23-05-2025
Provence's cool new hiking retreat (with wine at its heart)
'I never thought I liked rosé,' says nice Ian from North Yorkshire. 'I never thought I liked hiking,' adds Louise, who lives in the Cotswolds. 'And I never knew I was so unfit,' I puff, coming up behind them, desperately trying to get my breath back. If some form of transformation is what sets a retreat apart from a holiday, this break in a little-visited corner of southeast France is doing the trick for us all.
Provençal Adventures is a new operator set up by the thirtysomething Londoner Rémi Dubois to showcase the mountainous area he grew to love when visiting grandparents here as a child. His converted farmhouse is near the hill village of Seillans, in a rural part of eastern Provence that feels a million miles (though it's barely 50km) from the glitz of St Tropez and the red carpets of Cannes.
The self-improvement element of his retreat comes in the form of gnarly hikes in the mountains to challenge desk-bound bodies, with generous amounts of organic local food and wine as fuel for these exertions.
Oh yes, there is wine. This is not one of those retreats that makes a virtue of excluding caffeine, sugar, alcohol and animal products. There's good strong coffee in the mornings, and proper French desserts made with sugar, chocolate, eggs and cream by our in-house chef, Aidan.
The farmhouse is 600m above sea level, with glorious views down to the coast, and while spring evenings are chilly, I can see that later in the season the sunny south-facing terrace — with swimming pool — will be a gorgeous place to return to each day. The altitude means nights are cool enough to sleep without air con, windows open onto the deep silence of rural France and mornings are filled with loud birdsong.
There are six of us on this inaugural retreat, all reasonably active if not in the first flush of youth. Dubois sets the bar high with the first hike, a six-hour round trip up 1,715m Lachens mountain, with almost a kilometre of altitude gain over the walk. I have a bit of a shock initially because although I've done lots of long-distance trekking in the past, my cardio fitness is not what it was after a miserable asthmatic winter. I find the three-and-a-half-hour slog to the summit a struggle.
But if this is all about improvement, who stands to benefit most from a strenuous workout in this gloriously clean air? Me or those in the group who skip unconcerned up the slopes? With Dubois' patient encouragement and distracting chat I make the summit and collapse on a rock to eat my packed lunch and gaze at a panorama that stretches to the Mercantour massif, 100km away in the northeast. Several vultures are circling but they won't have me. Not this time.
On the way down I find my inner mountain goat and redeem myself by being reasonably confident on steep paths and stretches of loose stones.
The next, very different, hike takes us south to the Gorges du Blavet, a series of canyons carved in the iron-rich volcanic rock by the Blavet river. Different terrain, different challenges: tricky rocks and stream crossings require nerves and balance rather than lung power, and I am relieved not to disgrace myself. Years of Pilates are paying off, though walking poles and good boots also make a difference.
On the last hike I am still slow but not as pitiable as on the first day. And the route is the most spectacular, up the south face of Bauroux mountain to the ruins of Vieux-Séranon village. Until the 14th century, life at lower levels was too precarious, as waves of invaders marched up from the coast, so people lived here at 1,200m above sea level. Crumbling walls, a castle and other buildings tell of harsh medieval lives. 'Retreat!' would have been a very different proposition back then.
Over the Bauroux ridge the views open up magnificently — Lachens, the mountain I'd slogged up three days ago, to my left, then the Préalpes d'Azur and, away to the east, the still snowcapped high Alps. On March 2, 1815, Napoleon Bonaparte also came this way: after escaping from Elba and landing near Antibes, he spent a night in Séranon, though accounts say he didn't get much sleep.
In between hikes we explore the hill villages. We hit the largest, Fayence, on market day and I'm impressed to see old men sitting with glasses of rosé at 9.30am at the café in Place St Jean Baptiste. A marché des producteurs (farmers' market) in the old town hall is even more impressive, with greens of all kinds, bunches of turnips, onions, herbs and young broad beans displayed like exotic blooms and smelling as if they've been picked that morning. The restaurant Le France, where we have dinner one night, uses the best of that produce in inventive dishes such as a risotto with peas and those tiny beans (mains from £23;
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The highest village, at 814m, is Mons, which has fewer than 900 inhabitants, mountain views from Place St Sébastien and wrought-iron signs on ancient houses depicting the trade of former inhabitants — blacksmith, tailor, barber. Here the old Provençal dialect is heard in the shops and visible on street signs, the Provençal name — carrièro rather than rue, plaça rather than place — coming first, with the French version below.
Mons's unpretentious Auberge Provençale doesn't make innovative dishes from local produce; it just does what it has always done, brilliantly. Perfect iterations of the best traditional recipes — goat's cheese salad, confit rabbit, braised pork, crème caramel — are served on a spectacular wraparound balcony, with views stretching 50km to the coast (two-course set lunch £14).
The best meals, however, are those cooked at the villa by Aidan. After homemade nibbles on the terrace — different each day — we tuck into dishes from a super-tasty blanquette de veau via melting slow-cooked lamb to my favourite, a spicy tagine of chicken with merguez sausages.
The wines with dinner come mostly from Val d'Iris, an organic vineyard a few miles down the valley, and it's on a tour with the charismatic owner, Anne Silberzahn, that Ian, a confirmed red wine and beef man, has his rosé epiphany and buys several bottles to take home.
A lot of wine country is a monument to monoculture, straight rows of vines covering hillsides like so much green corduroy, but Val d'Iris is a more harmonious mix, fields of vines punctuated by rows of trees, orchards and banks of wildflowers. As well as looking pretty, Silberzahn says this helps with biodiversity, a balance of insects and plants removing the need for any pesticides. They also keep a flock of sheep to fertilise the vineyards, choosing a small breed that can squeeze under the vine branches as they graze. Watching the cute days-old spring lambs is a bonus for us.
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We taste six wines, all top-notch. One standout is the Parcelle K merlot, which would be a brilliant partner for roast meats. But, like Ian, I am in love with the rosé. Perfect for holiday drinking — with, say, tomatoes, olives, a bit of charcuterie and perhaps an orange-fleshed melon — it's fresh, lively and vibrant. And after five days of healthy exercise and top-quality nosh, that's pretty much how I Boulter was a guest of Provençal Adventures ( which has five nights' full board from £1,250pp, including transfers and activities. Fly to Nice
