France seems to feature a lot in our travel plans, and one of the easiest illustrations of this is the annual day trip to Boulogne-sur-Mer with Sheila and Andrew to stock the Galleywood cellar (okay, garage) with the alcoholic stuff. However, this summer we’ve boarded Le Shuttle twice. The first was on 3 July, but this weekend we were in the northeastern town again, although not before we’d driven a few miles further southwest down the coast to Le Touquet (or Le Touquet-Paris-Plage to give it its full name).

A place of childhood memories for Nik, the seaside resort has a reputation as the most elegant holiday resort of northern France, and is often seen (according to Wikipedia) as ‘the playground of rich Parisians’, with many luxury hotels. Chic and well-to-do it may be, and no doubt even chicer in the summer sunshine, but we weren’t shortchanged yesterday with the weather. With the sun making the golden sands look much more yellow than they probably were, we had no right to be walking along the beach’s wooden boardwalk in such unseasonal weather (fierce wind notwithstanding) for late September.

Walking past the 1930s style beach huts, you really do get a sense of past glamour and chic. Nearby Hardelot is dotted with fashionable villas in tree-lined avenues, and it’s the same in Le Touquet. With architects drawn to the town’s strict planning regulations, it’s quite unlike Boulogne, which is where we ended up for supper, sitting as we always do, in the shadow of the once major port’s Italian-inspired cathedral. Getting on the fuss-free Euro Tunnel service meant we could enjoy a long and late meal, and leave sated and relaxed for the short journey home.

Just like the previous few, once again our last (almost) full day dawned bright and warm. Until Friday we’d avoided the typical landmarks, but yesterday we once again hit the tourist trail. At least to begin with. A visit to Paris isn’t complete without a trip to Place des Vosges in the Marais district, where you can sit in the sun or under a shady tree, admiring the fine 17th century architecture which frames the square.

Not one of the best-known landmarks, it’s still busy with a steady stream of snappers and sightseers, who came for the same reason we did. Suitably breakfasted, we made our way to the 4.5km long Canal St-Martin, which neither of us had walked along before. Connecting the Canal de l’Ourcq to the river Seine, its construction was ordered by Napolean I in 1802.

Strolling along the wide banks, we stopped to watch boats rise and fall on the locks to continue their journey south to the mouth of the river. Making our way back to Montmatre for the Sacre Coeur and to collect our bags from the hotel, we stumbled across another street flea market. We accidentally walked into one the first Sunday we were here, and like that first one, sellers jostled with potential buyers, putting all sorts of discarded possessions onto the pavement, roads and cafe fronts.

There were all sorts of objects, some good some bad, some old, some not so. If it wasn’t for our bags, lack of space on the train and different modes of transport for the journey home, we could well have come home with armfuls of vintage lamps and lights. Just like the 20 plus year-old Kylie records on sale at the first market, we had to bypass the many potential luminary objects and content ourselves with looking but not buying.

Arriving at the Butte Montmatre in time for an early lunch on a hot Saturday could have been a mistake. Thronging crowds made for a frustrating climb up the steps to the wedding cake basilica atop the hill, but its welcoming seats made ideal stops for weary and sweating bodies. A quick walk around inside even gave allowed time for me to light a candle for dad, to follow the one I lit for my grandparents in Lyon.

Departing from Gare du Nord meant only a short stroll back to the hotel from Sacre Coeur to get our bags. Finding a fast baguette in the station, we boarded the Eurostar smoothly. In an ironic (and rare due to it being partly British) twist, we were held on the outskirts of Paris due some problem or another, and once underway, the journey was no where near as enjoyable as the French-only TGV.

Loud and bad-mannered children and adults meant headphones were used for almost the entire journey, and once back in London, Tube closures meant delays and more frustration. Thankfully, our usual slow and problematic National Express East Anglia line home was fine; a bit like the last week then, where that word could easily be applied to our time in France. When can we go back?

We’re back in the French capital for just under two days, before boarding the Eurostar and making our way home. And it seems that Paris’ nickname as the ‘City of Light’ is two-fold; in the daylight there is plenty to see, but when darkness falls and the buildings are lit up, its beauty is arguably even more spectacular. Last night, we explored the city as darkness fell around us, walking from south to north, and passing landmark after landmark. On the tourist trail for sure, but when you’ve one night left, why not?

