Good places always have a clear identity, so that you recognise them and remember them. Often it's just the lie of the land, or the angle of the paths, or some other almost unconscious element, so you can hardly say what it is which you've noticed, but still, you know where you are.
Strangely, some places are very reminiscent of other distant places, and it's a pleasure to contrast and compare. Today after lunch at St Valery-en-Caux (of which more later) we tootled back to Fecamp along the tiny coast road, and found ourselves in North Norfolk. Here are the same little flint-and-red brick cottages and gardens with battered hedges, ancient lanes, poppies in the verges, and a hot dry chalky feel to the place. Just as in Burnham Market or Cley-next-the-Sea you feel you could reach back just with one hand to the bad old days of hard graft and lowly status, but in front of you is a sense of prosperity and rejuvenation, with the labourers' cottages modernised, and the old potato patches turned over to lawns and other leisurely purposes. This Norfolk idyll is particularly attached to one village, the others looking more Normandy-French... you will find it if you take the coast road around les Petites Dalles and xxx (forgotten, will fill this in!)
This is called the Alabaster Coast because of the light coming from the sea and the stunning line of chalk cliffs which stretch in either direction, 350+ feet high. Calm farmland up top and dangerous beaches below. Tiny valleys pip down to the sea from time to time – you can drive down these timeless little hideaways, with their calm cattle and expensive herds of horses. In the cliffs themselves are the inevitable remains of German fortifications – heavy concrete bunkers in Art Deco style.
We had lunch at St Valery-en-Caux, which is another port-in-a-valley, like Fecamp but smaller and with more of a tidal race. It too has its lifting bridge, lock and basin, plus casino, market, defunct railway station, bomb damage etc. We had an ok lunch at Resto les Bains, enjoying the powerfully coloured fake flowers and stylish lamps. It's all so well organised, wherever you go in France. It works. It's a total mystery to me why we can't organise this in England.... but then, our revolution was 130 years before the French and our class system, property-owning system, community-mindedness, and common sense are totally different. Neither did we have Napoleon.
We watched a few fishing boats loading the last of their catch up the huge wharfs to the stalls above. We watched a middle-aged couple gingerly working their way along a tiny ledge by the water's edge: she fishing for something – crabs? shellfish? - with a shrimp net, while he watched. It seemed timeless. They could have come from the Stone Age, apart from their clothes. We watched two young herring gulls pulling in a tug-of-war over some scrap on a sandbank in the harbour as the tide slowly filled around them. We admired a huge mural (60 feet high?) on an end wall.... depicting the sea, which in reality was only a couple of hundred yards away. We looked at the amazing carved wood on the front of the medieval merchant's house, with lots of women carrying bounty or spinning, or standing around... dating from the 14thc? Gorgeous.
We drove back past the thermo-electric nuclear power station at Paluel, with its ferocious razor-wire fence. We crossed the Paluel beach which in formation must be how Fecamp looked before the Abbots or nuns or whoever decided to develop it back in the 9th C.
Our tootling was helped by the satnav, which led us down roads with grass growing in the middle, and past thatched cottages with irises planted neatly along the roof-ridges, and past the gates of a smart 18thC chateau commercially named after Sissi (because she stayed there one summer. Not many English have heard of Sissi in my experience, but every Austrian and most French have. She's worth researching).
Actually the chateau is a Logis and is really called Sassetot and has a Salon de The - so we called in. It's quite nice, very reminiscent of Digeon which is my favourite Chateau so far, back in Picardy..... and see, we are back at one place being like another.
Here's the story. Sissi's chief courtier checked the place out a year in advance and then recommended she visit for the healthy sea air. She pitched up in July 1875 with 70 servants and had a great time. Not only did she cause a sensation by the size of her retinue, but she also swam in the sea. To remain private she did her daily bathing inside a double line of colossal canvas screens stretched out on the beach. The 'histoire' does not fail to have a dig at the English... it was an ENGLISH riding master who constructed some jumps for her horse, but she fell to the ground during her riding exercise and was UNCONSCIOUS for a while. Luckily a FRENCH physician was on hand to restore her to health and she totally recovered. She left a fortnight later at the end of September... back to Vienna, I suppose. Reading the notes provided by the waiter in the tea room, I wanted to shriek with laughter but restrained myself. The sense of anxiety and drama surrounding this long-dead aristo/Empress is almost palpable... the lady has fallen, she is hurt, we are all affected, we are deeply moved to hear she has recovered... Oh, please!!! Citoyens! What are you thinking?
Tonight, our last night, we are having supper with Michelle – a friend of the lady who owns this marvellou apartment. It was Michelle who let us in, showed us round. She is the one in the house with all the ornaments. I love it. We leave after breakfast, boo hoo. As usual, our holiday has passed by in a flash.
I meant to say – this morning I was able to meet with Mme Desjardins, the Conservateur from the fishing museum, a lovely lady whose office is in the old museum building no longer suitable for public access due to fire regs. The fine circular staircase is a model of elegance but is now deemed unsuitable, apart from municipal officials who risk their lives every day by working there. She was friendliness itself and has agreed to stay in touch with the Faversham Creek Trust – we can do with all the help we can get.
