Cheese wanderings in Normandy
Jim Batty
At the beginning of June, my travelling companion, Karen, and I fled London for nine days for that French outpost of Normandy. Still bleary-eyed, £56 return tickets to Dieppe in hand, we wandered around Victoria Station Saturday morning awaiting the 8.25 departure to Newhaven. I marvelled at how bright, cheerful and expansive the place looked. For how many millions of overseas travellers was the old grotty and depressing Victoria Station their introduction to great London?
Aboard the Stenna "Londoner", we breathed the spray blown air and watched the chalk cliffs of the Seven Sisters - an abrupt and unforgiving frontier - disappear behind. Bands. of school children roamed the decks intent on destruction' fascinated and not in the least disappointed in finding everything constructed of welded steel. Inside, passengers celebrated the departure with duty free cartons of cigarettes and drinks and bingo in the lounge. This was great: we'd barely left the shores of England and already felt utter strangers.
Disparu en la mer.
I love the approach to Dieppe -- chalk cliffs, similar to those we'd left behind four hours earlier, dramatically inferring the land bridge that must have once connected the two. A needle-spired fisherman's church sits high up on the bluff overlooking Dieppe. It's full of wall memorials, many bearing ceramic photo plates of young men who had "disparu en la mer".
Dieppe's huge Saturday market was in full progress when we arrived. After ogling the huge arrays of shell fish and checking out three dozen restaurant menus (3-course dinners with starter plates piled high with crustaceans, and wine, can be had for about £ 10), we plumped for a baguette, a strong but creamy Pont Lévéque cheese (local, Camembert-like) and some Tomme de Savoie and climbed up, southwards, out of town towards the Camping Municipal.
It's a small, pleasant site'- FF. 30 per night for the two of us and a tent 1 = 8.3 FF. June 1994] - with modem subterranean toilet blocks installed in concrete bunkers built by the Germans during their occupation in WW II. If you're walking up there - it's about 2km there's, a leafy chasm short cut to the site take Cavée de Caude-Lote where the road makes a u-bend around a little park (where we dined on the bread and cheese in the sun). Alternatively, take bus no. 3 or 11.
There are some beautifully tall, steeply gabled houses along the Normandy and Brittany coasts and especially pretty are those bands or sections of coloured tiles amongst the brickwork. Further inland, farmhouses are solid, stout and show that ancient Normandy construction technique of wooden beam frame, infilled with brick set at crazy angles.
Using cheese as our guide.
Using cheese as our guide (it seemed as good excuse as any) we took the SNCF bus up the Béthune River valley to Neufchatel-en- home of the salty, heart-shaped cheese, Neufchatel It is an ancient route (the cheese itself dates back to 1035) with many of tithe villages clustered around huge, dominating churches- Although a railway line is marked on the latest maps, it apparently hasn't been used in six years. This old line might prove to be an interesting hiking route. Some of the old railway stations are now bus stations and ticketing is computer linked into the national rail network.
We were now having hot, cloudless days, and we spent a few searing "siesta" hours under a canopy of a café overlooking Neufchatel's church plaza, watching lazy passers by and the local Lads grazing their souped-up Peugeots, and looking into agricultural implement shop windows.
Another short bus journey took us on to Forgcs-les-Elaux, a somewhat more gentrified town' which was once know for its thermal drinking waters (the sources now muddled I was Informed) and now for its Grand Casino. An incongruous toy train on wheels, vying for narrow road space with cattle trucks on the edge of town, occasionally brought in day-trippers from the casino. Despite the gamblers and trucks, there was an air of tranquillity to Forges-les-Elaux, and a pleasant feeling of time passing slowly.
An old Norman grand house.
Again there is a short cut to a small and decidedly pretty campground, La Miniére, through the gates and down the driveway of an old Norman grand house on the Dieppe road near the centre of town. A couple of minutes walk through tall grass fields and you'll see the rental caravans (Tel. 3 5 90 53 91). An extremely energetic and friendly fellow looks after the place. Each site was marked off with a little hedge sprouting daisies, had a flat lawn and we had an ancient stone wall at our backs with wild roses growing out the top of it. This was FF. 35 per night. I don't think these rural camp grounds see too many walk-in campers.
We devised a plan to follow the unclassified footpath south, out of town, for a few days, living off the land (i.e. more cheeses, saucisson and bread) as we went. But as the campground attendant had predicted, " une rage- swept in, heralded by monstrous, puffy-headed clouds riding low over the hills" to pour rain on our adventure for the next four days. Instead, we took the train to Rouen and checked into a room at the Hotel le Cardinal overlooking the cathedral. (**/240FF double/Tel. 35702442 /fax~ 358975 14).
A "pretty" city.
I had heard that Rouen was a "pretty" city but I wasn't prepared for the beauty and sprawling size of the old medieval town within, its tall timbered buildings standing close over cobbled streets. The Big Clock - of design, the size of a house front - is over a portal at the centre of the old district huddled sheep carved into the end of its hand.
Much of the old district has been pedestrianized, most recently eastwards to the unusual rue Eau de Robec with shallow channel running its length and little over it to each shop. There is nothing I enjoy more than wandering around such places late at night, where time can sometimes be suspended, to fade back deep into the past and a sort of romantic heraldic muse. Rouen's old centre is perhaps a little too well lit and safe for such pursuits. But it is still extremely inviting and picturesque.
There is a great selection of restaurants stuffed in amongst these rickety old streets. On our last evening in France, with what French francs were left, it was difficult not to try and outdo the Dieppe seafood platter we'd had. But Rouen is known for its various ways of serving duck and we discovered a compromise: a dozen St. Vasque oysters on ice, followed by roast duck under a creamy green peppercorn sauce with a potato gratin and vegetables. A platter of those cheeses we'd by now become intimate with (we'd slept with their aromas in our tent) was served next, then a dessert that contained three types of chocolate mousse. With good Bordeaux, coffees, candlelight, etc., this came to about 180 FF. apiece -- I doubt whether you could get such a dinner at any price outside France.
Sunday morning we climbed up out of old Rouen to the train station and caught the 9.19 back to Dieppe (53FF single). There was lots of sunny, lazy time for a pair of giant coffees at a working man's cafe before boarding the ferry back to the Seven Sisters and Big Smoke.