We’d arrived earlier that day to a hotel with a tree-lined avenue and Sacre Coeur view, glorious sunshine and a desire to do a whistle-stop walk around the city, catching the tourist hot spots that we didn’t see in the first half of the week. Lunch at Trocadéro started us off, taking us past the ever-graceful Eiffel Tower in the direction of Île des Cygnes – just past the Grenelle Bridge – and the smaller replica of the Statue of Liberty. It taught us that Paris’ beauty isn’t just in its buildings either; the architecture of the overground Metro lines is equally stunning in all its 1930s glory.

From there, we caught the underground up to the Bois de Boulogne, a massive wooded park in the north of the city, famed for its reputation as a playground for the ladies of the night once the sky turns black. We were on Velibs – Paris’ bikes for hire – though, so if any of them got mistakenly frisky, we could ride off and escape.

A convoluted sign-out and sign-in process made securing our somewhat wobbly two-wheeled steeds harder than was necessary, but once on the move, we were glad of the change of transport pace. I certainly wouldn’t use the Velibs on the main roads. With Parisians seemingly taking as much care of them as their cars, mine felt decidedly unsafe at times, and once we’d got among the bustling crowds coming out of the French Open at Roland Garros, I was pleased to be walking once more.

Back in the centre of the city we made for the Latin Quarter for an early supper, so we could go out and get those night-time pictures. Snapping Notre-Dame, the Pompidou Centre, the Louvre, and the Moulin Rouge, the Sacre Coeur was to be our last stop before the hotel, but once we’d made the climb to the top of the hill just after midnight, we were disappointed; the basilica was swathed in darkness. It would appear that the lights are turned off just after the witching hour, so it was back to the hotel for our final night under the Parisian stars.

Wednesday morning saw us leave the old town and visit Part Dieu, dominated by the distinctive Crédit Lyonnais office block. As you would expect, the industrial heart of the city is nowhere near as pretty as the old town, though some jewels do lurk within. Head to Villeurbane, and you will find genuine Art Deco skyscrapers from 1934. Hard-edged and white in colour, Gratte-Ciel is a stunning architectural development, and one of the must-sees of the city.

Keeping with a white theme, the Fourvière basilica opened its doors to us on Wednesday afternoon. Taking the funicular railway to the top of the hill is recommended (all Metro tickets permit entry), and once you’re there, you can’t fail to be impressed by the gleaming ‘white elephant’. So-called because it looks like an upturned jumbo, the building was completed in 1896, and easily rivals the Sacré Coeur in the imposing stakes. It similarly keeps guard over the city, and once at the summit on which it sits, there are panoramic views across the central and eastern parts of Lyon.

Not far away, just a walk down the hill is the Théâtre antique de Fourvière, an anicent Roman amphitheatre. Like Paris, Lyon is almost prettier in the evening, and once dusk falls, light picks out the buildings and shows them off to magical effect. Wanting to brush up on our nightime photographic skills, we walked back along the river bank after supper and shot lots of long-exposure pictures.

Today was our last in Lyon, and with the weather holding out, we ventured out to Parc de la Tête d’Or, France’s largest urban park. On the north tip of the ‘island’, there’s a large lake, a 1930s velodrome, a boules court, mini-golf, horse riding, a miniature train, botannical gardens, and reportedly the largest rose garden in Europe. There’s also, a small zoo, home to bears, elephants, giraffes, lions, monkeys and an assortment of other animals. Amazingly, it’s all free, too; that wouldn’t exist in England, where a nominal entry fee would almost certainly be charged.

It was a wonderful finish to our stay, with the sun shining and the good transport links from the city centre (walk, metro, tram) showing how good integrated transport can be. Heading back to the Place des Terreaux, we enjoyed our last beer in front of the Hôtel de Ville de Lyon, before heading back in the direction of the hotel to eat, leaving the old town behind us. Eating early, we again headed out to take more pictures in the dark, enjoying the city for one last time.