Thursday, 12 May 2011
Wednesday, 11 May 2011
French culture
We've had another amusing day immersing ourselves in French culture. We set off first of all to the musuem devoted to cod fishing on 'the Grand Banks' off Newfoundland. Whereas the Breton fishermen stuck to the old French-Canadian inshore territories, the Fecampois traditionally fished for cod in the deeper water. The tiny mother ships – only 50 tons up the beginning of the 19th century – would send out a dozen or so dories, each with two men who lay out the lines. Their positions were chosen by lot. The whole thing was horribly risky and open to chance – if fog or ice or bad weather overtook them, their only way back to the ship was hearing her bell ringing. Many men were lost every year. A haunting scenario. When they got their hauls of cod back to the big boat they had to throw it up onto the deck, where it was weighed by the mate, and they were paid by the number they had caught. It was salted at sa and brought back, mostly to be kippered in great warehouses round the harbour. None of those enterprises (or cod fishing boats) are left, of course, but the buildings are being restituted and respected. The museum itself is beautiful, fantastically well presented and staffed, richly plannd and endowed, with marvellous models of famous vessels (going back to the Vikings, too, as it was the Vikings who are credited around here for inventing kippers). They even have that wonderful book 'Tim at Sea' by Edward Ardizzone, in French, on sale in the excellent bookshop.
Then we went off to see the extraordinary parish church of St Etienne, which was started by an ambitious abbot in the early 1500s, on a huge scale. He died or left, they ran out of money and stopped with just a choir, transepts, tower and no nave. Fifty years royalty visited and the celebratory cannonshots actually set this awkward structure on fire. It took a further 15 years to be repaired, but still no nave. Rather reminscent of St Barts the Great in London now.
Then we took in the astonishing Abbey of Fecamp, which is utterly huge, white, and complete. This is where Wm the Conq came back to give thanks to God for letting him conquer and become King of England. He poured money into it, gave the Abbey possession of the churches at Rye, Winchelsea, Pevensey and Steyning and then staffed the rest of the English chuch with clerics from Fecamp. No wonder it was so rich. The noticeboard explaining some of this, across the road from the heavily symmetrical 18th century west front, is malicious in its glee in telling this story, in my opinion. The Normans proved to be a savage and punitive lot as far as the English were concerned, and our culture never did quite recover its confidence.
We went back to the harbour for lunch – to le Progress – filled with fat Frenchmen in pairs, eating in silent homage to their good fortune. The formule was 15.50 for Pecheurs... so it was fruits de mer, huitres, moules, morue, frites etc. The two men beside us were pleased to chat, sent us some nibbles, recommended the food, drank our health and sent us three 'trous Normandes' – little entr'actes of apple sorbet dropped into Calvados, as a present. One of these two was very merry and repetitive. The other was really spherical and reticent. He concentrated solely on the business in hand. Looks like they went there every day. Because Fecamp really is still more or less 'old France' this is how things are. We have not seen so many gourmandes in places which are better known to tourists.
A trip to the Tourist Info filled us up with maps, invites, etc especially relating to the maritime museum theme (part of the reason for my visit – to help form an alliance perhaps between the museum here and new one we are considering in Faversham to concentrate on our Creek and the Thames Barges).
Then, up we went to the Chapel of Our Lady of Salvation on the hilltop to the north of the town... again, no nave. This time it had fallen into ruin, and what's left of the very early church only survives because – like Reculver in North Kent – it acted as a way marker for shipping. The holy space below and around the tower (with a golden Virgin on top) is filled with all kinds of French religious bric-a-brac, several Mothers and Child, lots of plastic flowers etc., as well as very poignant memorials and prayers for poor sailors lost at sea. A (19th? century) noticeboard urging visitors to show respect and join in the prayers has been adorned and 'improved' with bright pink nail varnish, ending with the honest-looking word 'merci' all in lower case bright pink squeezed in at the end. The church there has been used as a quarry ever since the 18th century.... a farmhouse has been banged onto the back of the building, and that in turn has been adapted to a hotel, built in cloister style but looking both expensive and run-down at the same time. The knock-up nature of the farm house is hilarious.
We carried on along the coast, to a hidden valley leading down to a beach... lots of tiny cabins now costing thousands, I guess, but very tucked-away and rather cute. Then back to the town to find a really big supermarket... this time LeClerc.... huge, full of everything you could want. I love these places. This is where you can chart the progress of 'new France' and I can report things are definitely looking up. Stylish, cheap, confident, with a distinct national character, and very practical. I bought some more plastic-handled cutlery, 6 place settings of four pieces each for just under 13 euros. Cheapo and terrific.
