Disneyland Paris and Beyond

Let’s face it, France and I have a bit of a love affair going on. Building a career and raising a family meant this took a back seat for many years.

So, when our own kids were old enough, I knew it was time to share my French obsession with them. We started small, with a quick trip to Paris. We had a great time. Paris is an amazing city but it was certainly different from the sleepy, relaxed villages of Brittany that I had seen as a child.

However, I craved something more. Something real, something off the beaten path. That said it was enough to start the cogs whirring again. I wanted to show the family what I had experienced all those years ago. So, the following year, we piled into our trusty Volvo and embarked on a grand adventure: a road trip from the UK to the Dordogne region in France.

Now, let me tell you, driving 800 miles with four kids in tow is no picnic. Especially when your husband, bless his cotton socks, insists on doing all the driving. By the time we reached our overnight stop, we were 17 hours deep and things were getting a little crazy.

We’d booked a hotel online, lured by the promise of a “charming” stay. Let’s just say “charming” was a bit of a stretch. The exterior didn’t look too promising but we were tired and hungry so we checked in. The rooms were a symphony of luminous orange plastic, stale cigarette smoke, and single beds so narrow they could double as torture devices.

But hey, we were in France having a family adventure! Despite doing my best to internalise my feelings about this hotel, I had clearly terrified my 5 year old daughter who, despite there being four beds in the room, insisted on sleeping in bed with me. Finally, after watching countless episodes of “The Fairly Odd Parents” in French we fell asleep. Meanwhile in the other hotel room my Husband and older sons slept like babies, totally oblivious to the less than ideal surroundings.

The next morning, after navigating the “bathroom” (a generous term for a glorified cupboard containing a shower, sink, and toilet crammed into a space the size of a postage stamp) and devouring a traditional french breakfast of cheese burgers and fries at the local McDonald’s (don’t judge, we were Brits abroad with food allergies!) We hit the road.

Google Maps informed us that our gite was a mere four hours away. We drove on very quiet, beautifully smooth motorways, panicking every hour or so as we approached left sided tolls in our right hand drive car. The weather became warmer and the countryside more beautiful. I sat back and finally started to relax. I used this time to google the area we were heading to and to my dismay realised that all the supermarkets were closed. In France, weekends, holidays and lunchtimes are considered precious. Most businesses are closed on Sundays. Some large supermarkets open until noon, however it was two in the afternoon before we realised this.

We stopped to use the loo at a small motorway service station. We parked up expecting terrible coffee, smelly toilets and very expensive sugar filled snacks for the kids. What we found was a wonderful cafe full of beautiful cakes, delicious coffee and a pretty outdoor terrace on which to enjoy them. The French certainly have this travelling business locked down. To my surprise and relief there was also a small shop in which I managed to buy fresh bread, butter, brie and some charcuterie. That was tonight’s dinner sorted.

A four hour trip quickly turned into eight hours, thanks to a combination of wrong turns, and a healthy dose of French countryside charm. I mean who knew that there were no mobile and satellite signals in some parts of rural France?

But every detour, every wrong turn, was worth it the moment we arrived. Nestled amidst rolling hills and bathed in the golden glow of the setting sun, it was the picture of French perfection.

That week in the Dordogne was pure bliss. Over the next week we explored the area and relaxed. The weather was perfect, we ate alfresco every night and swam and sunbathed most of the day.

One morning, I woke up early and stole onto the terrace with a steaming cup of coffee. As the mist danced over the valley and the first rays of sunlight kissed the hills, I knew I’d found my happy place. Right there, in that moment, I made a silent vow to return to this magical corner of France as often as possible.

One morning we headed into town to the weekly market. After a wonderful morning of exploring the stalls and marvelling at the amazing produce on offer, we walked around the narrow streets of the town, Everything was now closed for lunch. We glanced in an estate agent window and could not believe the prices of the property for sale. Right there on the Castillion pavement, we began our search for a French property.

So, there you have it, our first, slightly chaotic, utterly unforgettable family French adventure. A reminder that sometimes, the best journeys are the ones that don’t go exactly according to plan. And that the most breathtaking views are often found after a few wrong turns and a whole lot of laughter (and maybe a few tears).