A delightful trip round the garden of Europe

THIS year I did something I always said I’d never do – I went camping.

Not in soggy Scotland, but in France where the weather should have been warmer and drier. For the most part, it was.

I wouldn’t say that I’m a convert to life under canvas, but it was more enjoyable than I imagined and it had the added benefit of bringing me within sniffing distance of the wild flowers that cover the country.

From the poppies swaying in the field margins around the Somme, to the tiny wild scabious growing by the roadsides in the Pyrenees, France was covered in them.

“I like France, it looks shaggy,” said my seven-yearold as he gazed out over a field near Bordeaux that had been planted with native species to help support the population of black bees.

But it wasn’t just the wild flowers that were flourishing. In the beautiful medieval town of Vendome, we came across public spaces and private gardens that were astonishing in their beauty.

In the grounds of the Abbey, pears and apples grew on espaliers and in one park we discovered an elegant multistorey insect habitat, fashioned from twigs and hollow stems, and capped with a slate roof. If there were classifications for bee hotels, then this one had five stars. (It’s no coincidence the town gives its name to Place Vendome, home of the Ritz in Paris.)

From intricately clipped topiary that stood sentinel at front doors, to sumptuous vegetable plots with rich harvests of beans and onions, every inch of this town was gardened.

But none of this was evident from the road that skirted its eastern flank and if we hadn’t pulled off here to find our campsite we’d have seen none of its horticultural sights.

As we headed south west the countryside grew lusher and we had plenty of time to admire the views.

Here, and in the Pyrenees, the storms that blow in from the Bay of Biscay ensure the countryside stays green even in the height of summer.

The mountain slopes were covered with beech and oak trees and red kites wheeled overhead in astonishing displays of aerobatics.

Everywhere we looked the balconies of the chalet-style houses were covered in trailing pelargoniums and the meadows were studded with orchids and asphodels.

For the hikers on the pilgrim route to Santiago de Compostela, these little floral gems must raise their spirits as they slog up the steep slopes.

We enjoyed them at our campsite on the side of a hill that overlooked a valley of little hay fields, and outwards towards a range of impressive mountains.

The view was less impressive at 3am when we were forced to abandon our tent during a thunderstorm of Hollywoodstyle proportions, but in the morning when everything was fresh and green despite the temperatures, we could see why this area is known as the flower garden of Europe.