Sunday 11 March 2018 to Saturday 17 March 2018
Sunday popped in to say hallo and we greeted her with a smile, it was wonderful to wake up in Normandy. And just then there was an unexpected knock on the door, it was the landlady and her son who wanted to try something out. Now you may remember from my previous post that we arrived Saturday afternoon to bad wifi – or we-fee as it is pronounced here in France – and the landlady seemed to suggest that I surf from the comfort of the kitchen sink – which was closest to the router in their house next door – until the bad we-fee could be resolved on Tuesday.

Well, you can imagine my most pleasant surprise when she and her son walked in with a wifi booster/repeater, plugged it in and peace was restored to Creances, it worked like a charm, upstairs, downstairs, even by the kitchen sink.

But, soon enough we were on our way for lunch with Frederic and his family. As I mentioned in my previous post, Frederic is Philippe’s brother who lives in Normandy close to Creances. I met Frederic 30 years ago when he and a friend visited Philippe in South Africa and they spent a number of months travelling the length and breadth of the country.

We received a most hearty welcome; it’s uncanny how 30 years of absence disappears into the mist when you see an old friend again after such a long time. Frederic’s two lovely daughters Audrey and Gaile and lovely wife Sylvie was there to meet us, and what a wonderful family they are! Frederic’s third daughter, Camille, is currently studying medicine in Caen whom we would meet at a later date. We never did get to meet Sylvie’s two daughters; one was travelling through New Zealand at the time and the other studying in Rennes. Oh, and then they have another adopted daughter, a friend of Camille, the lovely Emily whom we would also meet at a later date.

And you can imagine that Frederic beams from ear to ear- in his own words – when the whole family is home and they sit down for supper at that large family table of theirs. That’s when he becomes the “special one”, the only man amongst seven lovely ladies… how lucky can one man get!

Frederic has very fond memories of his time in South Africa and loves retelling these tales. When he and his friend came to visit for some four months way back when in the late 80s, Philippe bought them a Mini to criss-cross the country, and did they criss and did they cross! The Mini was not always in a cooperative mood and they had to park the car on a downhill, just for in case they had to push-start it, which was required more often than not. The car used so much oil; it almost equated the petrol usage! Aah, Frederic had so many yarns to spin and Sylvie tells us that not a week goes past that he does not reminisce about his trip to SA.

Through all the reminiscing and storytelling and laughter we had snacks and champagne, there were lots to celebrate, and then a huge lunch followed. Just before lunch there was a surprise for us. We were presented with two bottles of cidre, or cider, that Sylvie’s brother made. And then, as Fred brushed off 30 years of dust from a bottle, we were presented with yet another one of Sylvie’s brother’s very special creations, a bottle of Calvados of the same dusty age.

Now you will be forgiven if you said “Whaaat?” because that’s exactly what I thought… Calvados? It smelt strongly familiar, or rather strong and familiar; there was a hint of cognac in there but somehow slightly sweeter. And that’s when I realized it was cognac, not made from grapes but rather apples. This was truly delicious… and strong, seems like each of the 30 years while it was in that bottle added another mule kick to the broth. This stuff was way past excellent!

After a wonderful lunch and a couple of mule kicks later we hit the road. Frederic and Sylvie took us for a drive, nowhere in particular, you see, but mostly north along the west coast of Normandy, or is that the wet coast – it was wet and windy and cold. But, we were snugly warm inside the car; or was it from the Calvados? We were shown places that we would otherwise probably never have seen.

Our first stop was at the havre and what a haven it was, simply beautiful.

We then visited Frederic’s farm where the family keeps their horses, Sylvie and all the girls are keen riders. This is where Frederic and Sylvie will retire to in 10 years’ time. And as Frederic promised, in five years time he will start renovating the house to make it wonderfully liveable. He regaled us with tales of how he obtained additional small pieces of adjoining land to increase the size of his farm, working hard to cut down the bush and brush he calls Amazonia. How I wished I had a place like this!

 

 

 

We then stopped off at a buiscuitrie called La Maison du Biscuit (The Biscuit House) for a hot chocolate and their delectable biscuits. This place was a havre, a truly fantastical place of delectable goodies of jams and wines and pickles and olives and sweets and spice and all things nice… and cookies of course. One can dawdle in this place until midnight, but then you would be locked in… Now there’s a thought.

 

 

 

Sometime during the afternoon Frederic, questioning our reason for staying in Creances, got a mischievous glint in his eyes when he mentioned that the people from there are special. My questioning look urged him to explain. Nobody really knows the real history but apparently, centuries ago, Portuguese immigrants settled in Creances and it became their own little kingdom, they did not mix much with the French.

This led them to intermarry and inbreed within their community and thus they became a rather strange bunch of slow-witted simpletons. This of course is pure fable, but the people there tend to be teased about this apparent heritage of theirs by the surrounding villages. My suggested surfing session in the kitchen sink by my landlady all of a sudden made much more sense!

