Now in our mid to late 20s, my sister and I have maintained a childlike eagerness to partake in our parents’ annual holiday. It’s easier on the ol’ purse strings for one, but also, of course, that ever important family bonding. Europe tends to be our destination of choice, to save my family of over six-footers from extended exposure to knee-crushing aeroplane seats. With Spanish sandy beaches and the bottoms of bowls of Italian pasta being our usual haunts, it was a step in an ever-so-slightly different direction for us to descend upon rural France. The trip started as many will: an embarrassing reliance on Google maps, the stressful manoeuvring of unknown roads, and a smattering of familial bickering. After passing expansive golden fields and a few hauntingly desolate churches, we approached our farmhouse in Chélan in the late afternoon. It did, admittedly, take a few laps of the neighbouring houses to locate our subtle gateway in the trees. We passed the same eerie statue of Jesus emerging from a sinister-looking churchyard at least three times, conjuring horror film vibes that I wasn’t quite prepared for on a relaxing holiday. So unusual was the buzz of a passing car that a surprised villager poked her head out of her door to peer at us. Having finally found our destination, we were greeted with a charming home, complete with eggshell blue window shutters, heavy wooden doors, and an antique hanging bell. Surrounded by humming greenery, with the sun beating down on a pebbled walkway, the farmhouse reminisced a simpler time, and I imagined myself far away from the demanding modern world. This peaceful feeling quickly dissolved at the irritating ping of my iPhone. After a few days of country living, it became clear that this would not be a holiday of constant exploration and immersion. We found ourselves isolated, any signs of civilisation at least a thirty-minute drive away. At night, were you to brave the mosquitoes and peek out of the door, you’d be greeted by a thick wall of darkness, intensified by the unnerving scuffling of invisible wildlife. This, however, gave us plenty of opportunity to burrow away with a glass of burgundy wine and a platter of pungent cheese. During the days, we braved the winding country roads and tested our broken French on unsuspecting locals. In Marciac, we caught the annual jazz festival, fanning ourselves in the smothering heat under a huge marquee as a trumpet player trilled out his sassy solo. In Saint-Jean-Poutge, we were treated to a personal tour of a local vineyard, where we sampled sweet wine and I snapped an unoriginal sunflower field selfie, adding to the many millions on Instagram. We imbibed our fair share of Armagnac, observed the buzz of Lourdes, and marvelled at the view from the Pic du Midi. A few distasteful jokes were also quipped as we passed through the fetchingly named town Condom. When searching for a place to eat in Chélan, we found ourselves at a loss. Constantly too late or too early, our schedule didn’t seem to match up to rural French living. By chance, we stumbled across a small liquor shop, with a few intimate tables set up inside, where we paused for much needed nourishment (in the form of more delicious wine). To my surprise, my unassuming dad struck up a conversation with the owner. Soon, we were directed outside to a cobbled passageway beside the shop, decorated with quaint twinkling lights. In a courtyard sheltered under a wooden roof we found a friendly gathering of locals perched around long tables, tasting house bubbly and tucking into burgers. We were welcomed warmly into the fold, as villagers tried out their English, which was superior to any grasp of French that we had. Confused hilarity ensued as my mum somehow managed to communicate that my sister will be alone forever. We left the get-together feeling like we’d been briefly part of a small, content community. Later, when clacking mercilessly away on my keyboard in a London office, I imagined the wine and conversation still flowing under those wooden beams, new nervous travellers wandering in and being part of that world for just a moment.