Now we are back at the flat. Sunshine is flooding over the harbour. After our massive fish lunch it will be salad for super tonight. We are all tired. I have no idea if I'll get to 92 which is my mother-in-law's age, but I must say she's doing very well. Engages unkown gentlemen in conversation with ease. We had her in her wheelchair at the museum but otherwise she's done the whole day just with her walking stick for assistance. Pretty good.
Then we went off to see the extraordinary parish church of St Etienne, which was started by an ambitious abbot in the early 1500s, on a huge scale. He died or left, they ran out of money and stopped with just a choir, transepts, tower and no nave. Fifty years royalty visited and the celebratory cannonshots actually set this awkward structure on fire. It took a further 15 years to be repaired, but still no nave. Rather reminscent of St Barts the Great in London now.
Then we took in the astonishing Abbey of Fecamp, which is utterly huge, white, and complete. This is where Wm the Conq came back to give thanks to God for letting him conquer and become King of England. He poured money into it, gave the Abbey possession of the churches at Rye, Winchelsea, Pevensey and Steyning and then staffed the rest of the English chuch with clerics from Fecamp. No wonder it was so rich. The noticeboard explaining some of this, across the road from the heavily symmetrical 18th century west front, is malicious in its glee in telling this story, in my opinion. The Normans proved to be a savage and punitive lot as far as the English were concerned, and our culture never did quite recover its confidence.
We went back to the harbour for lunch – to le Progress – filled with fat Frenchmen in pairs, eating in silent homage to their good fortune. The formule was 15.50 for Pecheurs... so it was fruits de mer, huitres, moules, morue, frites etc. The two men beside us were pleased to chat, sent us some nibbles, recommended the food, drank our health and sent us three 'trous Normandes' – little entr'actes of apple sorbet dropped into Calvados, as a present. One of these two was very merry and repetitive. The other was really spherical and reticent. He concentrated solely on the business in hand. Looks like they went there every day. Because Fecamp really is still more or less 'old France' this is how things are. We have not seen so many gourmandes in places which are better known to tourists.
A trip to the Tourist Info filled us up with maps, invites, etc especially relating to the maritime museum theme (part of the reason for my visit – to help form an alliance perhaps between the museum here and new one we are considering in Faversham to concentrate on our Creek and the Thames Barges).
Then, up we went to the Chapel of Our Lady of Salvation on the hilltop to the north of the town... again, no nave. This time it had fallen into ruin, and what's left of the very early church only survives because – like Reculver in North Kent – it acted as a way marker for shipping. The holy space below and around the tower (with a golden Virgin on top) is filled with all kinds of French religious bric-a-brac, several Mothers and Child, lots of plastic flowers etc., as well as very poignant memorials and prayers for poor sailors lost at sea. A (19th? century) noticeboard urging visitors to show respect and join in the prayers has been adorned and 'improved' with bright pink nail varnish, ending with the honest-looking word 'merci' all in lower case bright pink squeezed in at the end. The church there has been used as a quarry ever since the 18th century.... a farmhouse has been banged onto the back of the building, and that in turn has been adapted to a hotel, built in cloister style but looking both expensive and run-down at the same time. The knock-up nature of the farm house is hilarious.
We carried on along the coast, to a hidden valley leading down to a beach... lots of tiny cabins now costing thousands, I guess, but very tucked-away and rather cute. Then back to the town to find a really big supermarket... this time LeClerc.... huge, full of everything you could want. I love these places. This is where you can chart the progress of 'new France' and I can report things are definitely looking up. Stylish, cheap, confident, with a distinct national character, and very practical. I bought some more plastic-handled cutlery, 6 place settings of four pieces each for just under 13 euros. Cheapo and terrific.
Now we are back at the flat. Sunshine is flooding over the harbour. After our massive fish lunch it will be salad for super tonight. We are all tired. I have no idea if I'll get to 92 which is my mother-in-law's age, but I must say she's doing very well. Engages unkown gentlemen in conversation with ease. We had her in her wheelchair at the museum but otherwise she's done the whole day just with her walking stick for assistance. Pretty good.
Hypothetical (or not so hypothetical) French conversations
Eh! I am a lonely old French millionaire, living alone in my beautiful modern house here on the hill, overlooking the bay of Fécamp and the view of the magnificent line of cliffs which runs down to le Havre. It will never be overlooked: It is the best site in the town. I 'ave absolutely no-one to leave zis house to when I die. You look like a responsible couple, and also, you are Engleesh. I wonder, would you care to come inside wiz me and see what you sink about my proposal. 'ere, come up onto zis terrace and admire ze view... As you see, ze house is built to ze most exacting architectural stanadards. Let me offer you a leetle drink.....
---
Tiens! 'ere I am in my lovely new apartment, brand new as you say in Eengland. I 'ave 'ad many soughts about 'ow to decorate eet. We 'ave a very simple, modern, minimalist style 'ere. Very chic. So I will add a leetle trellis, 'ere, to give what you call a false perspecteeve. And I will add some bright blue plastic roses, 'ere and 'ere, so charming, no? And my old farzer, 'e was a fisherman, so in 'is 'onour I 'ave put zis model of a fishing boat right in front on ze balcony. Eet is good, no?
