En Normandie and le Nord

Over two hundred lanes, and we were directed to lane 192. At Dover, England we had tried to get on an earlier ferry but were given a ‘yellow owl’, a large yellow paper owl which instructed us to leave the terminal and come back later (we were not paying an extra £60 for an earlier ferry). Indeed, there are many more lanes at Dover than at Picton.

That night we stayed on our first aire after driving off the ferry. We ended up facing the English Channel and watched ferries arriving and departing. All very interesting if a bit noisy. An aire (de camping car) is a place designated for motorhomes to stop. Charges vary with services provided. In this case construction was happening and no charge – chalk that up in the plus column.

The next day we headed for the biggest shopping mall in the area and laden with goodies, wine, cheese, new shoes for Stuart, new cotton blouses for Jane we were immediately struck by how easy the roads were, there were no hedgerows, stone walls, potholes etc. We visited the pretty village of Wissant, a seaside village, tediously taking photos of floral arrangements and pretty houses. There were poppies lining the roads of northern France, a reminder of why the poppy is the symbol of remembrance.

In our first few days here we have struck the good the bad and ugly of French aires. One aire was in a town that the aliens had obviously abducted all the inhabitants, pulled down the shutters and left. However it was free but offered no service. At another aire we had a fabulous beachfront site with turquoise water lapping onto a pebbled beach. White cliffs provided a backdrop to the little beach huts, all built the same with pitched roofs of different pastel colours. The start of the Alabaster Coast.

We are driving a vehicle marked with British plates and although we can’t hear the hissing or see the sign of the cross made with fingers, the French in this part of France are not keen on Brits. Anyone who speaks English must be a Rosbif – ie roast beef, we call them froggies).

In a bakery I argued in my best schoolgirl French, rather poor given it has been 20 years, that I was short changed. I was loosing to the woman behind the counter when there was a sudden memory recall at the same time as another customer entered the shop. We were also sold the most tiny portions of icecream, I didn’t argue in this instance, hoping it might save the waistline.

Etretat shoreline

We stayed a night at Etretat, where the alabaster cliffs have formed into arches, tunnels and a needle. There were remnants of WWII and photos of how Rommel demolished some ancient buildings so he could have a better line of sight on the Channel. Etretat had one of the nicer aires, where the campers sorted themselves into 2 rows of French) and non-French. Unfortunately there was a problem with the ticket machine, which was not fixed by the time we left so we chalked up 8 euro in the plus column.

Beach huts on Alabaster Coast

Shopping

We stopped at Veules Les Roses, a gorgeous little village with a pebbly beach, but the best bit was the village itself. It was like the Cotswolds in Normandy with, flowers growing everywhere and to complete the scene there were a couple of springs that fed a little stream complete with brown trout. The villagers obviously had great pride in their houses and gardens.

We drove out of northern France/Picardy and into Normandy. The run to Honfleur, mostly went well, we were trying to dodge toll roads, and took the smaller toll bridge that spans the Seine then drove straight past the turn off to Honfleur. The satnav sent us up a motorway then turned us around to head back to the bridge. I was juggling satnav, map and an app on the ipad to try and figure if there was another option. Just before we thought we were in for another 2 sets of bridge tolls (there and back) there was a little sliproad that directed us to Honfleur – phew.

Since arriving in France we realised how important a stash of euro coins is to pay for parking (heaven forbid) and ticket machines at aires. The effort to generate coinage has not been inconsiderable, we have split up at supermarket checkouts to gain more coins. I am building a little stash and the thought of dipping into the secret stash for 2 trips across a toll bridge goes against the grain.

Honfleur has a large aire and we scored a site overlooking the marina, power is supplied to 2/3 of the sites and we scored that as well. After a bit of washing and clean up we cycled to a newly formed garden that faces Le Hauvre, then back to leave our bikes for a walk into Honfleur. Our bikes, Howard and Hilda have been put into use regularly if the places we visit look interesting. It saves my arthritic ankle for a start.

Honfleur has tall narrow buildings mostly clad in slate clustered around Le Vieux Bassin – old yacht basin. Beyond the basin, streets twist and turn and reveal little vistas of ancient medieval houses. All very romantic and olde worlde, so romantic that Stuart ran to a splash out on a treat of moules and frites and white wine in an open air restaurant beside the basin. The moules (mussels) are tiny blue/black shellfish, quite unlike our NZ greenlip mussels.

Honfleur

Honfleur, moules et frites

Today, Friday, we visited the D-day landing beaches in Normandy and knew how much my brother Chris would like to visit them. We visited the very impressive American cemetery and then using a book/app ended up at the best aire yet. It is in the grounds of a French manor farmhouse with a fabulous outlook and friendly farmer’s dog. We have a massive site to ourselves and all for the princely sum of 5 Euro.

The day was only marred slightly by the heart pounding incident when we ended up on a motorway by error and Stuart said ‘the accelerator is stuck’. Holy-moly, my low blood pressure shot up as the rear end of the big truck in front appeared closer and closer. After trying both pedals, he reached down and was scrabbling with his fingers around the gas pedal and said ‘carpet has bunched up’. He flattened it out and we resumed normal speed, but not for our heart-rates which took longer to slow down.