A noisy crowd bursts into the street—a loud, bubbling surge coming toward us. This isn’t closing time on the Croisette in Cannes. A flock of sheep hurries past our cottage toward the shade of a huge chestnut tree, driven by three generations of herders and their dogs. The water-like clamor of their bells gradually fades until only an occasional tink tink breaks the hum of the cicadas. The sheep graze, the shepherds doze off, and the mountain hamlet is still again. My partner and I had left by Eurostar less than 24 hours earlier, yet this place felt a world away from the ad agency where I work. We’d booked cheap tickets to Paris months before, intending to plan the next leg of the trip by train from there. As our departure neared, Instagram seemed full of aspirational but same-looking holiday photos, and almost every other TikTok post I scrolled past promised a hidden destination… discovered. I find ratings, reviews, and recommendations just as reassuring as anyone else, especially with limited holiday time. The safety of the search bar helps me feel confident that I’m spending my hard-earned money as wisely as possible. I work in a world that runs on data and optimization, and I love it, but I wondered whether I’d optimized the adventure out of my own holidays. So we tried a simple experiment. We closed the tabs and opened a map of western Europe. Embracing a little low-tech randomness, we let chance decide our trip. I shut my eyes and we agreed to go wherever my finger landed. I waved my hand like a magic wand and pointed, then took a deep breath, eyes still closed. What if we ended up in some industrial wasteland? But we were in luck. My finger landed on the commune of Saint-Hilaire-de-Lavit in Cévennes, a place we’d never heard of and almost certainly would never have found by searching “places to go in France.” View image in fullscreen A shepherd and flock in Les Ayres. Photograph: Camilla Yates After an overnight stay in Paris, a three-hour fast train took us down to Montpellier, where we hired a car. We stopped for supplies at a Lidl on the edge of town, stocking up for the whole trip—we weren’t expecting to find any shops at our destination. A short drive inland, and the roads began to get narrower and more sparsely populated. As they climbed and zigzagged into this southeastern corner of the Massif Central, we entered a part of southern France far removed from the honeypots served up by algorithms. We pulled into a grassy layby on a high mountain pass where one other car was parked. Had we arrived? We’d followed the cottage owner’s directions because there was no signal here for Google Maps, so it was hard to tell. Stretching our legs in the fresh, cool air, the first thing we noticed was the quiet. No traffic, no tourists. Just stillness. But the languid buzz of big insects flying by and the whirring chorus of cicadas told us this place was alive. Squinting into the low sun, we saw someone waving. Our host, Guilaine, had appeared as if by magic and was beckoning us to the cottage a little farther down the road. We had found the hamlet of Les Ayres: a cluster of maybe 10 stone buildings, 800 meters above sea level. The rough-walled dwellings huddled on either side of the narrow road, making the most of the tiny strip of level ground before the mountain’s spine fell away into steep forest. A long wooden awning and some outdoor tables suggested a cafe opposite our cottage, but the building was shuttered, and Les Ayres’ only potential customers seemed to be ourselves and Guilaine. She took us to the back of our accommodation, to a veranda that looked out over chestnut- and pine-covered mountains rolling into the horizon. It’s a landscape that appears wild but has actually been shaped by farming,Forestry and the seasonal movement of livestock have continued for thousands of years. The next morning, as I watched the sheep and their guardians settle into the shade, I felt the ancientness of the place. Shepherds must have moved their flocks along the same path and most likely slept under the same chestnut trees for centuries. Traditional farming practices survive here partly because the area is threaded with crystal-clear mountain streams, so animals on the move are never far from a drink. So instead of turning to the internet, we let these ancient tracks, known as drailles, guide our hikes.
We took sweaty, daylong expeditions without seeing another person or hearing a car. The forests shielded us from the worst of the sun’s blaze, but on our first trek, the real treat came when we rounded a corner and realized that what we thought was wind in the pines was actually water rushing through a narrow gorge below us. A couple more switchbacks and we reached a deep, clear pool where the stream had carved a corner into the rock. Dappled sunlight filtered down through trees clinging to the steep-sided valley, creating spotlights for damselflies to dart through. We stopped for a picnic and a swim in the freezing mountain water, picking wild strawberries from the bank for dessert.
We discovered that these shady, secluded river pools awaited us on every path leading down from our cottage. As well as being perfect pit stops for mid-hike refreshment, they were teeming with wildlife—tadpoles wriggled in the shallows, fish flickered in the depths, and a huge variety of butterflies, dragonflies, and other insects skimmed the surface. We even saw a snake swimming across water we’d been submerged in just minutes before.
We spent our last afternoon reading on a rock, gathering the energy to walk back up the mountain (one drawback of staying high up on a pass). We watched the sun swing over the water and the light change as the day wore on. When the air began to cool, we made our way back toward the cottage. As the path became an empty, single-track road, a car approached—a big event after so much seclusion. It was Guilaine, the only person apart from the shepherds we’d encountered.
In the evening, as the light faded, the sound of brass band practice drifted toward our veranda. Later, owls called to each other and a distant wild boar screeched into the quiet night. None of this had appeared in my search results. There was no review promising unexpected trumpeting, no listicle recommending the best pool for swimming among tadpoles, and no algorithm that could have told me where the sheep would pass on that first morning. We hadn’t looked at our phones for days—maybe that was the real discovery.
Frequently Asked Questions
FAQs I Closed My Eyes and Put My Finger on a Map of Western Europe This Is Where Were Going on Holiday
1 What does putting your finger on a map to pick a holiday mean
Its a spontaneous way of choosing a trip you close your eyes point at a map and commit to going wherever your finger lands
2 Which countries count as Western Europe
Usually Portugal Spain France Belgium the Netherlands Luxembourg Germany Switzerland Austria and sometimes Italy and the UK and Ireland
3 Why would anyone choose a holiday this way
Its fun it forces you out of your comfort zone and it often sends you somewhere youd never have picked yourself
4 What if my finger lands on the sea
Thats part of the game pick again or treat it as a sign to look at coastal towns nearby
5 Do I have to book the exact spot my finger landed on
No Most people use the fingerpoint as a starting region and then choose a specific town or city within it
6 What if it lands somewhere I really dont want to go
Set house rules before you point like no repeat visits or must be reachable by train and agree that one repoint is allowed
7 How do I turn a random dot on the map into an actual trip
Research the nearest airport or train station check visa and passport rules compare accommodation and book transport first
8 Is this a good way to travel with kids
It can be as long as you check the destination suits them flight times food and activities The surprise element often gets kids excited
9 Whats the best time of year to do this
Shoulder seasons usually mean fewer crowds lower prices and milder weather across Western Europe
10 How far in advance should I book
For peak summer book transport and accommodation two to three months ahead Offseason a few weeks is often enough
11 What common problems should I watch out for
Hidden costs in cheap destinations misleading map scales and forgetting to check travel insurance and entry requirements
12 Any tips for keeping costs down
Be flexible on dates
