Le Tipi du Jardin des Bises

From the Grenoble/Valence road, once in the village, the green "Ferme de San ou Sans" signs lead you to us. After 1 km and 3 switchbacks, you're on a plateau, the Hameau de San, the farm on the left is us!

Camping or unusual accommodation in a tepee, yurt or chambre d'hôte (possibility of accommodating a truck, depending on length), all in the heart of our farm's crops and activities, with showers, dry toilets and the essential "conveniences". Cyclists, horse riders and hikers welcome. Access to our local produce for sale around harvest time (2 times a week) for our markets on the Vercorien plateau... Nuts, oil, honeys, herbal teas, eggs, drinks, vinegars and seasonal vegetables.

Since taking over from Great Uncle "Riquet", who left in 2018, the fine team has been living out its history and aspirations on the heights of Izeron in the southern Grésivaudan region of France, at Ferme de San, where cows, horses, chickens and ducks, dogs, cats, humans and dummies, sheep, plants and wildlife all appreciate the place for its security, calm and good vibes.

As with all beginnings, existential questioning forced the inspiration and development of the qualities of all this happy community to make it a place self-sufficient in many resources.

The ball of encounters and sharing around peasantry and market gardening was opened on WWOOF-FRANCE 6 years ago via "Ferme de San". A year later, the "Jardin des Bises" option followed, allowing shorter stays on the site and its discovery.

Thanks to the goodwill and goodwill of the various visitors, many advances have transformed the cultivation andreception capacities of the land and buildings.

The "ACCUEIL PAYSAN" website offers visibility and access to all those whose curiosity about "living differently" suggests meeting up for a break or longer holiday.

"In this valley, the Sud-Grésivaudan, the Isère valley, the seraglio, the rut, the crucible, set between the Vertacomicorian cliffs and the Chambarannais hills. Like a hiccup, a jolt, the last Chthonian gasp after the rocks of the Alps above our heads have vanished. Down below, our feet sunk into deep, fertile silts from the days when our wild river swept away our vain attempts to fix the world with its tumultuous swerves and thus drove us to sit overhanging, between pebbles and veins of clay. It was here, at mid-slope, that we settled, as witnessed by the old worm-eaten stone heaps that line these forests, old churches collapsed under majestic old trees. Even further back, our old hunter-gatherer grandmothers, their skin still tanned by the ancestral suns, have left their mark on the limestone teeth that still tower over us, more than 10,000 years away."