ft above a sheer drop to the Verdon Gorges.
Here, where Provence bumps into the Alps, we are in the region's rocky upland, where remoteness is a way of life.
Must-sees: Villages of Seyne, Dauphin, Lurs and Moustiers-Ste-Marie, perhaps the prettiest in France; Verdon Gorges - Europe's Grand Canyon.
Hotels: Auberge Charembeau, rte de Niozelles, 04300 Forcalquier. From 0033 492709170.
Getting there: Air: Luton-Nice, easyJet (http://www.easyjet.com tel: 0870 6000 000). Nice to Digne, 95 miles. Car: Calais to Digne, 650 miles, £37 motorway tolls.
Information: County tourism authority: 0033 492315729.
Tell-tale yellow sticker
We sweated in the 90-degree heat as if we were escaped prisoners of war. Would our papers be in order? Would we have to leave some of the party in horrible Le Havre until they were?
Then the glorious woman was banging a big rubber stamp on them and handing them back. In Le Havre, there was a revolting area of sand, on which mothers had dumped old nappies, where Bertie was supposed to take his last relief before departure.
Although we were assured we would be parked in a cool place in the ferry, we were hoisted to the rafters where it was hottest, and where we were guaranteed to be the last off.
In Portsmouth we waited for some bureaucrat to spot the tell-tale yellow sticker on the windscreen, denoting there was a pet on board, and put us all in quarantine. But it was 9pm, two ferries were trying to unload at once, and no one gave us a second glance.
In future, however, Bertie will probably stay at home when we travel abroad. Besides, my wife has just bought a Dalmatian...
TRAVEL DETAILS:
Country Cottages In France specialises in privately owned properties, and indicates in its brochures whether pets are welcome. Two weeks at Les Marroniers, which sleeps eight, costs £2,687 in high season/£1,518 in low season. Country Cottages in France, (tel: 08700 789789, http://www.cottages-in-france.com).
Home from home
How does it all work?
Stay on a large European campsite and you'll find a selection of British operators, each with its quota of tents and caravans. At first sight, the main difference is the colour of their livery - yellow and blue for Haven, red for Canvas, and so on. You'll also spot the branded notice boards, giving information on local markets, weather and activities.
All tents are based on the same model - around 250sqft of canvas, new for each season. Pitches vary in size, but there will be room for your car. Inside the tent you'll find a large central area with two to four-bedroom compartments, equipped kitchen area, full-size fridge, gas hob and grill. There will be cooking utensils, crockery and cutlery, electric lights and cleaning equipment.
Plastic furniture includes sun loungers, table and chairs. You'll also have your own barbecue, where campsites allow. Free extras include a communal children's games chest and simple sports equipment - some operators, such as Haven, may ask for a small deposit.
Children's clubs usually prove a highlight of the holiday, as youngsters swiftly make friends and gain independence. However, not all companies guarantee club places or tell you how often the club will run.
For a small fee, you can hire baby equipment: order when you make your booking. To add excitement for older children, hire a junior tent, which will be pitched next to yours. Some operators provide bicycles and other sports gear (ask, don't assume). However, with the exception of Select France, you must bring your own duvet and bed linen and possibly your own pillows. Even if you don't want to spend time cooking, remember to pack your favourite British staples, such as tea bags and tomato sauce.
The basic holiday price usually includes accommodation and travel for two people plus car, with children up to 18 going free. However, some operators allow you to take six people of any age, which means grandparents can join in at no extra cost. Single parents get a reduction.
Your travel pack includes local maps and planned routes, GB stickers and a regional guide. Most companies provide children's travel packs.
Ostentatious public facades
One of the finest buildings is Maison Milsand, built in 1560 for the mayor. Its facade is covered in carvings - garlands of flowers, lions' heads and masks and it has an exquisite courtyard, part stone, part timber, with a fine wooden gallery.
Many of Dijon's finest houses have private courtyards behind their ostentatious public facades. It was here that the city's merchants could strike deals, hatch plots, glug wine and eat mustard.
Much of the town's wealth was derived from the countryside. Burgundy has long been famous for its fine wine and excellent beef, and the surrounding area with its rolling hills and tumbledown farms has changed little since the 19th Century.
The Musee de la Vie Bourguignonne tells the story of this traditional life. It's excellent, particularly for children, and includes interiors of rural houses plus an entire street of 19th Century Dijon shops. Although signs are in French, most exhibits are self-explanatory.
There's one showcase which doesn't need any explanation - a small set of pots marked with the word 'moutarde'. If, after a day in Dijon, you still don't know what it means, maybe you should have stayed at home.
TRAVEL DETAILS:
Eurotunnel (08705 353535). Short breaks to Dijon are available from Allez France (01903 748128), Bridge Travel (0870 191 7289) and VFB Short Breaks (01242 240310.
