September 1, 2005
Le Havre - St. Valery-en-Caux
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The man in the shop's prediction of the weather proved to be spot-on. The heat-wave was over. The morning was damp, and grey. We carried on in the direction of the coast and were slightly surprised to discover that Le Havre, as well as its heavy-duty port facilities, also has a beach. After the beach, we were climbing again through the suburb of Ste. Adresse, before the road levelled out. We cleared the outer suburbs and the airport, but not before passing a sports ground named after the first man in space, Soviet cosmonaut, Yuri Gagarin or Youri Gagarine in French. This would suggest that Le Havre City council was at one time run by the Communist Party, as were, until fairly recently numerous French communes. The Paris suburbs outside of the Boulevard Péripherique were once known as La Ceinture Rouge, the Red Belt.
We were on D940, marked red on the map, but with light traffic. A slightly bizarre feature of this otherwise featureless stretch was the installation, in the middle of the roundabouts, of giant plastic statues portraying fishermen at work. There was even a horse. We took photos. At Le Tilleul, a small village, but blessed with a Spar shop and a bakers we stopped for lunch supplies before the shopkeepers took theirs. Next was Étretat, a green and pleasant looking town, where we turned off the main road onto D11, to be confronted with a long climb to the cliff tops. For the next few kilometres the road dipped up and down from sea to cliff, hilly, but with reasonable gradients, providing the occasional view of the sea and the chalk. We stopped for lunch by the sea at Yport. It was still a little cold and clammy off the bike, so we wrapped up for lunch. The lunchtime entertainment was provided by a crew of men, evidently working at less than maximum efficiency, engaged in removing beach cabins from their hard standing by the sand. The huts were fork-lifted onto a trailer pulled by a tractor, for removal until next summer, I guess. The French have a special word for this, more particularly applied to boats, l'hivernage - winterage, although a better translation would be over-wintering. We had seen signs by the occasional farmhouse in Brittany, offering such a service.
After lunch we set off for nearby Fécamp, a busy fishing port and tourist town, bisected by its harbour and stopped for café-au-lait. I got the map out and we prevaricated over which direction to take. In the end we decided to give the next stretch of coastline a miss and follow the river inland, on the grounds that we'd see more coastline further north and that it looked like too many ups and downs. There was also a green stripe beside the inland route; so the pretty way then. We followed, crossed, then followed the river again. Once we were beyond the town on D150, things turned quiet. It was a pretty way, with the exception of a large, rusty metal-bashing plant near Colleville. Still, I like industrial landsape. Perhaps two km before Valmont we passed an attractive looking country inn, which figured in our guide. We were tempted to stop early and indulge ourselves in their regional specialities, but rode on. In Valmont we spend some time perusing the tourist information board in the town centre. There was a hotel in Ourville-en-Caux, we would try that. This was a very quiet part of the world, there was little traffic over the next few kilometres. Ourville-en-Caux, itself, seemed positively moribund. We found the hotel, I enquired about a room and went up to see it. It was basic. This was to be our last night away and I knew Barbara would appreciate a little comfort, so I made my excuses and left.
We were now forced to follow the busier D50, north to Cany-Barville. About half-way, we chose to cross the river and switch to a quieter, white road. Within five minutes an elegant brick chateau came into view, across its own sweep of parkland. I, imagined the young Marcel in there, taking tea with his aunt,sinking his little teeth into that soggy sponge-finger.
In Cany-Barville we found a TIC on one side of a newly constructed square. 'There's only one hotel here,' I was told by the young woman on the desk, who then gave me directions. The hotel had vacancies. This time I persuaded Barbara to check out the room herself. She was soon back, shaking her head. We set off again back up the hill through the town and again upwards for a hard kilometre or more. I had a long wait at the top of the climb, Barbara, unsurprisingly was getting tired. We were now on D925, another red road, again it was not too unpleasant, the traffic was fairly sparse. The Guide showed no hotels at our next destination, St. Valéry-en-Caux. I waited for Barbara at the roundabout which marked the entrance to the town. As well as St. Valéry-en-Caux, also very clearly signposted was the nuclear power plant 5km along the coast to the west. Barbara fears and loathes nuclear power and as likely as not would have insisted that we ride further up the coast to escape its potential malevolence; as far as Rotterdam probably, just to be on the safe side. I was able to rely on her lack of knowledge of French, for it to remain undetected.
There was a welcome descent into the town. I waited again for Barbara at the neck of the long harbour. Over our left shoulders was the Hotel Casino, apparently offering a style of lodgings, which we would have imagined to be beyond our budget, style and taste. Nevertheless, we were here and it was there, so in we went. We were wrong on all counts. The staff were very friendly and helpful to us two sweaty cyclists. It was reasonably priced, very reasonable in our case, because they only had a single room left, for €65. The girl on the desk insisted to us that the room was très, très petite. It wasn't large, but it was stylish, modern and comfortable.
We stowed the bikes, took the lift up to the room and while Barbara showered, I figured out how the extra mattress slid out from under the bed. I had never encountered this style of sleeping arrangement before: a made up mattress slides out to one side, from under the bed and you sleep on split levels.
After my shower we went downstairs and scrutinised the restaurant and its menu. It was a little [but not by much] pricier than our usual, but again, more stylish. There was no question. The servers, both male and female were extremely smartly attired, but again equally friendly, helpful and very professional. The cutlery and tableware carried the same standard. Barbara was delighted. So was I, for that matter. It would be wonderfully ironic to write that after all this, the food was nearly inedible, but of course it wasn't. It was excellent. For the record, and this is our last evening out, Barbara had Gallettes de Lissetes et Sardines, Filet de Dorade, Croqueline de Camembert, Assiette de Patisserie. I ate 9 Oysters, Lamb Chops with vegetables, Croqueline de Camembert, Chocolat Royal.
Barbara's assiette de patisserie consisted of small samples of all that the hotel's pastrycook had to offer. There was a lot there, so after dinner we took the longish walk into the centre of town. There were hundreds of boats of all sizes in the harbour, which stretched a long way back inland. [This may be another example of hivernage, in this very sheltered location.] There weren't too many people though. I had a couple of beers in a bar and we walked back, during the course of which we met no-one; end of season, I presume.
In spite of its name there was no casino at the Hotel Casino. The management did provide a shuttle bus service to the real casino, a service which we non -gamblers declined. The two coach-loads of Dutch widows, in their best threads and dripping with jewellery, appeared to be there mainly for that purpose.
Today's ride: 98 km (61 miles)
Total: 726 km (451 miles)
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