Missed off the map.

Just 50km outside of Paris, on the edge of the Champagne region, lies the small citadelle of Provins. With ancient walls, beam houses, and a one of the only octagonal defencesive keeps in existence, Provins is a beautiful city with a long, and colourful history.

I discovered a picture of city walls on Pinterest and decided there and then that I must see this place. I trawled through travel guides, looking for something about the area. Rough Guides, Lonely Planet, DK… All of them had no mention of this 12th century city. 

Choosing to take the lack of information as ignorance on behalf of the guides, rather than the city itself being undeserved of a review, we headed that way.

By the time we reached Provins, I was tired, and the van was sulking, showing his distain for the tight village roads and hills I had forced him through by developing a high pitched interference with the stereo that perfectly timed with my taking my foot off the clutch. 

It was too late to find a campsite, and every carpark around was full of young groups of people hanging about, attempting to fill their Friday night. 

The aire du camping cars in Provins was somewhere up near the mediavel city itself, so we headed up that way to see if we could sneak on for the evening and grab some much needed rest. 

The area, which is just outside the office du tourism, was full of French vans parked up for the evening (and by the sight of a selection of washing lines, airers, and even a courtyard dining area, possibly more than just one evening for some). 

One of the fantastic things about having a ‘petit camping car’ is the ability to just tuck into a corner and keep out of the way. Essentially, we can go anywhere without any worries, and if we’re off early enough in the morning, most people seemingly do not care where we stay. 

Parking up, I pulled out the bed, downed a cold cider, and crashed out for the evening, with no real idea where I was except for an undisclosed location somewhere near Provins. 

The next morning, after some much needed sleep, I opened the door to find that the Aire on the edge of the city was no understatement. The area was cast in the shadow of the old citadelle wall, and just a minute walks away was the city gate, still in perfect condition. 

A quick wander down into the town, on the hunt for some fresh bread, revealed some of the most beautiful architecture, quaint shops built into the 12th and 13th century buildings, and a looming church that looked out over the region. 

I don’t believe in love at first sight, with humans at least, however stepping just the other side of the city gate, I knew I was going to love this place. Although full of small restaurants, and big advertisements for the Fete de la Moussins (taking place on that Sunday) it is not a tourist hotspot. It is a working city, surrounded by untouched history, and untold stories, that is worthy of any travel guide. 

We decided that we couldn’t afford to miss this place, and with the sun shining, and the annual fete taking place on the Sunday, we decided to find a campsite, set up pitch, and spend a couple of days exploring the area. 

Camping Fontaine Riant is a basic site, situated just a couple of kilometres outside of the city, and alright for a couple of cheap nights.

Sunday was the city’s Harvest Festival, and a walk back up to the top of the old town presented us with renaissance market stalls, selling everything from local bread to wooden fruit bowls, along with throngs of people heading towards the centre. Following suit, we were greeted by a tractor parade. 

Never have I seen so many tractors in one place. Every local and their daughter had one, as they proudly drove them (and for some, nearly crashed them into bystanders) through the town, back and forth. 

The lower part of the city, which is home to a 12th century octagonal keep, and a church that was half finished due to two sides of the city arguing over what the design should be (resulting in a third roman, third gothic, third left-to-be-determined interior) was also the base for a classic car parade, with beautiful French classics lining the stunning college square. 

The festival was, in a few places, a little random, but lovely non-the-less, and the locals (of which seemed to make up most visitors) looked like they were thoroughly enjoying themselves! 

For the life of me, I do not understand why the travel guides and writers have ignored this untouched gem for so long. And if you are passing by, visit. You will not be disappointed.