Part 1 of 3

Les copains d’abord

Or: how to drive 600 km, watch kites, drink wine, and solve the great Leclerc debate of our time.

➿➿ Monday ➿➿

Every good road trip needs a logic to it. Mine was, frankly, impeccable: drive north from Carcassonne toward the Alps, but first — stop at Narbonne Plage for the final day of the Natur’Ailes kite festival. Because nothing says “I am a serious adult on a purposeful journey” quite like pulling over to watch things fly.

Fate, however, had opinions. Heavy traffic on the motorway forced a scenic detour through roads less motorway-ish, and upon arrival at the beach, it turned out the wind had taken the day off. No wind. At the beach. A kite festival without wind is, philosophically speaking, just a gathering of people holding string. The big kites sulked on the ground, but the aerobatic light ones — flown by people who have clearly made peace with absurdity — performed beautifully. Full credit to them.

“A kite festival without wind is just a gathering of people holding string.”

From there: onward to Montélimar, roughly the halfway point and home to dear friends Cécile and Thierry, who also happen to be part of the gang heading to Savoie. Their welcome was, as ever, excellent. Aperitif: excellent. Dinner: excellent. Bedtime: earlier than usual, by my own rather liberal standards. A civilised evening by every metric.

➿➿ Tuesday ➿➿

Breakfast outdoors in the garden. The kind of breakfast that makes you feel the holiday has already started even though you’re still 250km from the destination. Then into the car for the final leg toward the Alps.

We arrived at the Savoie region with the gîte not yet ready for check-in — a perfectly ordinary inconvenience that led us to the perfectly extraordinary village of Chênaz, a few kilometres away, sitting next to a canal in blazing sunshine. Lunching by the water, watching the light do that thing it does in the Alps, it genuinely felt like holidays had arrived.

As the dessert appeared, so did a phone call from Patrick and Josiane: the gîte was open. We joined them minutes later to find — a small paradise. Canal-side. Enormous private grounds. The sort of place you immediately start texting people about while also trying to keep it secret.

The other seven arrived in small waves. Loungers were deployed. Drinks were poured. And thus began the great philosophical conversations of our age — specifically, an extended and surprisingly heated analysis of the Leclerc supermarket in Saint-Quentin-en-Yvelines.

Our group’s usual aperitif topics: cars. Then, as we age: illnesses. This year’s surprise entry: supermarkets. Specifically one Leclerc. Make of that what you will.

Cars did eventually get their moment, prompted by breaking news: Ferrari had unveiled its first electric car that very day. The response around the loungers was predictably theological — sacrilege, abomination, end of days. I offered what I thought was a measured observation: the average 15-year-old today has never heard of Ferrari and probably just thinks it looks quite nice. This was not received as measured.

Dinner was served on the canal side of the house — all pre-cooked and organised with the kind of quiet efficiency that only Cécile seems capable of deploying at scale. Wine was brought. Wine was enjoyed. A swift nightcap closed the proceedings and everyone retired to bed: tired, happy, and with settled views on at least one French supermarket chain.

Wednesday

Aix les Bains

Boat trip on the Lac du Bourget

Abbeye de Hautecombe

Thursday

Chenaz

Friday

Drive to Lyon / Beaujolais region

Meeting up with Florence

Drive to Nimes

Saturday

Les Halles de Nimes

Drive home