In the midst of a summer washout, the mind naturally wanders to warmer evenings abroad. My previous trip before Covid took me to Bergerac in the charming region of south-west France, and the memories from that trip helped me get through the dark days of lockdown. Now, living in rural south Norfolk, I find that recreating a French holiday is surprisingly achievable. We have access to locally produced food, hot-air balloon rides, and even flea markets known as brocantes. Some have compared Sussex to Provence, so it’s safe to say that the Waveney Valley in Norfolk could be the new Dordogne. Instead of dealing with long queues at Dover, everything one needs can be found right on their doorstep.
Embarking on my endeavor to create a French experience, my first destination is Flint vineyard in Earsham. Unlike the historic wineries of south-west France, Flint has only been in operation since 2016. In that short time, it has gained a reputation for producing exceptional English wines. However, can it truly compete with its French counterparts? The founder, Ben Witchell, pours a glass of their 2022 Charmat Rosé and explains that French and English wines cannot be compared because “we don’t have any rules here.” With previous experience working in Beaujolais, Witchell knows what he’s talking about. Wine tasting in the morning truly feels très Francais. Dan Kirby from Flint remarks, “It honestly doesn’t feel like you are in Norfolk sometimes,” as we stroll through the vineyard, taking in the abundant crop of grapes thanks to a hot summer in 2022. Let’s hope the sun makes a return so next year’s harvest won’t disappoint.
Continuing my journey, I cross over into Suffolk and arrive in the market town of Bungay, which possesses a quiet charm reminiscent of picturesque French villages. At Earsham Street Deli, one can find baguettes and locally sourced delicacies, including charcuterie from Marsh Pig and Fen Farm’s award-winning brie de Meaux, Baron Bigod. Michelle Steele, the owner of the deli, draws much inspiration from French cheese shops and bakeries. “We are very chic here,” she declares. “Very laid-back. It is a mini south of France – except for the weather.”
Although it’s not market day, I decide to visit a traditional greengrocer. When asked if she feels like she’s living the French dream, shopkeeper Nicola Milne-Malone responds, “No! But I do vacation in Italy and Greece.” The general consensus seems to be that Bungay can give off Dordogne vibes when the sun shines and the streets are bustling with locals and tourists. However, at the moment, it feels like a disappointing English summer. I sit down with a café au lait, contemplating life’s big questions until an English dustbin lorry rudely interrupts the moment. To lift my spirits, I visit a boutique and purchase locally made soap and a bag as souvenirs.
Unable to explore a grand chateau or marvel at cave art, I make do with Bungay Castle. Built by the Normans in 1165 (bonjour!), the ruins can be found in a pleasant park within the town. Unfortunately, the castle is closed for urgent repairs, so I can only admire it from behind festively adorned gates. Several locals share with me a more intriguing piece of history, involving a 16th-century black dog known as Black Shuck, who supposedly ran into Bungay church and caused harm to several individuals. A festival takes place to commemorate this legend shortly after my visit. All the references to canines in the area suddenly make sense to me, as previously, they seemed puzzling.
In search of a Dordogne ambiance, I head to the River Waveney, which straddles the county border. My husband, Will, joins me as we embark on a canoeing adventure borrowed from Three Rivers near Beccles. The whole experience takes me back to my childhood Eurocamp trips, with fellow campers nodding stoically as we paddle by. In our attempt to navigate a small tributary and reach the main river, we unexpectedly collide with another boat, ending up in stinging nettles and nearly capsizing while trying to dock. Slightly damp, we decide to take a dip in the surprisingly warm and inviting, albeit weedy, water. Back in the canoe, we continue along the bends of the river. It may not be the Dordogne, but the overhanging willow trees, fluttering butterflies, and darting dragonflies create a truly magical atmosphere. If only I weren’t so chilly.
What screams “French holiday” more than taking a selfie in a field of vibrant sunflowers? Frogs Farm near Eye in Suffolk offers just that, with a sunflower maze and workshops on making flower crowns. Bekkie Hatwell, one of the site’s managers, tells me about their Friday night soirees, where the sun sets behind the sunflowers, painting the East Anglian skies with breathtaking colors. “That’s your French holiday right there,” she chuckles, seeking shelter from the wind. While there aren’t countless sunflowers in bloom, there are enough for photographs of small children gleefully hidden among them. Yet, the abundance of such pictures leaves me feeling like a mediocre influencer.
No trip across the pond is complete without indulging in bistro culture. Unfortunately, my budget doesn’t allow for dining at the only authentic French restaurant in the area. Instead, I settle for some French-inspired fare at a local pub in Norfolk. I should have stuck with bread and cheese. My steak frites is disappointingly soggy and accompanied by a sad fried egg, while the French red wine I chose is far from impressive. After a day of attempting to recreate a holiday experience at home, I find myself frankly exhausted and craving a real vacation. Nevertheless, I do believe there is something Dordogne-esque about this tranquil corner of East Anglia. I consider myself lucky to have discovered it and to call it my own, regardless of the weather.
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