On the way home we went to the madman and his castle, or the madman of the manor. Whether it is a castle or a manor, Frederic maintains the man is mad. Now a friend of the family, the madman decided a long time ago, to purchase an old rundown castle which he is now in the process of restoring. It even has a moat that goes almost entirely around the castle.

He lives there with his wife and three young kids in one of the buildings that have already been restored. He is first and foremost a farmer and any spare time he has he works on restoring his castle to its former glory. The task at hand is enormous; enough to fill a number of lifetimes, but that does not deter him, not in the slightest. And most mad of all, he insists on doing everything himself!

The castle, or rather its owner, is a member of the VMF (Vielles Maison Francais or Old French House), an association dedicated to the preservation and enhancement of built and landscaped heritage sites in France. The building received the VMF Patrimoine historique label, so a building of true historical value and interest. We felt privileged to have walked amongst these historical buildings.

 

 

 

And the day was almost dark when we visited a town south of Creances, I think it was Gouville-sur-Mer. There was a house there that they wanted to show us, just for in case we were looking to buy a place. The old owner had just passed away and the house will be on sale soon. Everybody just wants us to buy a house, seems like we have no choice in this matter! The house was lovely, right at the edge of the village with wonderful views across open fields at the back. Hmmm…

 

 

Monday we used to recuperate from the hectic past few days, resting and relaxing, blogging and generally having fun and not doing much of anything.

Tuesday we continued with the resting and relaxing theme but by mid afternoon we took a drive to the beach of Creances. Many of the little village in this area are situated about 1km from the sea, across the main road, with a separate holiday section situated close to the beach. The locals live in the village across the main road throughout the year with the ocean side only coming to life during the holiday seasons.

 

 

 

From the beach of Creances we took a few narrow country roads and drove amongst beautiful green fields and finally ended up in the main town of the immediate area, some 20km south of Creances, called Coutances. Judging by the names they should have been closer.

From afar Adri saw the towering towers of a church and that’s where she wanted to go. As we drew ever closer to those towers, or rather steeples, we rode through the outskirts and then the inskirts of Coutances and I got a real good feeling about the town, it was pleasant. I would have liked to spend more time there.

We entered the Coutances Cathedral, a gothic cathedral that started life in 1210 and was finally completed in 1274. Its twin towers rise up to almost 80m and its octagonal lantern tower stands over 57m tall. The cathedral has remained almost unaltered since 1274, barring some damage done during the religious wars in 1562 and some sword slashes during the revolution of 1794. And, during the second world war – although much damage was done to Coutances – little harm fortunately came to the cathedral, which is really special as you will see from the pictures below.

 

 

 

 

 

Wednesday morning I was full of it, Adri was not… energy that is. I went for a run to the beach and back, some six km in total. The rest of the day was spent inside as the weather took a turn for the worse.

We were invited to supper with Fred and Sylvie and their daughter Gayle… again. There is no end to these people’s hospitality and generosity. As is the French tradition, we started our meal with an aperitif or apéro in the lounge where that huge fireplace was firing on all cylinders. After some drinks and wine and snacks we moved to the kitchen come dining room where we had an amazing supper. We reluctantly left far too early with stomachs filled to the gills, tomorrow was a working day for some of us.

We received a gift, a most beautiful coffee table book with the most beautiful pictures of Normandy, described in both French and English. What a thoughtful and generous gift, something we would certainly treasure forever. Fred and Sylvie and all the people from Normandy are very proud of their province, and so they should be, it is stunning.

As I stepped from our abode on Thursday morning I thought “Who would have dumped their rubbish on our doorstep?” as I nearly tripped over something in the doorway. But no, it was yet another gift for us, this time from our landlady who had left us a bag of carrots, the sandy type… how thoughtful of her. I mention the sandy type, which is specific to this area of France, where they grow carrots in the sand which are presented to you with the sand still clinging to its carrot owner. And they are truly delicious and juicy and all.

Sometime during the day we took a drive around the area with the specific purpose of visiting the Château fort de Pirou or the Pirou Fortified Castle but unfortunately it was as impregnable as a castle should be. It’s closed for the winter season and only opens on 31 March. Pity, but we did get a few pictures of the outside at least.

 

 

 

We then drove down along the coast and passed through the lovely Gouville-sur-Mer with its colourful cabanes on the beach.

 

 

 

 

 

 

We then came upon the stone circles of Agon-Coutainville as well as the lovely lighthouse a few hundred metres down the track. We then drove until we came to a dead-end by the beach. It was cold and it was wet and this is where we decided to seek some warmth at home.

 

 

 

 

We spent the rest of the day adminning and trying to get our future accommodation sorted out. From Normandy we would be heading back to Guingamp in Brittany from where we intend to go back to the Montpellier area as we did promise Renate that we would visit her. And after that we would be heading to lake Como in Italy where Lood and Nicky will be visiting us for a few days at the end of May. I searched and I searched and I finally found a lovely two bed/two bath place in the mountains between the two legs of Lake Como.

