Slovenia’s beautiful Vipava Valley is just like Provence without the annoying billionaires – with wine for £5 a bottle (but you might eat bear for dinner)

I’m half-asleep on the balcony of a hotel in a sun-blessed Mediterranean stone village, where ancient monasteries overlook fragrant lavender, run-down churches overlook famous wine gardens, and a fierce wind whips against olive groves.

I must be in Provence, right? The land of bards, the Mistral, the Cote d’Azur and too many billionaire tourists.

Wrong. Welcome to Slovenia’s little slice of paradise, the Vipava Valley, the jewel of an Alpine nation nestled in the back of northern Italy.

A valley that resembles France’s famous southern honeypot in climate, landscape and culture, and yet remains largely (and gloriously!) unvisited.

This is ridiculous. Vipava is not only beautiful and wonderfully boozy, but it also makes the perfect base for exploring every corner of lovely compact Slovenia, where almost everything is less than a two-hour drive away.

This includes Trieste and Ljubljana airports, which are a quick two-hour flight from the UK.

Perfect for breaks outdoors; There is a good catering service, especially for cyclists

The Habsburg family, which later became part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, ruled this valley for centuries and called it ‘the garden’. You can see why.

Cherries, figs, peaches, even ‘silly little bananas’, as my smiling guide Jani puts it, ripen lustily on the sunny slopes. Winemaking has also been recorded here for at least 2000 years, making it one of the oldest wine regions in the world.

The vineyards still grow varieties found almost nowhere else (crisp zelen, perfumed pinela). Rest assured, if you come here you will try them.

But you should plan your visit wisely. In winter, the famous burja wind really screams. Speeds of up to 146mph have been recorded (Provence-style roof tiles are weighted with stones).

Meanwhile, according to Jani, the high summer months can be ‘terrible’. ‘We take Dutch people cycling in the heat in August and tell them, ‘You’re crazy!’ I say. ‘

Heed the tip: Come between March and June, or early autumn for a milder period. Quite by coincidence, my trip coincides with the Okusi Vipavske Festival or ‘Flavours of Vipava’; During this festival, every year at the end of May, the town with the same name as the valley devotes itself to viticulture.

After purchasing a bracelet and a glass, festivalgoers wander around the beautiful courtyard of stall after stall pouring cold zelen and delicious malvazia, with happy children running under their feet in the dusk.

The vineyards here grow unique grape varieties, and the resulting wine is reasonably priced.

This is wine as it should be: unfussy, unpretentious and undeniably good value. You can get some great bottles for a fiver.

The next day, as an antidote to my slightly aching head, I take a leisurely tour in the hills. Although it is difficult to choose just one, one particularly pleasant place is Vipavski Kriz, a walled mountaintop town where the microclimate is so peculiar that apples grow on one side of the town and oranges on the other.

The whole place was heavily fortified against the Ottomans and boasts a cannonball lodged in the 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 mansion converted into a Michelin-starred restaurant, I eat Slovenian bear ragu: dark, rich and gamey. Who knew bears were so delicious? (Paddington fans, relax; there are so many bears here that they have to cull them).

Wine tasting is a must-try activity and bottles sell for as little as £5

Afterwards, I take my local pinot noir to the restaurant’s Italian-style rooftop terrace.

As the warm sun sets over the Julian Alps, I look out at the spot where the Christian emperor Theodosius defeated the last of the Roman pagans in 394 AD.

But there is much to see beyond Vipava. An hour or so north is the Soca, a wild turquoise river; I lunch on sweet pink trout beneath the daunting Alpine peaks where a million people died in the First World War.

This place is a paradise for canoeists, canoe enthusiasts and rock climbers, as well as history buffs.

Above, in the cloudless blue, paragliders spiral joyfully over ridges still scarred by Great War trenches built on Bronze Age hill forts.

On my last day, I speed south for 40 minutes to see the Unesco-listed Skocjan Caves.

I’m not expecting much, but these underground caves are truly stunning; roaring underground canyons where a wild river disappears into the ground. I think it’s especially good for kids.

Back at Vipava, night falls on my elegant balcony. The deep, dark sky is scattered with trillions of stars. As I toast to the sky with a chilled glass of zelen, I realize that you have very similar skies in Provence.

The difference here? I’m completely alone. Happiness.