I visited Aveyron in the south of France - here's why it's the new Provence
It might be the best picnic spot in Europe. Halfway up a French hill, gazing down into a vivid green gorge.
All around us, in the soft, warm, smoky twilight, there are floodlit chateaux, orange-tiled farmsteads, and twinkling hill-top villages.
Bats wheel and nightingales sing. The darkening sapphire sky has that unique light you only get in Provence, the glorious south of France.
Except, this is not quite Provence.
This is the wilds of south Aveyron, a hidden-away department that shares all the sunshine and loveliness of Provencal France, but not the crowds or the fame, despite being one hour from Rodez and 90 minutes from Montpellier, both with airports linked to the UK.
If you know Aveyron, it's probably because of the mighty modernist viaduct that strides across the Tarn valley near Millau, the main big town.
That that in itself tells the story of Aveyron: people know it by looking at it from a bridge, then they speed on south. And thus they miss out.
And boy, do they miss out. The morning after our picnic, my daughter and I head down from our rented apartment in our winsome village, Compeyre, to the idyllic river Tarn, five minutes' drive away.
We want to go kayaking (we could also go hiking, climbing, paragliding, canoeing, this is adventure sport heaven).
It's late July, we haven't booked, we are expecting crowds. There are none. The kayak renting guy smiles affably and says: 'Sure, here are the kayaks, take your pick'.
We are bussed up the valley to a pretty river beach, and there we set off, negotiating gentle rapids, shooting through narrows, gazing in awe at golden canyon walls.
All the way down there are little parties of locals, swimming and paddling in the shallows, drinking wine and beers – the bottles cooled in dappled backwaters. Happy kids zipwire overhead, yelling 'Bonjour!'
It's like a Gallic Garden of Eden. The only foreigners seem to be us.
But southern Aveyron is not just pretty villages and family fun. There is fabulous history – check the medieval Templar citadel of Saint Eulalie de Cernon, lost in its dreamy green valley.
Also visit the eerie limestone plateaux, known as the Causses - for multiple megalithic monuments.
Millau itself is an alluring French town, stretched languidly along the Tarn, full of riverside cafes and sun-splashed squares.
On our last night, we opt for another picnic - they are so delightful.
As we are packing our basket with fruit, charcuterie and baguettes, our landlord Pascal comes by to see if we're OK. I tell him we're more-than-OK.
Then I ask him, 'How come no one comes here?' He smiles, like I have unearthed a secret.
'Well, Parisians are starting to buy second homes. Provence is too hot and busy now; it's cooler up here. By the way, have you tried the Roquefort?'
I assure him we have indeed tried the lovely, local Roquefort cheese.
And then we head out with our picnic-basket: into the evening, and the nightingales, and the vineyards under the stars.
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