Floating motionless in the deep water of northern Italy’s exquisite Lago di Ledro in beating sun, I felt the contradictory sensation of simultaneous exertion and relaxation. My heart was thumping from the front crawl I’d just done, yet my mind basked in the beauty of this tree-lined valley and my brief, heavenly solitude. I could pretend this was fortuitous, but in truth my dash to the centre of this little lake in the south of the Trentino region – at the exact midpoint of a three-week round trip from England to Italy by car – was premeditated. As a parent of two under-fives (at that moment happily distracted on shore), I had been visualising this for months: the revitalising lake swim alone was more or less justification for the 2,000-plus road miles. What I hadn’t pictured, however, were the swallows that would join me there, gracefully swooping within metres of my body, feeding out of reach from the hubbub at the lake’s circumference and – I like to think – out of earshot of their own young, chirruping in their nests. My wife and I had brought our two boys – aged one and four – on holiday to the alpine foothills of Italy. We were spending a week in Trentino with her parents and, somewhat ambitiously, a week either side on the road. There were challenges aplenty but, whisper it, we actually had fun, too. So I’m about to make the case for what some might consider the unholy trinity of travel: long car journeys, young kids and … camping. Why Valle di Ledro? Simply because this remarkably green, wildflower-speckled valley a few miles west of the top end of Lake Garda could be defined by the fundamentals that underpin all holidays with small children: exertion and relaxation interwoven. As abundant in recreation opportunities as in staggering natural beauty, Trentino is where you go having accepted that activity is an inescapable essential of parenting, at home or on holiday. And that the only way to secure the evening’s local pinot grigio is to ensure the day knackers the children into slumber. Nowhere does this better than Trentino. When its ski season melts away, the region’s flower-rich meadows, beech and fir woods, waterfalls, stunning mountains and placid waters are an outdoor pursuits playground. Why drive? Well, my wife has now accrued an impressive run of no-flight holidays and refused to break the habit. We considered taking the train, but for comparative ease of movement the car won out. We also knew what we were letting ourselves in for, having spent a month last year driving around Spain with (then) a toddler and a baby. There would be moments of tension, quite possibly tears, but also the potential for adventure. Besides, there is something delightful in the liberal throwing of possessions into a car boot that constitutes packing for a road trip. Shall we bring the blender? Heck, why not. Why camp? There are the worthy justifications – the taste of the great outdoors, the ease with which children make temporary friends, the unparalleled locations. But the chief advantage is that it’s pretty affordable. We borrowed a three-compartment tent, packed blowup mattresses and a barbecue, and tried it all out in the back garden. Which was when we made the unanimous decision that nights under canvas would be rewarded with the occasional roof, be it hotel or apartment. Owing to a lack of preparation time and not a little indecision, by the day of departure we had only part-planned our passage through Europe. Opting for the France-Switzerland route, we took the DFDS ferry from Dover to Calais – a three-hour drive from our home in Hampshire – and made our first stop relatively close by, easing in with a hotel stay. Despite years of driving holidays in France as a child, I’d never stopped in Saint-Omer, our first halt after the ferry crossing, yet it was the best of beginnings to an alfresco family holiday. While the medieval municipality had the requisite cobbled streets, distressed architecture and Saturday market, the activities kicked off immediately. At the beginning of each leg we’d bank as many miles as we could before squabbles broke out in the back (and in the front) The morning was spent on the labyrinthine waters of the Unesco-protected Marais Audomarois, a 3,000-hectare marshland crisscrossed with canals. Taking a traditional flat-bottomed barge (escute) along a fragment of the waterway, we glided past windmills and waterlilies and deep reedbeds rich in birdlife. After a wholesome lunch of marsh-farmed produce at Les Bols du Marais, we moved on to the nearby Rando-Rail, 9km of disused railway track that visitors can ride on a pedal-powered cart. Our one-year-old expressed unbridled joy as he sat upfront in a child seat, hurtling down the rails with the wind in his face. The camping got off to a similarly successful start at Domaine le Colombier, near ancient Troyes, and a three-hour drive from Saint-Omer. Our tent pitch, in the grounds of an old farm near the village of Dienville, was less than three minutes’ walk from a boulangerie and a bar, yet encircled by flowering hedges and shaded by an elegant apple tree. It is a campsite designed by and for families, offering privacy and space; an outstanding adventure playground; a sandpit beside the reception kiosk; and an immaculate shower block enhanced by ambient music to soothe the most heinous nappy change. The only downside? Dienville church is about 100 metres from the campsite and its bells chime hourly through the night. Before moving on, we paddled in Lac Amance and hit the cycle paths with hired bikes and a kids’ trailer. Another pleasant surprise was that our lack of planning proved beneficial. When our campsite in Switzerland turned out to be cramped and grey, we left it a day early for the dramatic St Bernard Pass into Italy, and stayed a night in Aosta. On the way back, when an acquaintance suggested we check out the environmentally progressive, lively Black Forest city of Freiburg im Breisgau, we booked a campsite and rerouted through Germany. When thunderstorms hit Germany, we drove on to Metz in eastern France. Whims, recommendations and tumultuous weather all resulted in unexpected highlights: the transporter train through the Vereina Tunnel in mountainous eastern Switzerland that delighted our eldest; the wild orchids of Swiss national park, close to the Italian border, that delighted me; the network of shallow water runnels in old-town Freiburg; the blowout final night in buzzing Lille. As expected, the long car journeys were no picnic. At the beginning of each, we would bank as many miles as we could before squabbles broke out in the back (and occasionally in the front). But the winning formula every time was to make a midway stop at a random town and indulge the same three distractions: a playground, a lunch, a quiet, calming church. So dependable was this pacifying trio that we came to rank them: Shluderns in South Tirol, France’s Saint Quentin, Italy’s Novara, Switzerland’s Baden, in that order. Quaint Redu in southern Belgium won best sandwich, though pizzas were a hit the continent over. It’s fair to say that when at last we pulled into the Trentino village of Enguiso – for the comfort of a mountain-view apartment and in-house grandparental assistance – we were ready for the comparative respite. The tent’s inescapable pitfall is that between the novelty, the excitement and the extended daylight, kids settle late and rise early: we were tired. Nonetheless the remedial qualities of Valle di Ledro worked their magic swiftly: sailing boats and pool floats, woodland walks, alpine hikes, river dabbles and farm visits. One morning my wife and I slipped off to circle the lake on hired bikes. Finding a hidden beach, we swam out into the beckoning water: relaxation every bit worth the exertion.