“AND that, in a nutshell, is the problem with France.” My classmates and I all nod. It is 1981 and we are in a geography lesson. We are being taught about the economies of Western Europe and – with no little relish – our teacher is explaining “just why France lags behind the UK”.

“Paris dominates the country economically,” he continues. “It means that, unlike here in the UK, there are no other industrial or commercial centres of note.

“Everything and everybody is drawn to Paris by this force. It stunts the country’s growth.

“It means there are no places like Birmingham or Sheffield in France.”

We all nod again – sorry for the poor French but happy that things are just generally for us better over here.

Now, skip forward 30 years. I am sitting drinking cheap but perfectly decent red wine on the balcony of my mobile home in the small village of Mansigne.

If I were to drive (assume that I am under the limit for the purposes of this piece) 20 minutes north on empty roads winding through pine woods and past countless somnolent farms I would be in the heart of the glorious Plantaganet city of Le Mans – on the verge of being designated a Unesco World Heritage Site.

The same distance south is the River Loir, whose slow flow into the Loire is punctuated by lovely towns such as Le Lude, with its 13th century castle.

Head east and you are in the heart of the ancient Berce Forest – a huge swathe of oak and pines.

Go west and you are in the town of Sable-sur-Sarthe where you can take day-long boat trips on the river that it gives its name to this ‘department’ of France.

But I decide not to drive anywhere.

I sit looking out over the lake that borders the campsite. I block out the sound of the incongruous monster truck rally that is taking place on the other side of the water and reflect on the utter nonsense I was told all those years ago at school.

I resolve to myself that my message to the kids if I were a geography teacher – and, believe me, I have the wardrobe and all-round grooviness for the role – would be ‘don’t believe the textbooks, man’.

Put simply, France is great and one of the main reasons – other than the cheap booze, the decent weather and the delightfully difficult locals – is that it doesn’t have the sort of large industrialised cities and characterless commercial sprawl that we do here.

And the Sarthe department where I am coming to this conclusion is a really rather great part of this lovely country.

Maybe, I am biased. Maybe it has to do with the fact that the Sarthe is not a million miles away geographically or in character from the Sologne, the area where Le Grand Meaulnes – my very favourite book ever – is set.

It means that when I am driving to the supermarket I am – in my pathetic, pretentious head – the title character in Alain-Fournier’s coming-of-age novel roaming the countryside in search of lost love.

You might be popping out to the nearest E.Leclerc to buy toilet paper. But not me. Oh no. I am one of the great characters of French fiction.

We – my wife and son – were blessed on this trip with the company of my in-laws John and Jean.

I say blessed in the sense that they gave my wife and I the freedom to slow down and discover — things you would not normally be able to do when you have a two-year-old boy with you.

It meant that we were able to listen to the evocative Gergorian chanting at the abbey of St Pierre de Solesmes (I am not a connoisseur of ‘yer chanting’ but I reckon it was pretty good), take our time strolling round the pretty medieval village of Asnieres-sur-Vegre, or just sit quietly in the Jardin du Petit-Bordeaux looking out over its pond and foliage towards its fairytale house.

If I am honest – and I can be when I am in the mood – the holiday we had was not perhaps one to go on with very young children.

If you want somewhere to go where the kids will not get bored, then go a hundred or so miles west to the Vendee coast, with its long beaches and bustling caravan parks.

But if you are sans enfants, as they say down Le Mans way, and are looking for a genuinely interesting and classy place to visit, then Sarthe could be for you.

The region’s capital was the highlight for me.

All I knew about Le Mans before we went was that they held some long car race or other there from time to time.

I knew nothing of the Roman walls and the wonderfully preserved medieval city centre.

And if you are there you must go to the Carre Plantaganet Museum – a stunning modern building in the shadow of the city’s walls that is packed with treasures from the time when Le Mans was one of the most important cities in Europe.

How you get there is up to you.

We went with Brittany Ferries, sailing overnight from Portsmouth to St Malo. This, for me is by far the best way of getting to this part of France.

You drive to Portsmouth at lunchtime, spend the afternoon in the shops and restaurants of the new Gunwharf Quay development, hop on the ferry in the evening, have a beer, fall asleep and wake up the next morning in Brittany.

It might not be as cheap as zipping over or under the Channel from Kent, but if you want a holiday that is an experience from the moment you leave home, then it is the best option.