Provence with Lola: why southern France is better by car and with a dog

France, alongside Germany and the Netherlands, is one of the countries in Europe where dogs are most integrated into daily life. In French cities it is perfectly normal to see dogs on café terraces, in clothes shops, on regional trains. In the Provençal countryside that permissiveness has an added physical dimension: the territory is vast, the rural paths between vines and lavender fields go on for miles, and a large proportion of the farmhouses and rural gîtes — the French equivalent of Spanish casas rurales — have gardens and make no distinctions based on size.

This combination of a welcoming culture and accessible landscape is what makes Provence with a dog something more than mere 'travelling with a pet': it's a way of moving through the region that actually fits better than many alternatives. The medieval villages of the Luberon can be visited comfortably in a morning, the Roman ruins of Arles seen in a few hours, and in between there are dozens of kilometres of open countryside where Lola can move freely. You don't need to plan around the dog; the dog simply slots in.

That said, Provence is not without its caveats. In August the region becomes one of the most congested destinations in Europe — Luberon villages see queues of cars and overflowing car parks — and some markets or certain historic town centres ask that dogs be kept on a lead. In the regional natural parks, such as the Parc Naturel Régional du Luberon, there are environmentally protected zones where dogs must be kept on a lead at all times. Outside those zones and away from village centres, the rules are more relaxed and it is common to see dogs off the lead on the dirt paths between fields. Common sense does the rest.

From Spain the natural gateway into Provence is through Catalonia and the La Junquera border crossing, following the AP-7 northward and entering France via the A9. It's a well-worn route for anyone who has driven to the Côte d'Azur in summer, but in this case the destination isn't Nice or Cannes — you turn inland much earlier, around Nîmes or Arles.

From Valencia, the distance to Arles is roughly 600 kilometres, around five and a half hours of driving without stops. From Barcelona it's barely four and a half hours, which makes it a very reasonable long-weekend trip. From Madrid the picture changes: around 1,100 kilometres and roughly ten hours of driving — a journey that calls for at least one overnight stop along the way or a very early start. For those coming from Madrid, a stop in Zaragoza or Barcelona — where you can sleep and set off again with Lola rested — makes a lot of sense.

The La Junquera border crossing presents no complications for EU travellers: it is an internal border within the Schengen Area. As far as the dog is concerned, France applies the same EU pet-travel regulations as Spain and Portugal. One practical note for the journey: both the Spanish AP-7 and the French A9 have tolls. In Spain, tolls are paid at the booth or by transponder; in France the system works the same way, with the usual bank cards. Budget between 40 and 60 euros in tolls for the outward journey from Barcelona, depending on which stretch you cover.

Once in France, the entry into Provence can be made via Nîmes — if you want to start with the Camargue and Arles — or heading straight to Aix-en-Provence if you'd rather begin with the Luberon. Both work well; I prefer to start with the Camargue and finish in the Luberon, saving the most beautiful villages for when you've already found the rhythm of the trip.

France is a European Union country, which means the regulations governing the movement of companion animals are the same as in Spain. To cross the border with Lola I need three things: an implanted microchip (mandatory in Spain for all dogs, so this is usually already sorted), the European pet passport — that small blue booklet issued by any authorised vet — and a valid rabies vaccination, recorded in the passport and not expired. No quarantine, no additional permits, no extra veterinary certificates for the crossing.

What is worth checking before you leave is the expiry date on the rabies vaccination. If Lola's is borderline or lapsed, a booster a few weeks ahead of the trip resolves the issue without any last-minute stress. The European pet passport, if you don't yet have one, is issued by your vet in a single appointment; it is inexpensive and valid for the animal's lifetime.

In practice, systematic checks at Schengen border crossings are uncommon. There may be random spot checks, particularly in summer. If you are stopped, the procedure is straightforward: travel documents for the human passengers and Lola's European pet passport. Keep it to hand — in the glove box or your bag, not buried at the bottom of a week's worth of luggage. It won't complicate anything if it's in order; it only causes difficulty if you have to rummage through five days of packed bags while the officer waits.

