Spring in France: A Dream of Blossoms, Sunshine, and Timeless Beauty
From Flower-Filled Markets to Snow-Capped Peaks, Discover the Charm of a French Spring
In just two days, spring will officially arrive, and what better way to celebrate than with this special edition of my newsletter?
But today isn’t just about the changing season—it also marks the 50th edition of this Substack since I first began sharing my love for France with you. 🎉
Whether you’ve been here from the start or recently joined, I want to take a moment to thank you for reading, for engaging, and for making this journey so rewarding.
To mark this milestone, I’m making this article free for everyone, even though my Tuesday editions are usually reserved for paying subscribers.
If you’re enjoying my content and would like to support my work, consider becoming a paid subscriber.
Your support helps me continue creating in-depth stories, research, and immersive pieces about France—something I pour my heart into each week. Merci !
And now, let’s step into the wonder of spring in France…
The First Signs of Spring
Spring in France. It doesn’t arrive all at once.
No grand announcement, no dramatic curtain drop.
Instead, it tiptoes in, quiet, almost hesitant.
A slant of golden light in late February, a shift in the air so subtle you’d miss it if you weren’t paying attention.
And then—bam!—one morning, you wake up, and it’s there. Fully, completely, unmistakably there.
You step outside, and suddenly, the world smells different.
Damp earth, fresh-cut grass, something sweet in the air—maybe mimosa, maybe cherry blossoms, maybe just the warmth of the sun on stone.
It’s intoxicating.
A Season of Transition
I've lived through many springs in France, and I've always loved this season—especially its beginnings when winter slowly loosens its grip.
There’s something about those first warm days, the hesitant sunlight, the way people start lingering outside just a little longer.
It never fails to feel like a quiet kind of magic.
There’s a moment, sometime in March or early April, when you realise winter is actually gone.
Not just on the calendar, but really, truly gone.
No more grey skies pressing down like a lid, no more cold that seeps into your bones and refuses to leave.
Instead, the streets start buzzing again.
Cafés spill onto the pavements, shutters creak open, and people—real, living, breathing people—emerge from hibernation.
You’d think they were seeing the sun for the first time in months.
And maybe, in a way, they are.
The Markets of Spring
Markets. That’s where spring really hits you.
You wander into a village square on a Saturday morning, and it’s all strawberries, asparagus, artichokes, and fresh herbs stacked high in wicker baskets.
The air hums with chatter, the mingling scents of ripe produce, warm bread, and freshly brewed coffee swirling around you.
Someone is slicing cheese, the creamy texture oozing slightly as it falls onto a wax paper sheet.
Someone else is handing over a paper bag of still-warm croissants, the buttery aroma making it impossible not to buy one for the road.
There’s a dog sniffing at a crate of radishes, its owner chatting animatedly with a vendor about the best way to prepare white asparagus.
Nearby, a stall overflows with lavender sachets and bottles of golden olive oil, the vendor cheerfully calling out, offering samples of tapenade on thin slices of crusty baguette.
You stop at a flower stall, reach out, and—oh. Peonies.
Soft, ruffled, absurdly pink.
You buy a bunch, even though you have nowhere to put them, because that’s just what you do in spring.
And in that moment, surrounded by colour, scent, and the warmth of the sun on your skin, you realise—this is it.
This is France in spring, alive and vibrant, and you wouldn’t trade it for anything.
Paris in Bloom
Paris in spring is a cliché for a reason—those cherry blossoms along the Seine, the way the Jardin du Luxembourg turns into a living Monet painting.
The plane trees along the boulevards, their bark peeling to reveal fresh shades of green, the sudden bursts of magnolia in hidden courtyards, and the lilacs perfuming the air near Notre Dame.
Walking through the city feels different—lighter, softer, as if the whole place is exhaling after the weight of winter.
The Countryside Awakens
Burgundy’s vineyards shaking off their winter slumber, the vines stretching toward the warming sun, promising another season of rich, golden wines.
In Lorraine, the Mirabelle trees burst into bloom, their delicate white flowers covering entire orchards like a dusting of snow, fragile and fleeting.
Their scent is subtle, almost shy, but stand still for a moment and you’ll catch it—a whisper of fruit to come.
And Provence, of course, where wisteria drapes itself over every stone wall like it owns the place, tumbling in wild cascades of violet that seem almost too extravagant, too indulgent, as if nature is showing off just because it can.
Spring in the Alps
We’ve lived through several springs in the Alps, and there’s nothing quite like it.
Of course, up there, spring arrives late—weeks, even months after it has already settled in the valleys and plains.
But that’s part of the charm.
Down below, the world bursts into colour, a fresh, tender green spreading across the meadows, cherry trees exploding into blossom, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and new life.
And yet, look up, beyond 2,000 metres, and winter still reigns.
The peaks remain snow-capped, their white brilliance almost shocking against the deepening blue of the sky.
One particular year, I remember driving through the Tarentaise Valley in April.
The lower slopes were waking up—primroses lining the roads, streams rushing with freshly melted snow—but the higher we climbed, the more winter fought back.
Ski resorts like La Plagne and Les Arcs still looked frozen in time, their rooftops heavy with snow, their streets quiet, waiting.
And then, the contrast—descending back to Bourg-Saint-Maurice or Aime, where café terraces were already alive with laughter, where people sat coatless in the sun, sipping espresso.
It felt like stepping between two worlds, caught in the delicate balance of seasons shifting.
That’s spring in the Alps.
A slow, breathtaking dance between winter’s final grip and the unstoppable force of renewal.
It makes you stop. Makes you pay attention.
Celebrating Spring: Easter and May Day
Easter, of course, with its chocolatiers going all out, crafting bunnies, bells, and elaborate sculptures that feel almost too pretty to eat. (Almost.)
Walk past a pâtisserie window in early April, and you’ll see an entire chocolate menagerie staring back at you—lambs, hens, even intricately designed fish, a nod to the "Poisson d’Avril" tradition where children gleefully stick paper fish on unsuspecting backs.
And Easter Monday? That’s when families and friends gather for lavish outdoor lunches, often in the first true warmth of the season, lingering for hours under blossoming apple trees, a bottle of crisp white wine always within reach.
And then comes May Day, a celebration that feels both deeply traditional and wonderfully simple.
On the first of May, streets across France fill with vendors selling delicate sprigs of lily of the valley, tied with ribbons or wrapped in simple brown paper.
The scent is unmistakable—fresh, sweet, almost nostalgic.
It’s a tradition that dates back to the Renaissance, a symbol of good luck and happiness, yet it still feels deeply personal.
People gift these little white bells to loved ones, slipping them into their hands with a quiet smile, a gesture that says more than words ever could.
And in Paris, under the towering chestnut trees, street musicians play their violins, the notes mingling with the floral perfume in the spring air.
It’s fleeting, like all of spring, but that’s what makes it so perfect.
The Scent of Orange Blossoms
Ah, and what about the scent of orange blossoms on the French Riviera?
Honestly, it’s the closest thing to paradise.
The scent is everywhere, thick and honeyed, drifting through the warm evening air.
You stand there, breathing it in, and for a moment, nothing else exists. Just that scent, just that moment, just spring unfolding around you.
I used to think of spring as a transition, a waiting room for summer.
Now, I know better.
It’s a season in its own right.
And in France, it’s the most beautiful secret of all. 🌸
Learn More About Spring in France
Here are a few articles published on the blog that might interest you if you want to dig deeper into springtime in France:
All There is to Know About Easter in France, including origins and traditions.
Très belle!!!!