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I’m half asleep on a hotel balcony in a sun-blessed Mediterranean stone village, a land where ancient monasteries look out over scented lavender, knackered churches survey famous winelands and a blasting wind batters olive groves.
I must be in Provence, right? Land of the troubadours, the Mistral, the Cote d’Azur – and rather too many billionaire tourists.
Wrong. Welcome to Vipava Valley, a small Edenic slice of Slovenia, a jewel of an Alpine nation tucked behind northern Italy.
It’s a valley which resembles France’s famous southern honeypot in climate, landscape and culture – yet goes largely (and gloriously!) unvisited.
Which is absurd. The Vipava is not just beautiful, and wonderfully boozy, but it also makes a brilliant base for exploring all corners of lovably compact Slovenia, where almost everything is under a two-hour drive away.
And that includes the airports of Trieste and Ljubljana, both a brisk, two-hour flight from the UK.
Vipava Valley in Slovenia is a lesser-known slice of European green paradise
It's perfect for outdoorsy breaks - with cyclists particularly well catered for
Latterly part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, the Habsburg family ruled this valley for centuries, nicknaming it their ‘garden’. You can see why.
Cherries, figs, peaches – even ‘stupid little bananas’ as my laughing guide Jani puts it – ripen lustily along the sunny slopes. Winemaking has also been recorded here for at least 2,000 years, making this one of the older wine regions on Earth.
The vineyards still grow varieties – crisp zelen, perfumed pinela – found almost nowhere else. Rest assured, if you come here you will try them.
But you should time your visit wisely. In winter, the infamous burja wind really does shriek. Speeds of up to 146mph have been recorded (those Provence-style rooftiles are weighed down with stones).
Meanwhile, high summer can be ‘horrible’, according to Jani. ‘We get Dutch people cycling through the heat in August and I tell them, “You are crazy!” ’
Take the hint: come between March and June, or early in autumn for a more temperate stint. Rather fortuitously, my trip coincides with the Festival of Okusi Vipavske, or ‘Flavours of the Vipava’, when at the end of May each year the valley’s namesake town surrenders itself to viticulture.
After buying a wristband and an etched glass, festivalgoers simply wander the handsome courtyard of stall after stall pouring chilled zelen and zesty malvazia, with happy children running underfoot in the dusk.
Vineyards grow unique varieties of grape here, and the resulting wine is also reasonably priced
This is wine as it should be: unhurried, unpretentious and undeniably good value. You can get great bottles for a fiver.
As an antidote to a slightly sore head the following day, I take a languid tour of the hills. While it’s hard to choose just one, a particularly lovely spot is Vipavski Kriz, a walled town on a mountain crest, where the microclimate is so eccentric that on one side of town they grow apples, and the other oranges.
The whole place was ruggedly fortified against the Ottomans, and it boasts a cannonball lodged in a wall by Napoleonic artillery. Armies of all kinds have been marching up and down here for centuries.
That evening, at Gostilna pri Lojzetu, a 17th century manor turned into a Michelin-starred restaurant, I eat Slovenian bear ragu: dark, rich and gamey. Who knew bears were so tasty? (Paddington fans, relax – there are so many bears here they have to cull them).
Wine tasting is a must-try activity - and bottles go for as little as £5
Then I ferry my local pinot noir on to the restaurant’s Italianate roof terrace.
As the warm sun sets over the Julian Alps, I gaze at the spot where, in AD394, the Christian emperor Theodosius defeated the last of the Roman pagans.
But there is much to be seen beyond Vipava. An hour or so north is the Soca, a river of wild turquoise, where I lunch on sweet pink trout beneath the daunting Alpine peaks that saw a million casualties in the First World War.
This place is paradise for kayakers, canyoneers and rock climbers – as well as history fans.
High above, in the cloudless blue, paragliders spiral joyously off ridges still scarred with Great War trenches built on Bronze Age hillforts.
On my last day I speed 40 minutes south to see the Unesco-listed Skocjan Caves.
I’m not expecting much, but these subterranean caverns are genuinely stupefying – roaring underground canyons where a ferocious river disappears into the earth. Particularly good for children, I imagine.
Back in the Vipava, on my gracious balcony, night is falling. The deep, dark skies are scattered with a trillion stars. As I toast the heavens with a chilled glass of zelen, I realise you get very similar skies in Provence.
The difference here? I’m entirely alone. Bliss.