---
Well, actually, the Place Gouret is named in memory of my great-uncle Albert Gouret who was betrayed as a member of the Resistance, right at the end of the war, and he was taken away and shot by the Germans. Of course I never knew him. I am very proud of him. The whole family is very proud. They were terrible times. We cannot imagine now what it was like. I run the Bar de la Place now, right in front of the Hotel de Ville. Very popular with tourists of course. We get a lot of Americans coming, art lovers, because of all the Impressionists who painted this town, and people interested in the Normandy landings. And Dutch and English of course. And Germans, too..... They love it.
---
Mayor: Now, here we need to modernise the town. We need to pull down the fish-canning factory, and these old works. We need a good hotel, and a museum and a cultural centre. And a playground for the children. We'll have to close the road and move this bridge and it will cause a lot of disruption for three years. Then it will all be renewed. What do you all think?
Commune: Oui!
Départment: Oui!
---
Paulette, you stand in front. You are the smallest. Now, Daniel, you next. Put your hand on Paulette's shoulder. Now, Lionel, you stand behind Daniel, yes that's right.Put your and on Danile's shoulder. Now, Cyril, you go behind Lionel. Michelle, you are next, you mustn't cry. Just stand here, and put your hand on Cyril's shoulder, and then we will have – er, who's the next tallest? I think Agnes, yes, you are the one.... Now, you twins come next, Aristide and Nicole, either one, it doesn't matter, you are the same height. Now, all you others, wait your turn. We have to take your picture in groups, and this way everyone gets an equal position in the composition. Hurry up, stand straight, remember this is where the famous French artist Manet stood to paint the cliffs... you will all be in our photograph, you will remember this day when you grow up, and be very proud. Now, stand very still, that's it, and a big smile! Good, now the second group. Starting with Alain, good, now Armande, and then Camille, yes, that's it......
---
French TV cooking channel called Yumissimo... she is making velouté de concombre, incorporating rocket and tomato.... (True).
---
Do you know what he's going to do? He's going to get some goats. In fact, he's already got some. They're in the orchard at the back and he's made them a shelter in that building at the side of the garden. I know it used to be a goat house, but he's been using it as a personal gym for the last few years. He's taken all that exercise equipment out and put it in the garage. Yes, it's true. I said to him Jean-Paul, you don't know anything about keeping goats. Milking them, and so on. They can really hurt you if they want to. And he said, there can't be too much to it, the peasants used to keep them. Really! He wants to make his own cheese. I ask you! He's not even here most of the time. He's a city man, not a farmer. He's in advertising. He doesn't know anything about farming. He says he can learn it all from the internet. Ridiculous.
---
Mayor: This old building here on the quayside is very historic. It is not being used in the best way. In fact this whole property has always served in a useful way for our community and the present owner just wants to convert the place into apartments for a one-off profit. We will buy it from him by compulsory purchase, and make sure the whole town benefits from the restoration of the area. This will preserve our heritage and create jobs and new opportunities for generations to come. What do you think of this?
Commune: Oui!
Department: Ouit!
Echo from Belgium, Nederlands, Holland, Denmark: Oui! Oui! Oui!
Echo from England - typical council official: An Englishman's property is sacrosanct. And we have never used a Compulsory Purchase order, and don't intend to start now. Even an election doesn't scare us. Nothing the community does will make us change our mind..... Never mind if all the old skills and knowledge is lost, this man must be allowed to put his apartment block and cafes into this building......
---
---
Tiens! 'ere I am in my lovely new apartment, brand new as you say in Eengland. I 'ave 'ad many soughts about 'ow to decorate eet. We 'ave a very simple, modern, minimalist style 'ere. Very chic. So I will add a leetle trellis, 'ere, to give what you call a false perspecteeve. And I will add some bright blue plastic roses, 'ere and 'ere, so charming, no? And my old farzer, 'e was a fisherman, so in 'is 'onour I 'ave put zis model of a fishing boat right in front on ze balcony. Eet is good, no?
---
Well, actually, the Place Gouret is named in memory of my great-uncle Albert Gouret who was betrayed as a member of the Resistance, right at the end of the war, and he was taken away and shot by the Germans. Of course I never knew him. I am very proud of him. The whole family is very proud. They were terrible times. We cannot imagine now what it was like. I run the Bar de la Place now, right in front of the Hotel de Ville. Very popular with tourists of course. We get a lot of Americans coming, art lovers, because of all the Impressionists who painted this town, and people interested in the Normandy landings. And Dutch and English of course. And Germans, too..... They love it.
---
Mayor: Now, here we need to modernise the town. We need to pull down the fish-canning factory, and these old works. We need a good hotel, and a museum and a cultural centre. And a playground for the children. We'll have to close the road and move this bridge and it will cause a lot of disruption for three years. Then it will all be renewed. What do you all think?
Commune: Oui!
Départment: Oui!