If Provence has a heart, it is the Luberon. The mountain range that gives it its name — an elongated massif that barely reaches 1,200 metres but defines the whole landscape with its oak forests, its gorges and its ochre stone villages perched on hilltops — organises the entire region. Along its foothills sit some of the most beautiful villages in France: Gordes, Roussillon, Bonnieux, Lacoste, Ménerbes. Each has its own character, its narrow lanes spiralling up to the church or the castle, and a view over the valley that at sunset turns that shade of orange and mauve that landscape photographers know well.

Gordes is the most photographed and the most crowded: a village of whitewashed houses clinging to a vertical rock face, with a square at the top and views down into the Calavon valley. Go early — before ten in the morning — if you want to enjoy it without the crowds. Roussillon, some fifteen kilometres away, is the village of ochre earth: the subsoil is made of clay in colours ranging from pale yellow to deep blood-red, and the facades of the houses have been painted in those same tones for centuries. The walk along the Sentier des Ocres — a waymarked path through the old ochre quarries on the edge of the village — is one of those outings that is better with a dog: red earth underfoot, pine trees, the smell of resin mixed with the dust of the paths. Lola always does it at a trot, ears in the wind.

The Apt market, held on Saturdays and the largest and liveliest in the region, deserves a special mention. It is the quintessential Provençal market: dozens of stalls selling olives, cheeses, honey, lavender, fabrics, spices, seasonal fruit. Dogs are welcome — the Provençals go to market with their dogs as a matter of course — and the atmosphere is one to be savoured without hurry, a bag in one hand and Lola's lead in the other as she investigates every cheese stall with enviable concentration.

In July the Luberon also has the lavender. The flowering fields — those purple rows stretching down the hillside beneath a sky that in July is an almost improbable shade of blue — are one of France's most recognisable landscapes. The blooming begins in the second half of June and continues through to the beginning of August, peaking at the end of June and throughout July. Walking down a dirt track alongside a field in bloom first thing in the morning, when the heat hasn't yet arrived and the scent is intense and fresh, is one of those experiences that Provence keeps for those who arrive by car and are in no hurry.

To the west of the Luberon, separated by the Durance valley, the Alpilles are a landscape of an entirely different character. Where the Luberon has lavender fields and ochre villages, the Alpilles have grey limestone, twisted olive trees and the bleached-white sky of midday. It is a drier, more arid zone, with a spare beauty that makes more sense when you remember that Van Gogh painted here during his stay in Saint-Rémy-de-Provence: the cypresses, the harvested wheat fields, the white rocks jutting through the scrub.

Saint-Rémy-de-Provence is the practical hub of the area: it has a good Wednesday market, good restaurants and a genuine village life that isn't reduced to tourism. About ten kilometres away, Les Baux-de-Provence is the most spectacular point — a medieval village built on and between the rocks of a limestone ridge, with views over the plain that on clear days reach to the Mediterranean — but also the most crowded. If you're going in July or August, Les Baux before nine in the morning or at dusk; at midday it's a bottleneck.

For Lola and me, the best part of the Alpilles isn't the villages but the countryside between them. The forest tracks through the massif — accessible from the road — are compact earth between olive trees and holm oaks, with a stillness and a filtered light that invite you to lose track of time. They are paths without steep gradients, perfect for an hour's gentle walk after visiting a village. Lola does them at the slow pace of a greyhound in exploration mode: nose to the ground, long pauses, the occasional short explosive sprint between bushes that only she understands.

To the south of the Luberon and west of the Alpilles, the Camargue is the Rhône delta: a territory of marshland, salt lagoons, dunes and sandy beaches stretching down to the Mediterranean. It is one of the most singular ecosystems in western Europe, with wildlife that includes pink flamingos, semi-wild white horses, black bulls and hundreds of species of migratory birds. For anyone arriving from a road trip through the medieval villages of the interior, the change of scenery is radical and very welcome.