In many ways, Lyon is like a smaller version of Paris, with avenues and avenues of lined boulevards at its heart, and a business district in a separate part of the city. We boarded the TGV in Paris this morning, and since then have enjoyed warmer temperatures and sunnier skies. The city is shaped by the Rhône and Saône rivers that converge to the south of the centre forming a peninsula.

Staying on the ‘island’, we’ve had the ‘Part Dieu’ business district to the east, ‘Vieux Lyon’ old town to the west and the hills of ‘Croix-Rousse’ to the north. Dominating the skyline is the Notre-Dame de Fourvière basilica and the TV tower, which replicates the last part of the Eifel Tower in Paris. Both Vieux Lyon and Croix-Rousse are UNESCO Word Heritage sites, and the ancient architecture is clear to see.

This afternoon saw us discover the slopes of Croix-Rousse. The part of the city that once housed all the silk workers, it’s not as pretty as the medieval Vieux Lyon across the river. The French have a great outdoor eating evening tradition, and here it’s arguably even more visible than in Paris, the doors of the old restaurants in the ancient town flung open, with chairs and tables crammed together on wobbly cobbles. And, with Lyon’s reputation as the gastromic capital of France, this evening’s meal in the ancient town was just as good as you would expect of a city with such a reputation.

One of the joys of Paris is its eternal beauty, and nowhere is this better seen from than the ninth floor rooftop of Printemps, one of the two Grand Magasins which can trace their history back to the 1930s. The panoramic vistas span the whole city, with landmarks at every turn. To the south west the Eifel Tower, to the north west the Sacré Coeur, to the west the Arc de Triomphe and directly south, the Opera Garnier. One of the best finds of Monday morning, it really is worth making the trip up the endless escalators to the open terrace. If you’re at all interested in photography, your efforts will be rewarded.

A Metro out to La Défense provided photographic opportunities of a different kind. The largest purpose-built business district in Europe, the site traces it roots back to 1958, and with the exception of the Montparnasse Tower, all of Paris’ skyscrapers are out in the 400-acre area.

The Grande Arche is of course the centrepiece; the 108m-high structure is so placed that it forms a secondary axis with the two highest buildings in Paris, the Eiffel Tower and the Montparnasse Tower, while the top of the building houses an exhibition gallery. The sides house government offices. With such a stunning and imposing yet impossibly modern landmark, the La Défense site is yet another area of Paris worth a visit.

From north west to north east, this afternoon was spent in Parcs des Buttes Chamont, a public garden which is the third largest of its kind in the city. Established in the 1860s, the 61-acre historic park boasts several cliffs and bridges, a grotto with a 20-metre high waterfall, a lake, and several English and Chinese gardens.

At its centre is the belvedere of Sybil, a temple homage which sits on top of a 30-metre high rocky island peak, surrounded by a lake. Vastly different in nature to the most well-known public space in Paris – the Tuileries near the Louvre – plenty of Parisians use the park for recreational activities. From lounging on the lakeside to jogging though the tree-lined avenues, it’s all done here.

It was back to Printemps to end the daylight hours as we started them. Tea under the shop’s 1920s cupola has long been a Paris highlight, and although Nik and Geoff assured me that it was better when the restaurant concession was under previous ownership, it still felt special.

It’s not cheap, but with mirrors strategically-placed on the tables, the stained glass dome shines in its ornate setting. You wouldn’t believe it was taken away in 1939 for fear of war damage, and restored back to its former glory in 1973. Understated beauty and glamour shimmering in the spring sunshine, it sums up Paris perfectly, and was a fitting end to our two-day dash around the city.

‘Paris has woven its magical spell on me, and I can’t wait for us to go back.’ That’s how I concluded my last Paris entry, and back we are for a relaxing two-and-a-bit days before we head south to Lyon. A mix-up over some ballet tickets mean that we won’t see any performances at Charles Garnier’s beautiful and grand opera house, but it won’t matter.

We’ve already seen so much more and so many different parts of this beautiful city than we did two years ago. Arriving Saturday, we sped across the city after dumping our bags at the hotel to watch Eurovision 2010 in the Happi Bar, in Beaubourg (Israel got the biggest cheer of the night), before shooting back to the hotel to catch the scoring and a late night.