---
Paulette, you stand in front. You are the smallest. Now, Daniel, you next. Put your hand on Paulette's shoulder. Now, Lionel, you stand behind Daniel, yes that's right.Put your and on Danile's shoulder. Now, Cyril, you go behind Lionel. Michelle, you are next, you mustn't cry. Just stand here, and put your hand on Cyril's shoulder, and then we will have – er, who's the next tallest? I think Agnes, yes, you are the one.... Now, you twins come next, Aristide and Nicole, either one, it doesn't matter, you are the same height. Now, all you others, wait your turn. We have to take your picture in groups, and this way everyone gets an equal position in the composition. Hurry up, stand straight, remember this is where the famous French artist Manet stood to paint the cliffs... you will all be in our photograph, you will remember this day when you grow up, and be very proud. Now, stand very still, that's it, and a big smile! Good, now the second group. Starting with Alain, good, now Armande, and then Camille, yes, that's it......
---
French TV cooking channel called Yumissimo... she is making velouté de concombre, incorporating rocket and tomato.... (True).
---
Do you know what he's going to do? He's going to get some goats. In fact, he's already got some. They're in the orchard at the back and he's made them a shelter in that building at the side of the garden. I know it used to be a goat house, but he's been using it as a personal gym for the last few years. He's taken all that exercise equipment out and put it in the garage. Yes, it's true. I said to him Jean-Paul, you don't know anything about keeping goats. Milking them, and so on. They can really hurt you if they want to. And he said, there can't be too much to it, the peasants used to keep them. Really! He wants to make his own cheese. I ask you! He's not even here most of the time. He's a city man, not a farmer. He's in advertising. He doesn't know anything about farming. He says he can learn it all from the internet. Ridiculous.
---
Mayor: This old building here on the quayside is very historic. It is not being used in the best way. In fact this whole property has always served in a useful way for our community and the present owner just wants to convert the place into apartments for a one-off profit. We will buy it from him by compulsory purchase, and make sure the whole town benefits from the restoration of the area. This will preserve our heritage and create jobs and new opportunities for generations to come. What do you think of this?
Commune: Oui!
Department: Ouit!
Echo from Belgium, Nederlands, Holland, Denmark: Oui! Oui! Oui!
Echo from England - typical council official: An Englishman's property is sacrosanct. And we have never used a Compulsory Purchase order, and don't intend to start now. Even an election doesn't scare us. Nothing the community does will make us change our mind..... Never mind if all the old skills and knowledge is lost, this man must be allowed to put his apartment block and cafes into this building......
---
Tuesday, 10 May 2011
French supremacy
We had a perfect day. It's about to be marred by frustration with French keyboard layout where a, ., w, numbers, m, and other usual keys are all in the wrong place so typing takes far longer than normal, trying to correct everything.
During the night, Joan's bed had tried to eat her when she got up in the dark - some sort of automatic pillow-lifting thing slipped into action when she inadvertently knocked a switch.
After breakfast we headed along the coast towards Etretat, stopping first at Yport where a pretty little open-topped English Morgan drew an admiring crowd of French Harley riders, and we watched masses of little school children go winkling down on the beach. The tiny row of beqch-huts are very pointy and chic in white, grey and black stripes. The twisty road over the headland to Etretat is just divine... through woods dappled with sunlight, with wild flowers shining in every quarter. (I now know why the French speak with such q strong accent - it's becaquse their keyboards are all zrong:::: I am spending tzice as long as nor,ql trying to type this as I have to correct it every few letters).
Etretat is gorgeous - coffee in the square, visit to a cider shoppe. An Englishman with a very strong northern accent told a tale of woe. He had forgotten to drive on the right and totally mashed his car. He was waiting for a new one to arrive.
Signs along the prom warn against feeding the gulls. We ate plaice at the Corsair Hotel on the seafront, with one cheeky gull trying to get through the glass 'wall' to nick our food. We admired the well-placed repros of some of Monet's beachscapes, comparing them with the present view. The sea was glassy calm, the cliffs magnificent. I wish you could see the rubbish unfolding fro, ,y fingers qs I try to touchtype. Aaaaaghhh.
On then to Honfleur, which must be one of the prettiest places on the planet. From a campaiogning point of view, I want to bring all our local councillors to this little medieval port to see what could be achieved with a swingbridge, some pretty boats and cafes etc along the waterside. Fantastic.
We have just eaten a crab salad for supper. Simple, stone-age and perfect. I cannot stand to type here qny ,ore; I zill do it on ,y Liniux ,qchine to,orroz qnd trqnsfer using q flqsh cqrd:
More to,orroz:
During the night, Joan's bed had tried to eat her when she got up in the dark - some sort of automatic pillow-lifting thing slipped into action when she inadvertently knocked a switch.