The Camargue is a regional natural park and has some access restrictions to protect its most sensitive ecosystems; in the lagoon and wetland zones dogs must be kept on a lead at all times to avoid disturbing the birds. But there are stretches of beach — particularly around the sandy beaches near Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer, the best-known village in the Camargue — where dogs can move more freely. It's one of those wide, windy beaches where Lola runs as if she's forgotten she's seven: long straight runs, firm sand, the Mediterranean wind in her ears.

Arles is the gateway city to the Camargue and one of the essential stops on any trip through western Provence. It has a first-century Roman amphitheatre that is still used for events — one of the best preserved in the world — a Roman theatre, several museums and a historic centre that is a UNESCO World Heritage Site and rewards getting properly lost in without any hurry. Dogs are welcome on the streets and on many terraces; they are not admitted inside the monuments, which is to be expected. I always manage the Arles visit in two stages: one for the monuments (Lola waits in the car in the shade, windows open — no more than twenty minutes), and one for wandering the streets and having something on a terrace, which is when she takes centre stage.

The Côte d'Azur proper — Nice, Cannes, Monaco — is at the eastern end and is a world apart: masses of tourists in summer, high prices, pebble beaches packed to capacity. The coast I want to talk about here is the other one: the Provençal coast, between Marseille and Cassis, which has an entirely different character.

Cassis is a fishing village of around eight thousand inhabitants with a small harbour surrounded by colourful houses, terraces overlooking the sea where they serve the local wine — Cassis blanc, dry and mineral, one of the finest whites in the south of France — and the Calanques beyond: that system of white limestone fjords plunging sheer into an electrically blue Mediterranean. The Calanques are a National Park and access via the hiking paths carries restrictions in summer due to fire risk — check the situation before you go — but a stroll around the harbour and village itself is perfectly dog-friendly and very pleasant.

Marseille is twenty minutes by car from Cassis and is a city of a different scale altogether: enormous, noisy, complex, with a Vieux-Port that at first glance overwhelms you and by the third hour of wandering wins you over. Marseille is the kind of city that takes time to understand. With Lola, what works is the walk along the waterfront of the old harbour — long, busy but with plenty of space — and then heading off into the quieter neighbourhoods, Le Panier in particular, which is the old quarter with narrow lanes and climbs that leave you breathless. In Marseille, dogs on terraces are the most normal thing in the world.

Accommodation in Provence with a dog has a clear answer: rural gîtes. A gîte is, broadly speaking, a French country house — with a garden, a fitted kitchen, and typically managed by its owner or a small local operator — and they are the natural choice for travelling with animals for several reasons. First, the physical setup: a fenced or spacious garden where Lola can be off the lead without me watching her every second; enough interior space for her to have her own corner; and direct contact with the owner, which makes the conditions far more flexible than a chain hotel with a pet-policy form. Second, their distribution across the territory: gîtes are concentrated in the countryside, exactly where you want to be in order to access the rural paths, the markets and the lavender fields. The hotels in the village centres of the Luberon — Gordes, Roussillon — can be very beautiful, but they are also the most restrictive about animals and the most expensive.

Campsites are another perfectly valid alternative: Provence has many, with good facilities, and they are generally very welcoming towards dogs. If the July heat doesn't bother you — or if you go in June or September, when the nights are cool — a campsite in the countryside can be a wonderful option and considerably more affordable.

As for timing, there is an honest answer: June and September are clearly better than July and August for this trip. In June the lavender is already starting to bloom in the lower-altitude fields, the heat is pleasant without being aggressive, and the Luberon villages still have some room to breathe. In September the lavender has finished — the fields appear shorn — but the landscape has a different light, more golden, and the grape harvest is beginning in some of the vineyards. Tourism has dropped noticeably and gîte prices drop with it.

July, with the lavender at its peak, is beautiful, but you have to accept the conditions: intense heat in the valleys — days of 38 degrees in the Luberon in July are common — which for Lola, who as a greyhound has little coat and heats up quickly, means early starts and long rests in the shade during the middle of the day. August is the month to avoid if you can: Provence in August is one of the most saturated destinations in Europe, with villages at breaking point, roads brought to a standstill and gîtes booked months in advance. If it's your only window, the trip is still worth it, but it requires considerably more forward planning and patience.