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The land of Do-As-You-Please

I hadn’t imagined a cat purring in my lap as I kicked back 8 metres up an oak tree in the French natural park of Le Perche. With our 6-year old tucked up in bed humming ‘wisha wisha wisha’ to herself, my husband and I had sneaked onto the terrace to road-test the local cider. Out of the darkness sprung the domaine’s resident tomcat vaulting over our balcony. He’d brought us a beheaded moving-in present.

It’s fair to say that as a family we all have a somewhat unhealthy addiction to technology. Our parenting skills are easily distracted by ‘what’s happening on Twitter’ while our kid is addicted to all things Toca Boca. Was it possible to holiday somewhere without electricity and enjoy it? It was time to hide our beloved gadgets and go ‘back-to-nature’.

Cabanes de la Grande Noë has six treehouses of varying heights and design, each carefully spaced out over a private estate, which has been in the same family for six centuries. It’s a real family affair; Agnès takes care of the treehouses, her parents Jacques and Pascale offer B&B guestrooms in their château, and Agnes’ sister, Sophie manages the 300-acre organic farm. We’d decided to take the Tarzan and Jane approach by opting for one night in the treehouse and one night in the château.

It felt liberating and terrifying in equal measure to be packed off for the night to a treehouse with only a backpack containing candles, matches and solar powered headlamps. We tentatively crept up the spiral stairs that hugged a majestic, gnarly oak tree to our simple home for the night. After a quick inspection we found: two raised beds, a separate dry toilet and little more, it was time to explore our back garden.

Wandering the dense woodland we found children and their parents wild at play; we unearthed secret dens, leaf art and handmade teepees crafted out of sticks. The often overwhelming quiet was punctuated by carefree laughter; the sense that each family was playing out or creating childhood memories, felt precious.

Exhausted and exhilarated, we retreated to our cosy candlelit treehouse for bedtime stories; we left the last word to Blyton. Armed with nothing but small talk I dragged my husband to the balcony. “Isn’t this romantic. Just the two of us, a bottle of cider and the rustling of leaves,” I remarked. To which he whispered in my ear: “Can I quickly check the football scores?”


The next morning felt too soon to be leaving our woodland retreat but the Jane in us all warmed instantly to Jacques and Pascale’s impeccably maintained 15th century château. The wall to to wall toile de jouy in our Chambre Empire was certainly a heady contrast to the rustic décor of our house in the trees, but it wasn’t long till we were all scrabbling to get online. Vive l’internet.
















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