After breakfast we headed along the coast towards Etretat, stopping first at Yport where a pretty little open-topped English Morgan drew an admiring crowd of French Harley riders, and we watched masses of little school children go winkling down on the beach. The tiny row of beqch-huts are very pointy and chic in white, grey and black stripes. The twisty road over the headland to Etretat is just divine... through woods dappled with sunlight, with wild flowers shining in every quarter. (I now know why the French speak with such q strong accent - it's becaquse their keyboards are all zrong:::: I am spending tzice as long as nor,ql trying to type this as I have to correct it every few letters).
Etretat is gorgeous - coffee in the square, visit to a cider shoppe. An Englishman with a very strong northern accent told a tale of woe. He had forgotten to drive on the right and totally mashed his car. He was waiting for a new one to arrive.
Signs along the prom warn against feeding the gulls. We ate plaice at the Corsair Hotel on the seafront, with one cheeky gull trying to get through the glass 'wall' to nick our food. We admired the well-placed repros of some of Monet's beachscapes, comparing them with the present view. The sea was glassy calm, the cliffs magnificent. I wish you could see the rubbish unfolding fro, ,y fingers qs I try to touchtype. Aaaaaghhh.
On then to Honfleur, which must be one of the prettiest places on the planet. From a campaiogning point of view, I want to bring all our local councillors to this little medieval port to see what could be achieved with a swingbridge, some pretty boats and cafes etc along the waterside. Fantastic.
We have just eaten a crab salad for supper. Simple, stone-age and perfect. I cannot stand to type here qny ,ore; I zill do it on ,y Liniux ,qchine to,orroz qnd trqnsfer using q flqsh cqrd:
More to,orroz:
Monday, 9 May 2011
Day one
To Fecamp
We've had a great day getting here: The ferry crossing from Dover to Calais was smooth – on P&O's brand new Spirit of Britain. We had a reasonable cafeteria lunch marred only by the 'hostess' insisting that we approach the counters via a chicane of those bloody awful straps which make you walk up and down in pointless back and forth movements. I asked why she didn't just take it down as the boat was barely half full. She said it had to be there in case a great rush of people arrived. This kind of attitude is insulting as well as bonkers. My mother-in-law is 92 and walking is not always easy for her, but even she had to limp her way round this ridiculous rat maze. She chose a sandwich, Andrew had a Balti curry, and Josh (my 22-year old nephew) and I had haddock and chips. Not bad.
Getting into Calais is always splendid. I love it. The whole history and light of the place is very transparent. I liked it better before its recent revival, but no doubt the locals are pleased with how it's turned out.
There is something so inexplicably French about France, something so different from England and made up of so many tiny details all deeply rooted in their revolutionary culture and democratic method, that is impossible to imagine there could ever be more than a nodding kind of friendship between them and us. Their lamp-posts, gardens, hours, family life, rules, humour and smell are totally, absolutely, completely different from ours. I can only imagine they look on us as a real yahoo country, indisciplined, scruffy and with an odd tendency to assymmetry. I am always struck by how the French have arranged for most of their things to work the same way wherever you are in this huge country... lunchtimes, parking arrangments, town lawyers, shutters, what have you. Their engineering of bridges and harbours is magnificent. Their formality, directness and national pride maybe seem rather old fashioned to us Brits now that our great empire has more or less vanished... we are turning our own considerable powers of science, politics and engineering to new areas, so we have a rapidly evolving language, more informality, more self-deprecation, more fragmentation.
We dropped Josh off at the station to catch the TGV to Paris, then we drove down through Normandy – the glowing beauty of the landscape is irresistible. The farms may sometimes be small but they are prosperous. There are these small fields full of grass with small herds of the local brown and white cows and their calves, who all look blissfully happy. You almost never see cows like this in England. Here, each animal knows it is highly valued for that precious creamy milk and is, in all probability, a member of the family. They are actually radiant with calm contentment. It makes me angry that our livestock are not managed like this, but squashed into intensive systems, fed on unnatural foods, numbered and kept distant. Here the mighty French tradition of food has made them cherish their kine, and the dairy cows are so so lucky to live this side of the channel.
Fecamp is an old sea port, where the fishermen until recently worked the Grand Banks and up into Icelandic waters. Now the harbour is full of yachts and there are plans to build a big hotel and museum. Our gorgeous apartment on the third floor faces west over the basin. The town is spread out on the opposite bank, with the cliffs leading down towards Etretat behind them. We were shown into the flat by a friend of the owner who is away in Portugal. Our guide is a lovely lady who used to be an English teacher, comes from Rouen, and sounds just like my French teacher back home. Both are called Michelle, as it happens. This one has invited us to supper at her house on Thursday. Her house is a feast of French knick-knacks, bowls, paintings, dried flowers, ships' wheels, a marvellous old banjo-clock which was a wedding-present to her grandparents in 1902. The décor is yellow and blue. She's lived there for 10 years. She brought us along to this apartment just along the road: it's three floors up, via an automatic car-gate and a smooth lift. She went back home, leaving us to install ourselves. As we loaded the things into the lift, a neighbour downstairs told me in a stong Fecamp/Dieppoise accent that the person in the flat exactly next to ours died this morning. The family are all here. She indicated we should be sombre. That does not match our mood as we enjoy this big spacious salon with the sun setting over the sea, and light cascading down onto the quays and jetties. I hope Josh has arrived in Paris ok... in fact he's just texted to say he's ok.
