‘My steak frites is soggy’: how I holidayed in the Dordogne – without leaving East Anglia

In the midst of the summer washout, thoughts inevitably turn to warmer evenings abroad. My last trip away pre-Covid was to Bergerac in south-west France, and memories of it kept me going through many a dark day of lockdown. I have since moved to rural south Norfolk, where recreating a French holiday actually feels very achievable: we have locally produced food, hot-air balloons and brocantes (flea markets). Sussex has been compared to Provence, so surely the Waveney Valley is the new Dordogne. Why bother with queues at Dover when everything you need is on the doorstep?

Visit a vineyard for a spot of mid-morning wine tasting

My first stop is Flint vineyard in Earsham. Unlike some of the more historic wineries in the south-west of France, Flint has been going since just 2016. In that time it has built up a reputation for producing excellent English wines – but is it any match for its French rivals? The founder, Ben Witchell, pours out their 2022 Charmat Rosé while explaining that French and English wines are incomparable – “we don’t have any rules here”, he says. He should know: he worked in Beaujolais before setting up the vineyard in (normally) sunny East Anglia. Wine tasting shortly after breakfast feels très Francais. “It honestly doesn’t feel like you are in Norfolk sometimes,” says Flint’s Dan Kirby as we inspect the vines, a bumper crop thanks to 2022’s hot summer. Here’s hoping the sun makes a reappearance so next year’s grapes aren’t a disappointment.

Hit the town in search of local produce

Crossing over into Suffolk, I head to the market town of Bungay, which has a quiet charm to rival any picturesque French village. Earsham Street Deli stocks baguettes and plenty of locally sourced goodies, such as charcuterie from Marsh Pig and Fen Farm’s award-winning take on a brie de Meaux, Baron Bigod. The deli’s owner, Michelle Steele, says she gained much inspiration from French fromageries and boulangeries. “We are very chic here,” she says of the area. “Very laid-back. We are into simple things. It is a mini south of France – other than the weather.”

It isn’t market day so I visit a traditional-style greengrocer. Does the shopkeeper, Nicola Milne-Malone, feel as if she is living the French dream? “No! But I holiday in Italy and Greece,” she says. The general consensus seems to be that Bungay can feel like the Dordogne when the sun is shining and the streets are full of locals and holidaymakers, but right now it just feels like a disappointing summer in England. I sip on a cafe au lait contemplating life’s big questions until a very English dustbin lorry drives past and ruins the moment. To cheer myself up, I pop into a boutique and buy a Norfolk-made soap and a bag as souvenirs.

Soak up some history and culture

Unable to visit a chateau or gaze at cave art, I have to make do with Bungay Castle. It was built by the Normans (bonjour!) in 1165 and the ruins can be found in a pleasant park in town. Unfortunately it is closed for urgent repairs, so I have to admire it from behind bunting-adorned gates. Several locals fill me in on some slightly more intriguing history, that of a 16th-century black dog (AKA Black Shuck) who allegedly ran into Bungay church and killed several people. A festival takes place to commemorate the legend days after I visit. This explains all the references to canines (Black Dog Running Club, for one), which previously made no sense to me.

Have a paddle on the river

The River Waveney straddles the county border and there seems no better place to go in search of Dordogne vibes. My husband, Will, comes to help with rowing duties and we borrow a canoe from Three Rivers near Beccles, which is straight out of the Eurocamp trips of my childhood, with campers nodding stoically as we paddle by. Traversing a small tributary towards the main river, we immediately collide with another boat and end up in some stinging nettles, then practically capsize trying to moor up. Slightly soggy, there is nothing for it but to have a dip: the water is surprisingly warm and inviting, if weedy. Back in the vessel, we progress further along the river’s bends. The Dordogne it is not, but the overhanging willows, butterflies and dragonflies are all quite magical. If only I wasn’t so cold.

Flounce about in a sunflower field

What says “French holiday” more than a selfie in a field of golden blooms? Frogs Farm near Eye in Suffolk has a sunflower maze and offers flower crown-making workshops and more. Bekkie Hatwell, who helps manage the site, tells me about the Friday night soirees they host where the sun sets in the big East Anglian skies behind the sunflowers. “That’s your French holiday right there,” she laughs, as she shelters from the wind. There are enough flowers open to photograph small children popping up among them, but the ubiquity of such pictures makes me feel a bit like a low-grade influencer.

Go out for a French

A key component of any trip across the pond is bistro culture. My budget won’t stretch to the only authentic restaurant in the area, so I have to settle for some French-ish fare in a pub back in Norfolk. I should have stuck to bread and cheese. My steak frites is soggy and comes with a sad fried egg; the French red I opt for is decidedly plonky. After a day of trying to recreate a holiday at home, I am frankly exhausted and in need of a holiday. But I do think there is something Dordogne-esque about this sleepy corner of East Anglia. I feel lucky to have found it and to call it mine – whatever the weather.