Prehistoric cave paintings
The Dordogne is famous for its prehistoric cave paintings, but many of the best are closed for fear of damage from condensation. The best still open to the public are at Font-de-Gaume, Les Eyzies, where there are some wonderful images of bison and wild horses. (Wrap up warmly, it is chilly in there even on hot days.) Don't miss Lascaux II - a reproduction of the most spectacular cave, long since closed to the public.
Dordogne markets are among the most mouthwatering in Europe. Tables groan with strawberries, asparagus, artichokes, walnuts, honey, truffles - whatever is in season. Even the smallest towns hold weekly markets, while those at Sarlat and Perigueux are famously good.
But my favourite is the Sunday-morning market at the gorgeous little village of Issigeac, way down in the south of the region.
Simple and moving
On a bright, silvery Sunday, the waterfront was full of promenading families taking the air and browsing in the antiques shops by the port.
After a lunch of moules marinieres fresh off the boat, it was time for a drive south, along a winding clifftop road.
At Varengeville-sur-Mer stood the Bois des Moutiers country house, set in exquisite gardens. With their leafy green walls and heady aromas, the gardens take you on flower-lined paths into a world of leafy green tranquillity.
Just outside Varengeville, we pulled over at the roadside chapel of Saint Dominique.
This small Norman church had been left unlocked; inside, three stained glass windows by the cofounder of Cubism, Georges Braque, stood above a plain stone altar, as simple and moving in their own way as the chapel itself.
Then it was back to town for coffee on the quay, before the SuperSeacat headed back across the Channel, leaving behind France's most interesting day-trip.
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Smell of real money
Trouville is by no means seedy: it has its own Promenade des Planches along a sandy white beach and a casino (owned, inevitably, by M. Barriere).
But it has never been accused of being a Parisian arrondissement.
Trouville is also the oldest of the two resorts, but it is Deauville which has the smell of real money - and snobbery.
The Deauville/Trouville contrast does have its plus points: it offers visitors the best of both worlds - sophistication and bonhomie.
If you've got the money, you'd stay at the timelessly elegant Normandy or the Royal.
For the more budget-minded, there are small two and three-starred hotels in Trouville and on the edge of Deauville.
For all visitors, though, there are wide beaches, golf, water sports, horse-riding and sailing.
The two casinos have the usual one-armed bandits and poker machines, as well as more intimate salles des jeux with table games.
In the evenings, you'll want to go to Deauville for the posher restaurants and bars.
But for atmosphere, the main street in Trouville offers the liveliness and ambience that the rather snooty Deauville seems to lack.
Step into the wind
Keen to fly myself, I embarked on the five-day course. Day one, I learnt about the equipment, pre-flight safety checks and how to inflate the glider, control it on the ground and then run with it on the ground.
With practice I was soon climbing a little way up the slope, like a snail, my enormous glider on my back, and flying 10ft off the ground for a few seconds; exciting but not the Freebird of the day before.
Day two, I went higher up the slope. As you stand there, harnessed up, helmet on, waiting to step into the wind, there are so many things to think of, and yet, once started, the take-off is over in a moment.
Nevertheless, up in the air I always had a moment of slight panic. Argh! What do I do now? Luckily Craig was always watching to advise and guide me in to land.
Landing well means flying straight and stable into the wind, applying the brakes about 3 feet off the ground thereby converting your speed into lift. I didn't quite manage that.
Panicky, I flared too early, which stalled the paraglider and I was down with a thump - nothing dangerous but uncomfortable.
The next time I flared too late - another thump but faster this time. Luckily I was able to run it off, though I must have looked like Funky Chicken.
Day three, the flights were getting longer and I was feeling more confident. I flew for 30 minutes - 3,000ft down from La Loze to Le Praz.
This is the difference in height between take-off and landing; often the take-off site is higher than 6,000ft.
The exhilaration was extreme - and as I was constantly focussing on keeping the wing level, I felt very centred. You have to be.
Long, winding roads
Sara adamantly refused to eat pizza for the entire fortnight, so she and Kathryn escaped to explore some of the area's night life.
Cannes was declared nice, but Monte Carlo tacky; they could find little of interest. Both towns are busy and Sara and Kathryn preferred the smaller seaside resorts of Villefranche Sur Mer and Beaulieu Sur Mer.
Villefranche has its own arts heritage; Alfred Hitchcock is one of many film directors to use the town as a backdrop, and Jean Cocteau decorated its Saint Pierre Chapel.
In the end though, Sara and Kathryn's most favoured discovery was Cap Ferrat, so we decided to troop off en masse.
It is not easy to find and the drive involves steep, long, winding roads, but we eventually got there.
And it is beautiful. The old and new harbours look out over a spectacular stretch of blue ocean and an eye-watering selection of yachts.
The beach at Cap Ferrat is not really a beach, just a man-made stretch of pebbly suntrap devoid of shade, but we sat happily enough watching the kids play keepy-uppy.
The town has some smart little shops and boutiques selling upmarket stuff, so the girls and I left Nick to enjoy the kids' ball games and went |
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