Rent a French farmhouse for relaxing family fun

Corneel, left, and Claartje Casert pose with their mother Reine in front of the Abbey Church of Ste. Foy in Conques, southern France

In this story: Home away from home Stressful side trip Playing the market Fairy-tale castles Meeting the neighbors Away from it all RELATED STORIES, SITES

By Raf Casert
Associated Press Writer

SAINT MAURICE d'IBIE, France (AP) -- This year, happiness was found in a string of shallow pools in a rocky riverbed in the South of France.

As soon as my son, Corneel, spotted the steady stream of water connecting the different basins in the Ibie River, he launched his major holiday project.

"I'll be the best dam builder in the world," he shouted, exuding all the enthusiasm a 5-year old can muster. "Barring the beavers of course."

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His sister, Claartje, was already up to her neck in the refreshing water of her very own private swimming pool, shared only with myriad tiny fish.

The parents even found time to read for long stretches in the privacy of a spectacular gorge which echoed no more sound than that of thousands of crickets chirping away a lazy afternoon.

The smell of wild thyme and rosemary wafted in the afternoon heat. Soon Dad was teaching the kids how to skim flat stones on the water. Mom was taking them into the fragrant "garrigue" shrubbery, looking for -- and finding -- multicolored daffodils.

The rented house, part of a centuries-old hamlet close to the Ardeche River, was just a few miles down the winding road.

The medieval town of Vogue in the Ardeche region of France

It was family vacationing at its best in "La douce France," keeping kids and parents alike in a blissful mood.

Taking children on a vacation can be trying, with the age-old question, "Are we there yet?" from the kids and, "How much did you say this costs?" from the parents.

We have found rented houses, most often converted farms in the countryside, to be as relaxing as hotels can be perplexing.

They give you the freedom to create a home away from home. Kids are never confined to the four walls of a bedroom, nor to a restaurant table with snobbish patrons looking down their noses at them. No dress code, no time limits, and no imposition of forced silence at any time.

"Gites," as summer rentals are called, are found all around small villages and the vast vineyards and sunflower fields in France.

Even if one picks one of the more upscale houses for rent, families often come out ahead financially, what with home cooking and drinks from the fridge instead of the hotel bar and restaurant.

All days are planned at your own pace, without a worry about what time the hotel serves its meals.

One evening, following a long and tiring side trip down into the Provence and Languedoc-Roussillon regions in the Southwest, we were in a cozy family hotel in Entraygues and Claartje was demanding to be fed. Now. At 6 p.m., she learned French ways the hard way. It would be another two hours before dinner was served.

Locals re-enact medieval scenes in the town of Cordes. Such events captivate kids and parents alike during lazy summer afternoons

To help them forget their growling tummies, we took the kids on an impromptu tour of the medieval center on the Aveyron River. After they were bribed with ceramic statuettes and ice cream, dinnertime finally arrived. Alas, the hotel dining room looked intimidatingly stuffy compared to the informal guest rooms.

Teaching kids restaurant etiquette is never easy. The trout from the river may have been superb, but when Corneel started making his way through the diners, friendly as they were, toward the balcony overlooking the wild and swollen Aveyron, the evening became an exercise in damage control.

The next morning, breakfast at the hotel was skipped and when we returned to the old farmhouse in the afternoon, the relief was overwhelming.

A rented farmhouse also provides opportunity to explore rural France and a way of life that seems to move not by the hands of a watch but merely by the glories of the rising and setting sun.

Often our kids start their days watching lizards, following the slithering creatures as they make their way along the natural stone facades and out of the early sunshine.

Then comes a trip to the bakery, where villagers exchange gossip, observe the rare tourists, and get their "couronnes" and "flutes" for the day. We sniff the scents a wood oven can yield and the kids carry the early harvest home for breakfast on the patio.

In our holiday ritual, we usually reserve the morning for markets. Check any of the local tourist offices and you'll have a list which can keep you busy from Sunday till Sunday.

Markets vary widely.

Kayakers make their way down the Gorge de la Beaume near Saint Maurice d'Ibie, France

They can creak under the weight of tourists, and at some markets in the Ardeche, a wide variety of African drums and Dutch-inscribed terra-cotta can push local delicacies into oblivion.

True farmers' markets come no better than in the bastide towns of the Southwest, fortified villages snugly woven around a central market square which offered protection during the Hundred Years' War.