This keyboard has a very different layout... I zill hqve to get used to it:
We've had a great day getting here: The ferry crossing from Dover to Calais was smooth – on P&O's brand new Spirit of Britain. We had a reasonable cafeteria lunch marred only by the 'hostess' insisting that we approach the counters via a chicane of those bloody awful straps which make you walk up and down in pointless back and forth movements. I asked why she didn't just take it down as the boat was barely half full. She said it had to be there in case a great rush of people arrived. This kind of attitude is insulting as well as bonkers. My mother-in-law is 92 and walking is not always easy for her, but even she had to limp her way round this ridiculous rat maze. She chose a sandwich, Andrew had a Balti curry, and Josh (my 22-year old nephew) and I had haddock and chips. Not bad.
Getting into Calais is always splendid. I love it. The whole history and light of the place is very transparent. I liked it better before its recent revival, but no doubt the locals are pleased with how it's turned out.
There is something so inexplicably French about France, something so different from England and made up of so many tiny details all deeply rooted in their revolutionary culture and democratic method, that is impossible to imagine there could ever be more than a nodding kind of friendship between them and us. Their lamp-posts, gardens, hours, family life, rules, humour and smell are totally, absolutely, completely different from ours. I can only imagine they look on us as a real yahoo country, indisciplined, scruffy and with an odd tendency to assymmetry. I am always struck by how the French have arranged for most of their things to work the same way wherever you are in this huge country... lunchtimes, parking arrangments, town lawyers, shutters, what have you. Their engineering of bridges and harbours is magnificent. Their formality, directness and national pride maybe seem rather old fashioned to us Brits now that our great empire has more or less vanished... we are turning our own considerable powers of science, politics and engineering to new areas, so we have a rapidly evolving language, more informality, more self-deprecation, more fragmentation.
We dropped Josh off at the station to catch the TGV to Paris, then we drove down through Normandy – the glowing beauty of the landscape is irresistible. The farms may sometimes be small but they are prosperous. There are these small fields full of grass with small herds of the local brown and white cows and their calves, who all look blissfully happy. You almost never see cows like this in England. Here, each animal knows it is highly valued for that precious creamy milk and is, in all probability, a member of the family. They are actually radiant with calm contentment. It makes me angry that our livestock are not managed like this, but squashed into intensive systems, fed on unnatural foods, numbered and kept distant. Here the mighty French tradition of food has made them cherish their kine, and the dairy cows are so so lucky to live this side of the channel.
Fecamp is an old sea port, where the fishermen until recently worked the Grand Banks and up into Icelandic waters. Now the harbour is full of yachts and there are plans to build a big hotel and museum. Our gorgeous apartment on the third floor faces west over the basin. The town is spread out on the opposite bank, with the cliffs leading down towards Etretat behind them. We were shown into the flat by a friend of the owner who is away in Portugal. Our guide is a lovely lady who used to be an English teacher, comes from Rouen, and sounds just like my French teacher back home. Both are called Michelle, as it happens. This one has invited us to supper at her house on Thursday. Her house is a feast of French knick-knacks, bowls, paintings, dried flowers, ships' wheels, a marvellous old banjo-clock which was a wedding-present to her grandparents in 1902. The décor is yellow and blue. She's lived there for 10 years. She brought us along to this apartment just along the road: it's three floors up, via an automatic car-gate and a smooth lift. She went back home, leaving us to install ourselves. As we loaded the things into the lift, a neighbour downstairs told me in a stong Fecamp/Dieppoise accent that the person in the flat exactly next to ours died this morning. The family are all here. She indicated we should be sombre. That does not match our mood as we enjoy this big spacious salon with the sun setting over the sea, and light cascading down onto the quays and jetties. I hope Josh has arrived in Paris ok... in fact he's just texted to say he's ok.
This keyboard has a very different layout... I zill hqve to get used to it:
Sunday, 8 May 2011
Anxieties.... plans....
We watered, hoed and planted some beans this morning on the allotment, hoping things will stay orderly enough for our friend Dennis to manage it while we are away. The people on the plot next door were putting up a proper polytunnel - the last one ripped in the wind and that led to a rift between the two guys who owned it. One left and the other has found a new helper. They were using a metal-cutter to fit the hoops so our peaceful time there was full of industrial noise. I planted out some baby red pak choi and something called namenia for salads when we get back. Hope the slugs don't find them all.
Back in the garden it's been hard work planting things out so they have a better chance of surviving whatever the weather flings at them. That includes a smart little banana tree, three coffee plants, a lychee, and the usual herbs etc.
Our neighbour is very kindly going to water for us, but there are so many pots and special things, it will be quite a task. I vow never to go away again in May... there is just too much going on. The truth is, at this time of year, we are quite often checking things on a two-hourly basis. Wind and bright sun can wreck things very fast.