This morning dawned cloudy, and a morning walk to meet Geoff took us through meandering streets and passageways lined with market stalls on the way from Gare du Nord. The Parisians seem to love setting up makeshift stalls and selling their unwanted possessions in the back street boulevards – the areas really do look like garage sales but on a bigger scale.

Vintage Kylie records were bypassed due to restrictions carrying them around the city and getting them home in a full bag, but it was a bustling and charming diversion. Even though we had no ballet tickets, we still made it to the opera house in time to admire yet another piece of stunning Paris architecture, before settling into Brioche Dorée for a pastry and coffee breakfast.

Meeting Geoff at the Louvre, we decided to cross the river and walk up the hill on the east of the city passing St Germain des Pres and the Pantheon to find some lunch. Rue Mouffetard was the destination, and after walking for what seemed like ages in ill-fitting and new shoes, we found La Bistrot Gourmand, where we feasted on three courses for €9.

A bargain, and heartily full and rested, we walked back through the Latin Quarter and the Left Bank, passing the Musee D’Orsay, en route to Citroën’s C42 flagship showroom on the Champs Elysees. Neighbouring Renault a few doors away got a visit, too, and after a quick freshen up back at the hotel, we ventured out for an evening supper.

Chartier proved to be too good to be true, and an awful lot of people had heard good reports about it, too. The queue for the restaurant was out onto the street, so we abandoned plans to eat well but cheaply, and found a local pizzeria instead. Pizzeria Valponi was buzzy, its food was tasty, and nestled in the shadow of the Grand Magazins, it was only a short Metro ride back to the hotel. A busy first day, and one that my feet concluded we’d done too much walking for, but it feels good to be back.

The Saturday market in the city is undisputedly a big draw, but what other attractions does the former Roman Emporer military headquarter offer? Like Nimes, there’s an arena (below), and though not as imposing as the one a few miles away, it’s still impressive. And like it’s counterpart it’s still used today, for both modern music concerts, but also for the more traditional sport of bull fighting.

There’s also the open air Roman Theatre (or what’s left of it), and the major square, Place de la République. Just off this large communal hub in the centre of the city, is the place where Van Gogh painted his infamous Café Terrace at Night in 1888. Indeed, it was from here that the painter was sent to asylum in nearby St-Rémy, the base for our visit.

Now a shadow of its former self, the once thriving Rhône port and important Gaul centre looks tired, and appears much less clean and cosmopolitan than Nimes. It’s still worth a visit, though, if only for market day, and to see its once grand Roman treasures.

Once again, today has been almost unbearably hot, but we carried on with our sightseeing plans, jumping in the car for another time, and driving to the very picturesque village of Les Baux-de-Provence (below).

Like Oppède-le-Vieux, Les Baux is perched on a rocky crag, but even more spectacularly so. Seen from a few miles away, it’s almost impossible to see where the houses start, and where they meld into the rock. Look hard enough, though, and the clues are there. The flag flying from the old castle is a dead giveaway, and the tourists’ cars parked at the bottom of the hill mark where the village ends.

No visitors’ cars are allowed into the centre, but languishing under a rocky enclave was a thirty-five-year old Renault 5 (above) in near pristine condition, representative of so many 1970s vehicles here. The dry and hot summer climate does a particularly good job of preserving almost countless Citroen 2CVs and Renault 4s.

Tourists flock to Les Baux and you can see why. A pretty hilltop village with ruins, cobbled squares, and spectacular views across the Provençal landscape, it has everything. Those tourists can be a problem, though, with their sheer numbers. But not today; a healthy headcount of outsiders gave space to walk around, wander in and out of the boutique shops, and generally soak up the atmosphere of the place.

And the laid back atmosphere of the whole region is something we’ll miss when we get home. We leave tomorrow lunchtime on the TGV bound for Paris, changing at the French capital for the Eurostar back to London, where we have a date with Adobe and Madonna’s Sticky & Sweet tour. Sticky’s definitely one thing it has been this week in the heat, but next time, I’ll know what to expect. Yes, there’ll be a next time; I’m looking forward to coming back.

