France is easily one of the most popular tourist destinations in the world and it is easy to see why. Central to western Europe, it is accessible from all angles, has a great cultural history and one of the most iconic and idealised capital cities in the world. Its proximity makes it an affordable choice, especially given the Euro star train service which can get you to Calais faster than a train to London Victoria. Almost everyone one I have met can speak at least some french (a lot less than the English speaking in France, inevitably). It is easy to navigate with exception of central Paris, the weather anywhere south of central France is universally 'better than England' and the scenery superb.
And that is exactly why I never thought I would bother to return there.
As a child, my family went to France on the annual summer holiday no less than 6 times. Looking at the paragraph above, it is easily understandable why. But for me, growing up I decided that France was just a stale country, limited to old buildings and leaky tents. It seemed too easy, too cheap and not really any challenge. I wanted to go somewhere different.
My parents wanted to have one final, last hurrah type holiday for the family with all the trimmings (read: girlfriends and boyfriends). My siblings and I are all at the age of maturity that we no longer need the old folks and are easily mature enough to endure a week in another popular English tourist attraction. Looking for sun, fun and cheap alcohol, although in this case you replace local wine with whatever paint stripper spirit suits your preference. So, imagine my excitement at the fact that we would be, once again, visiting France. More specifically, the Dordogne region. There isn't even a beach!
I feel I need to establish something here, I am not in fact a stereotypical 'gap year student' who feels that nothing can possibly live up to my own lofty expectations of a 'proper' vacation; Where the word 'travelling' far outweighs the Luddite experiences found in such simple 'holidays'. That is simply not the case, it is just my last memories of a family holiday are of a time when I was trapped in that exact pubescent purgatory of hating where I was, who I was with and what I was doing - whatever situation or location that may entail. France was foul, family was 'fail' and holidays were hateful. How things change eh?
So, here we are. Seven of us crammed into a hired minivan only slightly reminiscent of a tin of sardines, with a twelve hour drive to endure. Wasn't so bad, apart from the endless A roads, once we got into the country a whole new realisation dawned on me. Southern France is actually beautiful. I tried to establish how I could never notice it before. Maybe I was just too young to appreciate the sweeping, rolling hills arcing off into the distance, the sandstone houses jutting out from the hillside - spreading out into perfect little hamlets. Maybe maturity and appreciation of the beauty of nature is slowly acquired like the taste of a fine wine. More than likely it was probably simply due to the fact that my eyes were planted firmly onto the tiny screen of my game boy.
The campsite we arrived at had everything you could need: toilets, sun, swimming pool and an overpriced shop. But that doesn't really need to be discussed - it is the local surroundings that are the talking point here. On two occasions we went kayaking down the river, flanked by beautiful scenery and towns. More than once we had to stop (not just because a 10km kayak ride is anything but easy!) just to admire the scenery. No where else in the world can do Chateaus, and place them so precariously, as the French. They are truly superb, the light yellow sandstone perfectly complimenting the natural surroundings. Even the normal houses look decadent and perfect - a far cry from the Cheshire mansions we are accustomed to here in the UK.
The french, well they are the typical french. Most encounters lived up to the typical stereotypical view we have albeit without the cap and wreath of garlic. But who are we to judge a country by its arrogance, when in England if someone begins talking to us in another language we generally respond with a look of utter confusion and mild disgust. Sarlat was the chosen olde worlde town of choice to visit on 'the day trip' this year, and we went on the market day. Sun dried tomatoes and superb strawberries the order of the day. Again, my memories of dragging feet and being bored out of mind seem to be totally inaccurate - perhaps if I spent more time looking up at the architecture instead of looking down at the cobbled street I would have had more fun?
A week goes very fast in a place like the Dordogne. There is so much to do you feel almost like you are fighting time as much as fighting the heat. One of the more enjoyable experiences was a lunch sat in the blistering mid-day sun, with a futile attempt at engineering some shade. I do love being an English tourist - we go on holiday to find the sun and once we do, we long for the cold embrace of a wet English summer.
So, this is less a comment on France, what to do and where to do it - more a rough round-up of an average British holiday in the south of France. No doubt most people have been to France and it hasn't changed a bit. No doubt one of the reasons from the first paragraph is why you may be going again. You know what you are going to get, so the most important thing is to know who you are going with. And in this case, a family holiday would not have been complete without my family. I think I may have acquired the taste of a French holiday, the thought of it no longer makes my face contort and want to spit it out. But then again maybe its just the cheap wine talking...
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