We are particularly pleased with our pip-grown grapefruit. It's about 15 years old and has made blossom for the first time this year. One of the flowers has already started forming into a little grapefruit. The tree has quite vicious spikes, however.
I should have gone to hear Andrew playing in the choral society's fund-raising cabaret show this afternoon, but ended up wandering round the town and doing some petty shopping. First time for ages. I'm sad to have missed his brilliant new arrangement of 'My Old Man Said Follow The Van' for three (or four) brass instruments. I've only heard it so far on the laptop, it sounds terrific. He says the players take it more slowly than he intended, but there are an awful lot of notes. He will be home soon - we will finish up in the garden, pack, check things are organised, and have an early night. So, that's it for today. Next bulletin should be from Fécamp, where we will be in an apartment on the Quai Guy de Maupassant, overlooking the harbour. I am planning to go to the fishing museum, which I am told is exemplary, devoted mostly to the Grand Banks. I have some beautiful little posters for them, from the Faversham Creek Trust, which is considering starting a museum devoted to Thames Barges and other North Kent matters. Private, of course.
Back in the garden it's been hard work planting things out so they have a better chance of surviving whatever the weather flings at them. That includes a smart little banana tree, three coffee plants, a lychee, and the usual herbs etc.
Our neighbour is very kindly going to water for us, but there are so many pots and special things, it will be quite a task. I vow never to go away again in May... there is just too much going on. The truth is, at this time of year, we are quite often checking things on a two-hourly basis. Wind and bright sun can wreck things very fast.
We are particularly pleased with our pip-grown grapefruit. It's about 15 years old and has made blossom for the first time this year. One of the flowers has already started forming into a little grapefruit. The tree has quite vicious spikes, however.
I should have gone to hear Andrew playing in the choral society's fund-raising cabaret show this afternoon, but ended up wandering round the town and doing some petty shopping. First time for ages. I'm sad to have missed his brilliant new arrangement of 'My Old Man Said Follow The Van' for three (or four) brass instruments. I've only heard it so far on the laptop, it sounds terrific. He says the players take it more slowly than he intended, but there are an awful lot of notes. He will be home soon - we will finish up in the garden, pack, check things are organised, and have an early night. So, that's it for today. Next bulletin should be from Fécamp, where we will be in an apartment on the Quai Guy de Maupassant, overlooking the harbour. I am planning to go to the fishing museum, which I am told is exemplary, devoted mostly to the Grand Banks. I have some beautiful little posters for them, from the Faversham Creek Trust, which is considering starting a museum devoted to Thames Barges and other North Kent matters. Private, of course.
Saturday, 7 May 2011
Getting ready
I always find myself writing about how panicky I feel before I go away. Too much to do. All the planning in the world is useless. There's still too much to do. Anyway, my business affairs are in capable hands, the garden and allotment are being cared for by friends, ferries and flights are booked, so that's about it.
Is the panic really another fear? I think so. That I won't come back. See?
Having had a totally unexpected cancer diagnosis in January, followed by surgery, and with radiotherapy lined up for the end of the month, the ridiculously fragile nature of my life is more apparent to me than ever. I thought I would go on forever, in fact. Now I've had this little message from the ultimate hotelier, Death.
Consequently, my perfectionist instincts are all the sharper. I would like to be leaving my house, garden, wardrobe, accounts, correspondence, etc all in perfect order but - ha ha! they have never looked so chaotic!
We are off to Fécamp in Normandy with my 92-year old mother-in-law for a few days, then back home for a night, then off to Nairobi to stay with friends for a long week. Quite a lot to plan, as it happens. I am aware of the perils of both excursions, all to do with relationships of course, and how I manage my behaviour. I find I have a low opinion of myself in the company of some people and I shall be with some of them during this holiday. Heigh ho!
Anyway, as usual I have no idea how easy it will be to post during these travels. I will do my best. We are off on Monday early.
Is the panic really another fear? I think so. That I won't come back. See?
Having had a totally unexpected cancer diagnosis in January, followed by surgery, and with radiotherapy lined up for the end of the month, the ridiculously fragile nature of my life is more apparent to me than ever. I thought I would go on forever, in fact. Now I've had this little message from the ultimate hotelier, Death.
Consequently, my perfectionist instincts are all the sharper. I would like to be leaving my house, garden, wardrobe, accounts, correspondence, etc all in perfect order but - ha ha! they have never looked so chaotic!
We are off to Fécamp in Normandy with my 92-year old mother-in-law for a few days, then back home for a night, then off to Nairobi to stay with friends for a long week. Quite a lot to plan, as it happens. I am aware of the perils of both excursions, all to do with relationships of course, and how I manage my behaviour. I find I have a low opinion of myself in the company of some people and I shall be with some of them during this holiday. Heigh ho!
Anyway, as usual I have no idea how easy it will be to post during these travels. I will do my best. We are off on Monday early.
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