Narrow streets, sometimes made of now shabby cobbles and even narrower alleys twist and wind their way to the top of the settlement, where a solitary church sits among the cypress trees, slowly disintegrating in the sun, against all the wishes of the locals to save it.

We made it to the top of the summit (worth the climb for the view), but, as it has all week, the unrelenting heat made us hot doing it. Though the promise of liquid refreshment was more than tantalising, we jumped back into the car for the short drive to the truly picturesque and traditional Provençal settlement of Ménerbes.

This is the place that has really become known through Mayles’s series of books, telling the story of a British expatriate who settled in Ménerbes. And while it might have the upper hand when it comes to photo opportunities, sandwiches were altogether rarer. After exploring the commune behind the outer walls, we drove to neighbouring Lacoste, where we found a bar offering just what we wanted.

Rested and refreshed, we started to wend our way home, stopping at L’Iles-sur-la-Sorgue on the way home. Another pretty Provence town with the river Sorgue cutting through it, it was recently reported that Kylie may be looking into buying a place there, joining the likes of Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie, and Johnny Depp and Vanessa Paradis in having a south of France countryside bolthole.

And ours is where we returned to after another hot and sticky day. Jumping into the pool to cool off, and laying on sun loungers to dry, we felt a little like minor celebrities ourselves, if only for a couple of hours.

Another day, another city steeped in Roman history. Built on a 118 BC roman road that connected Italy and Spain, Nîmes’ ancient artefacts give the place its character. The Maison Carrée (above) dominates the square in the centre of the city, its centuries old design contrasting starkly with the 1993 Norman Foster library and arts centre opposite.

One of the best preserved Roman temples anywhere, it’s currently undergoing a clean, but the golden stone is almost too clean, the light finish making the building appear much newer than its 19 BC construction date. Thankfully, the Roman Arena (below) has been left largely alone, and although it has no doubt had some tinkering over the years, its majesty is still intact.

The town is made up of boulevards and avenues separated by canals, made to channel the dye and effluent away from when the town made denim, and the tree-lined provided welcome shade when we weren’t indoors browsing the purpose-built market in Les Halles, under a shade of umbrella enjoying a demi (25cl) beer, or strolling around the Les Jardins de la Fontaine, the first civic gardens of France, laid out in 1738 to 1755.

Geoff goes to Nîmes dancing when he’s in France, and was looking into the possibility of living there, and I can certainly see the attraction. He knows a lot of friends who live there, it has a nice cosmopolitan and south of France feel, is nicely bustling, with cafés and posh shops lining its inward-looking streets.

On leaving Nîmes, we were going to head straight to the impressive Pont du Gard, 20km north east of the city, but as clouds were coming in and the air was getting humid, we decided to see if it would break. It didn’t, so we called in at Uzes that was on the way, parking at the cathedral with its Fenestrelle (windowed) Tower. Milling around the narrow alleys and settling in the square for a few pictures, it wasn’t long before the thunder and lightning were upon us.

A sudden downpour, it didn’t last long, and we were soon on our way to the Roman aqueduct. I’d seen it before in pictures (and in Nik’s mini-world picture on the front room wall), but nothing prepares you for how impressive the stone aqueduct is. Built on three levels, Pont du Gard is 49m high, and the longest level spans 275m, crossing the river Gard.

Made up of 52 arches in three tiers, its size is immense, though its presence is both eerie, but calming. To get a good picture, you have to walk a fair distance away to fit it all in. So, that’s what we did, avoiding the puddles, strolling away from the crowds, finding our own piece of calm, with the view of the bridge at its centre.

You forget that until a few years ago, you could walk across the top unguided, and that until a few years ago the main part was a working road bridge. That’s now in the past, as Pont du Gard has been an UNESCO World Heritage Site since 1985, and is now one of the top five tourist attractions in France.

Some would say that’s what the Café des Arts in  St-Rémy should be, too (by all accounts it seems to have been there almost as long), where we decamped to in the evening for an aperitif or two. Celebrating the moving on of my tenant with a Monaco or two (above), we soaked up the atmosphere of life on the evening café terraces, before heading home to enjoy supper on a terrace of our own.