I was having difficulty though finding accommodation in Sete and thus expanded my horizons to the greater Montpellier region. It was just before midnight that I gave up and was about to book a studio apartment which looked rather nice, but was not exactly what we wanted. Midnight arrived and Adri had gone to sleep leaving me to soldier on alone in my time of need. Anyway, I thought I’d give it one last bash, just… one… more. I selected my dates and my usual parameters on Airbnb and the list of the by now usual suspects were displayed with the exception of one shiny new one that popped its beautiful head up shouting “Me…me…me, pick me!”

This must have been a cancellation that became available and the owner had included a special discount over and above the normal one month rental discount. This was too good to be true, but fortunately it was true. It’s a lovely looking apartment close to the beach in the lovely town of Le-Grau-de-Roi, southeast of Montpellier. I submitted the booking request and almost immediately received an automated acceptance. I went to bed with a smile on my face thinking about those sunny days that will be spent on the beach.

On Friday we decided to get an early start so we nixed breakfast but packed a picnic which we planned to have in Cherbourg. On the way there we stopped off in the little town of Colomby, Adri had seen yet another church she needed to visit… and so we did… and so we did…

 

 

 

 

 

Cherbourg would be the starting point for our excursion to the north-western most part of Normandy. We were informed by Frederic that this area of Normandy is reminiscent of the Irish countryside and I was wondering whether we would encounter a few leprechauns along the way. I’m sad to say we did not, they probably know it’s better to stay away from the French who’d probably eat them. Well, if they can eat frogs…

Once we finished our picnic breakfast in Cherbourg by the La Cité de la Mer (City of the Sea) aquarium & ocean museum we drove along this beautiful and green coastline with its quant little villages dotted along the coast, it felt like we were indeed driving through Ireland. We passed through villages such as Querqueville, Urville-Nacqueville, Gréville-Hague, Éculleville, Omonville-la-Rogue and Auderville.

 

 

 

But the next town we were not prepared for, we were right back in South Africa. The last thing we expected was to reach Johannesburg today, but there the sign was, clear in the daylight, Joburg was just around the corner. And so it was, a small town called Jobourg was indeed just around the corner.

 

 

 

From Jobourg we drove down to the coast and took a hike down to the wonderful Nez de Voidries, a hike we were not fully prepared for but finished it in any case.

We then passed though Vauville and reached Biville where we drove down to the sand dunes of Biville where we found some remains of bunkers from the second world war. Quite creepy to creep amongst these ruins where probably many people had lost their lives in that awful war.

It was late afternoon when we started making our way back home that we stopped off at Barneville-Carteret from where one could apparently get a ferry across to Jersey and the other Channel Islands, something we were hoping to do sometime. But, it being pretty much out of season, the ferries don’t run from here this time of the year. And in any case, at the ferry terminal I saw an Immigration office, which meant that we would have to get UK visas to get to Jersey. The UK introduced visa requirements for SA citizens only a few years back and I refuse to visit the UK until that requirement is scrapped. There are a million more beautiful places to see on our French visa.

We got home around 19:30 but could not linger, we were invited out for dinner with Fred and Sylvie at 20:00. We were taken to a very fancy castle like restaurant in Saint-Germain-sur-Ay… way cool man. We had an amazing dinner, as amazing as the company we were in, a truly memorable evening.

 

 

 

It was a cold, wet and windy Saturday morning, a perfect day for spending an extended period of coffee sipping time in bed. Unfortunately Adri had the same idea and I lost, I was the one that drew the short end of the stick so I trundled downstairs to filter the coffee.

Anyway, there was plenty of rugby to watch downstairs so I got comfortable with some Super Rugby as well as Six Nations games that kept be snugly warm downstairs on the couch… almost all day. I only got up to make more coffee or fetch another beer. By the time supper arrived – a wonderfully thick pea and potato soup – and just as France lost to Wales by one point, I was tired and ready for bed. Wow, what a day!

Today was the 17^th of March, better known as St Patrick’s day, a traditional day of drinking for the Irish. Not that the Irish need a particular or special day to drink, if that was the case, each day of the year would be St Patrick’s day. Be as it may, today I remembered one particularly memorable St. Patrick’s day, many years ago back in SA. We were having a meeting with a networking company represented by this particular Irishman, and of course we wished him a very happy drinking day.

He advised us that St Patrick’s was indeed a very special day for him and that it is the only day of the year that he wears his Irish green underpants, for even better luck. And of course nobody believed him so without much fanfare he proceeded to pull down his pants, right there in the boardroom, and dare I say he was right, Irish green it was. And yes, there were only men in the meeting! Oh, you gotta love those Irish! Happy St. Patrick’s day, Maeson.

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