Fifty shades of green

On a recent visit to the French Ardennes, a region of rolling landscapes and wooded hills north east of Champagne, it struck me as being more populated by cows, chewing gently in fields, than people. Tourists tend to be Dutch, Belgian and, of course, French although last year visitor figures for us Brits were up. And this year the northern part, to the north-west of its capital Charleville-Mézières, became France’s newest — and largest — regional national park.

Aware that Paris and the South of France hog much of the touristic attention, I took a friend along to explore this peaceful corner of the country. It’s easily reached from Paris. Once off Euro-star the TGV from Gard de l’Est speeds you the 90 minutes to the serene town of Charleville-Mézières, the start of the recently completed Trans Ardennes Greenaway, a 50-mile route along the River Meuse to Given on the Belgian border.

In truth, two towns separated by the meandering Meuse, Charleville and Mézières, merged administratively in 1966. Most attention falls on younger Charleville, begun in 1606, although Mézières, a 15-minute walk across the river, reveals its medieval origins in the 15th-century Notre Dame d’Espérance, with its stained-glass windows by friend of Picasso, René Dürrback.

One of the main pulls for visitors to Charleville-Mézières is the Festival Mondial des Theatres de Marionettes, or Puppet Festival. The main one is held every two years but tomorrow an estimated 150,000 visitors will flood in for this smaller version, held on alternate years.

We passed by the giant Grand Puppeteer Clock in front of the Institut International de la Marionnette — France’s one and only puppet school — a permanent reminder of the festival which started in 1961. Trumptonish scenes from local legend the Four Sons of Aymon are performed on the hour daily.

But a weekend away in France surely meant a tipple or two. En route to a suitable spot we were charmed by the graceful galleried arcades that lined the Place Ducale, an example of early 17th- century classical French architecture and evidence of Charleville being built to plan.

Styled after the Place des Vosges in Paris, its golden-hued stone appeared almost amber in the right light. We sat in a quiet bar sipping on Woinic, a local brew — unsurprising in a region spreading right up to the Belgian border — named after Erik Sleziak’s 50-tonne iron sculpture of a wild boar by the roadside in nearby Rethel, a sort of porcine version of Gateshead’s Angel of the North.

Just along from the square is the birthplace of Arthur Rimbaud, the tortured soul and 19th-century poet who wrote much of his small output here between the ages of 16 and 21. His desire to escape sleepy Charleville for sleazier sites led him around the world until he died aged 37 in 1891 in Marseilles. Punk singer and poet Patti Smith — godmother of the museum, which is set in a converted mill — comes here regularly to pay homage to her literary hero.

Being neither punks nor poets, we’d booked into the luxurious-looking Domaine Château du Faucon, a 17th- century mansion recently re-opened as a hotel at nearby Donchery. From pre-arrival website gazing I was full of expectation for this characterful property set at the end of a poplar-lined drive in 70-acre grounds with stables, a chapel and moat.

Once inside it was all a little disappointing — rather than utilise the imposing hallway with its dramatic chandeliers and statues, the reception area was a poky side affair, which ruined the first impression. Rooms vary in style but ours was large, with a gold and cream theme, which suited the château. Beds were deeply comfortable with crisp, cream linen. And the shower was both strong and hot — unlike the coffee at breakfast, which turned out to be minimal.