France is one of my absolute favourite places in the world. Visiting France as a child is what sparked my interest in travelling and exploring other cultures.
Some of my earliest memories are sitting around outside eating with my extended family. Endless evenings with perfect weather, barbecues and all of the adults drinking too much. Those early childhood holidays really were magical.
Developing a love for baguettes back in 1990
Learning to row in the Auvergne in 1997
Family get-togethers in 1993
…and 2013
Every summer we would pack up our caravan, drive to Dover or Portsmouth, cross the channel on a ferry and set out on a summer adventure. We had so much fun.
Cycling along mountain passes near Alp du’Huez, floating down the Dorgodogne in decidedly wobbly inflatable boats, racing against the rapidly turning tide to escape Ratty island* in the Pays de la Loire. That’s without mentioning my horrifically bad karaoke renditions of Lou Bega’s Mambo No.5.
One summer when Dad wasn’t working we even got to spend six weeks meandering around France with no set plan. We made it all the way down to the Auvergne and spent a few weeks on a lake where I learned how to row and swim longer distances. Oh, and this was the trip where I infamously contracted foot and mouth disease!
Hiking near Alpe d'Huez in 1994
Building sand castles in Jard-sur-Mer in 2002
In later years my family would always gravitate to a small Atlantic coast town of Jard-sur-Mer. My grandparents would set off in May, towing their caravan on a ten-week pilgrimage from South Wales to Jard-sur-Mer. Then, one-by-one different parts of the the family would travel out to join them.
They knew practically everyone on the campsite where they parked their caravan and became the heart of this yearly community, making friends from all over Europe, including an elderly French couple who were known to cultivate snails from the campsite for their dinner. We never did take up the offer to try one.
There’s nothing particularly special about Jard-sur-Mer. There are no big landmarks or spectacular scenery. It’s just a small, French coastal town that became a home-away-from home. I wouldn’t change a thing about it.
One of the last trips we took before Covid was to see our long-lost friend Audrey in Lyon
My equestrian skills haven’t improved.
*Named after the rat we saw. It’s actually Île à Bacchus
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