Restaurants suffered similarly. "Our English clientele is down by a third," a restaurateur in Montreuil told me recently. "Survival is at stake." So, you bet they want us back. And they are making efforts. Recently, in the centre of Bordeaux, I had decent restaurants falling over themselves to feed me three courses for around £13 (£11.80). A mid-range hotel fit for my wife (it's not easy) came at £72 (£65.50) for a double room.
Over the past 12 months, I've bumped into equivalent prices across France. I have also, incidentally, hiked mountains, swum in lakes, sailed rivers and canals, and lounged on beaches both Mediterranean and Atlantic. I have driven through grand landscapes convinced that I was the only person on Earth. I've visited more chateaux than Richard the Lionheart, and more village festivals than I can count.
I've eaten brilliantly, whether from the village butcher and baker or a Michelin-starred chef. And afterwards I've wandered into midnight city centres for coffee and cognac. Nowhere have I been inconvenienced by excited young people showing their buttocks.
I mention all this to underline that, if the French have missed the British, it's possible that the British have also missed France. If so, it's time to return. You won't need me to tell you about Paris, the Riviera and the Dordogne. So, here is my pick of some lesser-known destinations where you will be more welcomed than ever in 2010.
FOR BEACHES: LANGUEDOC
Curving around the Med from the Rhône delta to Spain, Languedoc is scarcely unknown. But it's less well known than the Côte d'Azur or the Spanish coast – which is a pity, especially for families.
When our children were of an age, we took them regularly to the beaches to the east of the region. These are sandy, flat, safe and endless enough to accommodate most of Europe's towels. They loved it, and we learnt the three golden rules for successful family Med-beach times: (a) take enough bislangucuits (b) insist that Mr and Mrs Crab will be more content where they are than being brought home in a bucket and (c) don't tackle the Germans at volleyball.
The resorts are a mixed bunch. Some (Carnon, Palavas) expanded quickly in the mid-20th century, inspired by a speculator's eye for aesthetics. In others (Le Grau-du-Roi, Sète), port activity retains the upper hand over sea-sidery. Meanwhile, La Grande-Motte's extraordinary collection of pyramids and curvy apartment blocks makes for the weirdest-looking spot on the Med.
But all have a vast range of appropriate accommodation. (The region may be the world's camping HQ; Argelès alone has 56 sites.) And all are as lively and happy as can be, with restaurants up and down the scale, music bars, bull-running, funfairs and that buoyant sense of impermanence that tells you you're on holiday.
Beyond Sète, going west, the Cap d'Agde is summer fun central, not least for nudists. Agde itself, and particularly its black-stone cathedral, is a venerable reminder that the seaside wasn't always for thongs and tanning. And, between the built-up bits, the Languedoc coast can still grow unkempt and stirring. The writ of contemporary France apparently runs out around the untamed tangle of land and lagoons south of Gruissan. A short detour inland, and an excellent day trip from the coast, is the medieval city of Carcassonne.
And so to Roussillon, or French Catalonia. Here, the coast suddenly sprouts hills, cliffs and coves as it bangs into the final descent of the Pyrenees. This, the Côte Vermeille, is the region's prettiest stretch – and older resorts like Collioure and Banyuls know it. There's a self-conscious superiority about their charms. I prefer the more raucous Argelès, which crams everything into summer. The range of activities – either seaborne or in the mountains behind – is huge, the sun strong and the place full of families who like to be beside the seaside.
Thanks to the Telegraph.
