Normandy Beaches….lest we forget. D-Day happened here, thousands of soldiers
lost their lives on all sides of WWI and WWII on and beyond these hotly
contested shores.
The skies were black and ominous when we docked at Cherbourg
Maritime Terminal, the same one where the Titanic made her last call before
heading out for her fatal maiden voyage across the Atlantic. Bombings and
general ‘rationalization’ of historic buildings nearly did away with the old
terminal, which was the Grand Embarkation for the New World for thousands of
immigrants. The terminal is being restored and evokes images of immigrant passengers
packing themselves, their families and some of their belongings into steamers
to cross the Atlantic in hopes of a better life.
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| Old luggage carousel in Cruise Terminal |
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| Old Gangways on Terminal where Titanic stopped, are still in use |
We were delayed from docking for about an hour. After
Prinsendam turned up on time at the pilot station to be led into port, she had
to stay on hold, as in true Gallic fashion, the pilot was working to rule, and
his shift had not yet started …welcome with a French Attitude. Not quite the
same treatment as in Bordeaux, where the pilot was efficiency personified, and
the French Navy took him off the ship via helicopter at the end of his stint aboard.
We had to carry our
passports (nobody ever required them at previous European ports) before allowed
on shore, where of course nobody looked at them.
I had booked an excursion into the Normandy country side
with calls at Barfleur and St Vaast La Hougue, two quaint fishing villages,
which are now preferred summer homes for various wealthy part time residents,
who snap up historic houses for prices, which so far have defeated the
onslaught of economic depression in the European real estate market. But, the
villages still retain their rustic charm, with the aroma of sea weed, oyster
beds and decaying mussels mixed in with the heady aroma of freshly baked French
bread.
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| Tide is out in Barfleur |
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| View through a rained out bus window |
The coast is rocky, strong currents render it dangerous to
shipping, light houses dot the border between land and sea, and every bell
tower of the small stone churches is graced with a distinctive shape to give
fishermen returning from the sea navigational references. Instead of attracting
tourist to warm pink sand beaches, here the order of the day is beach combing, wind
surfing, kite boarding, sailing, lots of cycling (it has at most a few rolling
hills) and ‘motor homing’. Roads are narrow, everyone drives in the middle,
nobody wears safety helmets whilst biking and –who can believe it - accidents
appear to happen almost never.
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| 2nd highest light house in France |
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| Fishing nets on main street Barfleur |
It is too cold in Normandy for growing wine, but apple trees
abound. The apples are mostly used to produce cider and the famous apple brandy
Calvados. In earlier decades, the population of Normandy consumed more cider
than other beverages, which contributed to the highest alcoholism rate in
France. Cider has a kick – sometimes 30+ percent alcohol content, never mind
the Calvados…The Normans used to feed their babies with cider, which gave them
a rather dizzy start in life.
William the Conqueror hung around here, the Vikings,
Normans, Celts; Romans all mingled here and left their traces. Both World Wars
are unforgettable here, as bunkers, batteries; fortifications are never out of
sight. Cemeteries with thousands of white crosses cover vast areas near the
infamous D-Day Beaches. Most soldiers buried here remain unidentified. Unexploded
ordnance turns up now and then, when foundations for new constructions are dug
out, or old buildings are renovated, albeit the landscape has been thoroughly
‘cleaned’ over the decades. Sometimes authorities evacuate whole towns until
these dormant threats are defused.
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| Taking a little Cider accompanied by Fido |
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| And another bit of rain in the offing |
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| Aged Calvados |
The drive through the lovely country side of Normandy gave
credence to the old movie with Catherine Deneuve (The Umbrellas of Cherbourg)
as at times it rained and hailed so much, herds of beige cows and groups of
horses in the rich green meadows were visible miserable. But, it seemed liked
perpetual April weather, with brilliant rays of sun lighting up slate roofs and
stretches of fields, whilst sheets of precipitation veiled the horizon, and
steely black clouds thundered in from a different direction.
At Barfleur I braved the elements for a few minutes to seek
shelter in a bistro, where the fishermen – earlier occupied with mending nets –
refreshed themselves with a shot of cider. The tide was out, the sea bottom
exposed and covered with sea weed, some trash and a flotilla of fishing boats
all resting in the mud.
We passed the second highest light house in France, which
pointed like a solitary arrow into the black sky.
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| St Vaast |
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| Choosing Normandy Oysters |
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| After the Storm in St Vaast |
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| Vast oyster beds in St Vaast |
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| Shore side promenade in St Vaast |
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| Still raining.... |
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| Adieu to Normandy |
At St Vaast la Houge (even in France they cannot agree on
the correct pronounciation) the sun presented us with a short respite from rain
and darkness. Here oyster farms stretch for miles along the shore. A few tractors
drove among the exposed oyster beds – the tide was still out – to harvest the
daily catch. For the last few oyster seasons, the daily catch had diminished to
20 % of its former size, as the oysters are affected by an unidentified virus
and die before reaching edible maturity. Before I knew that little bit of
trivia, I had ordered a dozen at the local oyster store (about 7 Euros) and
expected more than I got. The oysters were definitely fresh, but their iodine
content made them taste rather strong. After about four of them I gave up…
Back at the home front, in my little log cabin on the sea –
another inundation! A couple of mornings ago I swung my feet onto the floor to
a resounding squish. I checked my marine toilet – it was ok, hence it must have
been overflow from something from the neighbouring cabin. Out come the heavy
duty de-humidifiers accompanied by a small army of mechanics and housekeeping
staff. Again it is time to elevate the suitcases to higher ground. It was too
late for the back-back and contents. Due to the mini hurricane winds emanating
from the drying equipment, clothes had to be re-located so they would not fly
off their hangers, and everything else was weighted down with various suitable
heavy items. My backpack was whisked off to the laundry and the contents went
into the garbage bin. I was assigned ‘sleeping quarters’ at a lower deck, as my
cabin was uninhabitable. Off I went with my little overnight stuff to return
next morning to more flooding – the sprinkler in my clothes closet had
activated during the night. Luckily no clothes were affected – just the floor
again. Out came more dehumidifiers and noisy paraphernalia, crew exchanged
sprinkler nozzles, staff deconstructed night tables and turned them turtle for
drying out. The cabin was a disaster zone, which meant another night in my
auxiliary sleeping cabin!
Third day lucky….I was out again during the entire day, and
upon my return the carpets had been shampooed and dried out. Ah, life aboard an
old but lovely cruise ship….!!
