Lost in France
I settled into a rhythm on this trip: tent-box, kayak, mountain bike and absolutely no plan.
Years ago, I used to get freaked out if I didn’t have everything neatly mapped out and organised in advance. Nowadays, though, I must admit that this style of trip is becoming more appealing. After all, if you don’t have a plan, nothing can go wrong!
I discovered that Irish Ferries were offering a special deal on their Dover–Calais crossing, so, in between two music festivals (Bredy Farm and Mucky Weekender) I saw an opportunity to squeeze in another trip and booked a ticket. Emma wasn’t having any of it, who can blame her? So I ended up doing this one solo.
My initial thought was to head down towards Dijon, as I didn’t get a chance to explore the city properly when I last visited the area with my good friend Fabrice. We stayed there overnight on our return to Brussels after our hike in the Pyrenees a couple of years ago. However, this time I overshot Dijon by a country mile, ending up in the Jura Mountains, the sub-alpine uplands that sit along the French–Swiss border.
Avoiding motorways and saving £150 in round-trip tolls, my journey took me on a slow pace and through some wonderful places:
Péronne, along the banks of the Somme, a place of strategic importance during the First World War; Langres, an impressive fortified medieval town with imposing defensive walls; Beaune, with its famous Hospices de Beaune, L’Hôtel-Dieu; the never-ending vineyards of the Bourgogne region, where I stopped numerous times for a cycle; a kayak along the Rivers Saône and Doubs, where the two rivers converge at Verdun-sur-le-Doubs.
Although I was only in the Jura mountain region for 24 hours, that short stay provided two incredible experiences. The first was the Cascades des Tufs, just up from the tiny village of Les Planches-près-Arbois. The other was a morning’s cycle in and around the stunning town of Dole, with its own “Little Venice”.
I booked campsites “on the fly”, often only hours in advance, and stayed in some lovely places, some more rustic than others. The average cost per night was around €12 to €15, so it didn’t break the bank either.
I’d be hard-pushed to choose a favourite campsite, as they all had their own distinct character, but the one I’ll remember most was my final night: an experience in itself, which I’ll write about separately.
Below are the highlights. Every day seemed to surpass the last.
PÉRONNE
My first stop was a campsite just outside the town of Péronne, along the River Somme, synonymous with the First World War. So it seemed fitting to visit a museum and explore the nearby villages and war graves.
The campsite was perfect, and provided a gorgeous sunset.
Being there reminded me of the conversations I used to have with Dave, a chap I spent the best part of a decade standing alongside, watching our respective sons play rugby. Boy, I miss those days. It feels like a different life.
Dave is incredibly knowledgeable about this region and the war period in general. So, on a whim, I gave him a call, and we spent an hour or so catching up on our respective lives.
It’s been three years since our kids stopped playing, but it seemed like only yesterday that we last spoke.
It turns out he wasn’t far from here the previous weekend, having taken a 180-mile cycle trip that passed this way.
LANGRES
This fortified medieval town is incredible. I cycled around the walls and spent much longer there than intended.
I found the place by complete accident, driving past it en route to my campsite for the night. As I passed, I noticed the huge, fortress-like walls surrounding the town and simply stopped.
The campsite I booked was only a ten-minute drive away – bonus.
BEAUNE
Beaune was an absolute gem of a find. I parked my car at the train station and cycled into town, spending a few hours taking in the sights.
It’s very French and full of history. L’Hôtel-Dieu, in the middle of town, was the highlight and somewhere I would highly recommend.
Built in 1443, the building itself hasn’t changed much over the centuries. If you were a local, needed to convalesce or required medical attention, this was the place you might have ended up.
Indeed, it only ceased being a hospital in 2006! Seriously – 2006!
VERDUN-SUR-LE-DOUBS
This was a place I spotted on the map, where the Rivers Saône and Doubs converge. So I headed there for a kayak.
My thinking was: “If anywhere is gonna have water after three months of drought, this place will.”
And it did.
Not only was the entire region parched after a summer of drought, but you could also see that these two huge rivers were many feet lower than they should have been.
THE VINEYARDS OF THE BOURGOGNE
I travelled through the Bourgogne wine region, stopping at villages, cycling through vineyards and soaking up the atmosphere.
It was here that life slowed to a snail’s pace.
Exploring the region via the A-roads and jumping on a bike for a couple of hours at each stop is a great way to take in its character.
I stopped at Nuits-Saint-Georges, Chassagne-Montrachet and Chagny. Each had its own unique charm and local winery.
It’s also an incredible place to cycle, with plenty of places to stop, grab a bite or take in the views.
I ended the day with a swim at a campsite hidden away in the middle of nowhere. The only other campers were Dutch, German and Belgian, and I had the pool to myself which was just as well, as budgie smugglers are the only swimwear permitted in France.
Not a pretty sight!
THE FOOTHILLS OF THE JURA MOUNTAINS
The temperature was hovering around 29 degrees when I pulled into the empty campsite in a quiet little village called Rathier. I’d spotted it on the map and thought it looked like an ideal location from which to explore the region.
Patricia, the owner, greeted me along with her dog, Jenna, who I discovered was poorly and due to have an operation the very next day.