Clutching small wicker baskets, the kids can run from stall to stall almost at will, often met by ruddy-cheeked shop keepers who offer a taste of their homemade honey or foie gras.

Their southern twang, when "pain" becomes "peng" and "vin" "veng," only adds to the color.

Soon bags are laden with aubergines (eggplant), courgettes (zucchini), plum tomatoes and peppers, a perfect mix for a ratatouille to accompany the evening barbecue.

The kids' baskets usually hold the raspberries, peaches and cherries, and sometimes we have to go back for a second helping before the market closes.

When the duck's breasts look more like something from a turkey, a piece of local lore is served: "Obviously monsieur, that is because the ducks here play rugby," one farmer says, referring to the favorite pastime of the Southwest.

These bastide villages invariably have Gothic or Romanesque churches, one of the great attractions of southern France. Medieval castles evoking fairy tales are scattered across the region. One of our favorites is one we found in Bonaguil three years ago.

In the fortified hilltop town of Cordes, make-believe comes alive. Locals re-enact medieval scenes, sometimes including sword fights, to the delight of the kids.

Claartje Casert, right, and her brother Corneel, stroll through the sunflower fields of Castelnau-de-Montmirail

One way to keep the kids hopping along to yet another church is the promise to let them light a candle for the local saint once inside.

They can make a secret wish, and you can only hope it doesn't come down to, "I want another ice cream."

By which time, a lunch of local cheese, tomatoes and crusty hard bread is around the corner.

The midday torpor is ideal to sit around the farmhouse and let the kids explore the surroundings or play with neighboring kids.

Closer to "home" in the Ardeche region are the medieval towns of Vogue, Balazuc, Largentiere and Joyeuse.

One of the most popular activities -- though our kids are not quite old enough yet -- is to shoot down the Ardeche Gorges by canoe or kayak. After Pont d'Arc, a natural arch which is 180 feet (60 meters) high, the river flows through deep gorges such as Gorge de la Beaume, some flanked by cliffs up to 900 feet (300 meters) high.

Last year, an elderly farmer named Jannot who lived next door took a liking to them, and often took them to an old plum tree which would later yield the essence for his brandy.

Claartje and Corneel could pick any plum they liked, Jannot would check it for worms, and since worms only pick the finest fruit, he would peel the sugary flesh around and offer the golden delicacy to the kids.

It became an almost daily ritual and soon Jannot would take them around the whole farm, teaching them about his rabbits and hunting dogs, and taking them out into his vineyards looking for the imprints of wild boar.

His wife, Arlette, would offer us the dried saucisson (sausage) she made over the winter and together they shared their wine and opinions.

For kids and parents alike, such memories are rarely culled when vacationing in hotels. Back at the farmhouse, the kids could be surprised by a fox chasing a hare through the vines. After a sudden summer shower, they were flabbergasted by the riot of wine snails which magically appeared from the hard, seemingly impregnable soil.

The ensuing snail hunt briefly raised our hopes to experiment with some escargot dishes. But when locals explained the weeks of special diet the hapless creatures had to go through to clear their entrails, we settled for the kids' favorite -- a snail race.

When we were there for the grape picking season in late summer, Jannot took the kids high on his tractor and off they went along the golden rows for a prolonged tasting, if not picking, session.

Come early evening, it is time for young and old to go foraging for dry wood. It is an ideal time for family bonding as all wander around the woods and the kids fill a crate with dry branches, giving them a palpable imput in that most brilliant of closing ceremonies -- dinner.

Soon the barbecue fire is raging, as do the stories. While we try out the local sparkling wines, Corneel and Claartje go for kiddy champagne, a widely available fizzy apple juice that is just as festive.

Apart from a few essential rules, dinner on the porch in the countryside has no etiquette, and the laughter, banter, and occasional fights between children drift aimlessly into the valleys. No maitre d' to strike you with an angry eye.

When the sun set after dinner, our kids, when they were younger, would refuse to go to sleep.

We'd pack them in the car, and weave our way slowly through the sunflower fields, lulling them gently until they fell into a deep sleep.

Once back at the farm, they would be tucked in bed, and it would be time to finish a bottle on the porch, reminisce on another day under the sun, safe in the knowledge the kids were just beyond the shutters.

Away from the bright city lights amid the vast fields, the nights seem darker and the stars glow brighter and only the crickets' buzz breaks the silence of this holiday happiness.

Copyright 2000 The Associated Press. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten, or redistributed.

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