Patricia couldn’t speak English, nor could I speak French, but somehow we managed to converse using the rudimentary words we both knew from each other’s languages, learned decades ago at school, along with a little help from others, in our case, Hannah, a fellow camper.
I knew the Jura Mountains were special, with limestone cliffs, caves and an abundance of waterfalls. But within ten minutes, Hannah, a lone traveller from Belgium, pointed me towards a “must-see”: the Cascades des Tufs.
She showed me its location on the map, so, with quite a hours of daylight left I decided to head off to see the waterfall for myself.
Wow. Just wow.
I parked my car in a nearby farmer’s field and cycled about a mile to the waterfall and cascades.
The emerald greens and turquoise blues were stunning and rather magical. Almost mystical. No filter needed, just nature doing its best to transport you to a dreamworld. It’s a wonder I had the place to myself. I gather that in summer it’s heaving.
I wandered up to the source of the river and then along the riverbank, where the colours didn’t appear to be real.
Despite the hot summer, dampness was everywhere. Moss clung to the trees and fungi grew all around.
On my drive back, I stopped at Arbois, which looked like an Alpine village from my ski trips. Mind you, I did drive past some compulsory snow-chain signs. After all, we weren’t far from Switzerland!
I returned to the campsite and thanked Hannah for her tip. We were the only people camping, so we ended up spending the rest of the evening chatting over a glass or three of wine.
As darkness set in, the occasional flash of lightning and rumble of thunder could be heard.
Torrential rain woke everyone at 4am, but it was the first rain anyone had seen in these parts for a while. The temperature also dropped by twenty degrees, which was something of a relief.
I’d have stayed there longer had it not been for the festival at the weekend, so the next morning I started heading back towards Blighty.
After saying goodbye to Hąnnah and her cute companion, Chódz, I headed for another of her recommendations: the picturesque town of Dole. There’s a funny story behind the name Chódz, when Hąnnah bought the dog from a Polish family she assumed this was the dogs name, when in fact Chodź actually means “come” in Polish (short for Chodź tu – Come here)… ho hum – the name stuck!
It’s wonderful when you meet someone else with the same enthusiasm for travel.
It also turns out that my parents had visited Dole a couple of decades ago. It’s also Louis Pasteur’s birthplace, so I’m glad I stopped there.
The town has its own “Little Venice”, with restaurants dotted along the riverside and canals.
LA PETITE FERME DANS LA PRAIRIE
Everywhere I stayed was fantastic, but, as I mentioned before, it’s difficult to pick one over the others. But if I were forced to highlight one place, it would be this one.
After leaving Dole, I took the non-motorway route northwards, meandering slowly through the beautiful villages and countryside of the region.
After a couple of hours, I checked Pitchup.com and found a local campsite about an hour away. I didn’t read too much about it; I just booked and set off, €15!
When I arrived, I was met by two enthusiastic dogs and the owner, Stephanie. The dogs ended up staying with me for the rest of the evening.
Stephanie was incredibly friendly and chatty, no mean feat given that I can’t speak French and her English was rusty.
But between us, we managed to communicate all the essential information, much as I had with Patricia the day before at the previous campsite.
I can understand more French than I can speak, and there are many similar Latin-based words that I can guess at or choose to use, which are understood.
It turns out that this is a permaculture homestead, a step up from organic. Stephanie and her husband are truly living the “good life” , quite literally, and very much in the spirit of the Felicity Kendal TV series.
For breakfast, she brought me a half dozen freshly laid eggs and a basket full of freshly picked vegetables.
There is no running water here, so my morning shower came from water heated via copper pipes wound around a log burner, transferred into a bucket and connected to the showerhead via a battery-powered water pump.
Now, this and the compost loos might be a show-stopper for some, but for me it was the ideal way to end the trip.
It emphasised the need to slow down, breathe and enjoy the simple things in life, and what nature can provide without the endless drive for pace and efficiency!
But the toughest drought for decades wasn’t hard to miss. At the bottom of the farm, winding along its tree-lined boundary, there should be a free-flowing river, 25 feet wide and over 6 feet deep. It wasn’t there this year. Just a bone-dry riverbed, the old mill sitting on the farm looked out of place. This region has been hard hit.
The flock of ducks that Stephanie usually has wandering around the place (to keep the slugs and snails at bay) had flown to pastures new, hopefully only for the short term.
The river will almost certainly return over the winter months, but it’s a worrying sign of the times.
On a positive note, the morning brought more sensible temperatures: mid-twenties rather than the thirties of a day or two before.
And while the sun was shining again, it allowed me to dry the roof tent nicely before folding it away.
The journey to Calais was uneventful but fast, allowing me to catch the earlier sailing to Dover and return home at a reasonable hour.
So, all in all, it was an amazing little trip, exploring a few bits of France that I hadn’t previously seen. That’s quite surprising, really, as I’ve been to almost every corner of the country over the years, visiting France more than any other country on Earth.
This was designed as a short “taster” trip. Emma calls them “reconnaissance missions”, and we’re definitely coming back!
So until then – à bientôt, la France 🇫🇷.
Hints and Tips – to follow (when I have written them).