April 2013: spring may or may not be here

The winter of 2012-3 was of course pretty dreadful: continuously colder than usual, and very much wetter than average for Normandy. The snow in March was so bad that the Ouest France regional newspaper published a special supplement of facts and photos, with the cover an aerial picture of the closed A84 motorway with the roofs of abandoned cars poking through the snow.

It was beginning to look as if there would be no end. Until last week. Sunday was warm, almost hot, the next couple of days back to cool, then two more hot days. In those two days spring arrived. Primroses that had been lurking in the hedgerows stood up in everywhere, the winter skeletons that were blackthorn trees turned white with blossom, like candy floss, lawns grew two inches. A mistle thrush built a nest in the cherry tree 20 feet from our door, in a tree that had no leaves to hide it, but which was half obscured by cherry blossom the following day.

The delay in spring's arrival has compressed a month or six weeks growth into a week. The pasture beside our garden went from tired dull green to almost throbbing bright green in a day, and turned yellow with dandelions the next, and off white with dandelion seed head two days after that. The usual pattern of primroses, then violets as they fade, then early spotted orchids as they fade, has been overthrown, with all of the spring flowers in full display at the same time.

Pasture with dandelions

Primroses, violets and dandelions together

Early spotted orchid
The leaves, close to the ground
have the spots. 

An odd effect is that this year, the early spotted orchids are everywhere, not just in ones and twos, but dozens in a square metre and groups over a hundred metres of hedge. This is very pleasing, because over the last few years there have been fewer and fewer orchids appearing.

The quiet of the days has been replaced by the noise of tractors, as farmers, plough, chalk, harrow, muck spread and sow seeds to try to catch up after weeks of inactivity in the fields.

It was a bit strange. After that week the day time temperatures have been around 10-12, with as low as 0 at night with frost. It may be that the cold nights will affect this years crops, with the soil unexpectedly staying too cold for seeds to germinate. Last year, haricot beans were sown three times, before a crop could be harvested, and fruit trees produced very little. We had in total one cherry (a starling actually ate it) on two large, long established cherry trees, a handful of apples on a tree that the year before had branches breaking from the weight of the fruit, and a few pears. The same went for commercial growers: cider apple crops were terrible, for example.

This spring although there is blossom on some trees, there are few bees. Normally, the buzzing around a tree in flower can be heard from yards away. It does not augur well.

Lac de la Dathée revisited

My post in January 2010 about the Lac de la Dathée has had a lot of visitors, so I thought I might add a bit to supplement it.There is a golf course on one side of the lake about which I can say nothing because I do not play golf, but I am told it has a good cafe so I might one day call in...There have been a lot of floods in this part of Normandy this winter. I live effectively in the valley of the River Sèe, which descends through the hills from Sourdeval, to join the sea at Avranches. Its last 15 miles or more via Brécey and Tirepied is a meander through a long established flood plain. Most winters there are several occasions where the entire valley turns into a lake 50 miles long by up to 500 yards across. The Lac de la Dathée also flooded again this year, with water flowing over the dam.However, when I went in Autumn, it was calm and very pleasant. Here are some pictures. It is well worth a visit.

Fishing on foot in France

The French love of sea food is emphatically demonstrated by the popularity of la pêche à pied, literally fishing on foot, every time there is an exceptionally high and low tide. Thousands of people descend on beaches at low tide, armed with a variety of tools, and rake and dig and scratch to collect a bucketful of shellfish, shrimps, crabs and even proper fish.

These tides – les grandes marées – occur a varying number of times every year, depending on alignments of earth, moon and sun. There was one on February 11, which happened to be the first sunny day for weeks, and a Monday when many people are not working. And best of all, the low tide time was about 4.00 pm, so that it did not interrupt lunch.

The Bay of Mont St Michel in Normandy has the highest tides in the world – up to 15 metres difference between high and low. As a result, there are huge amounts of sand and rocks exposed along the miles of beautiful sandy beaches at the very low tides. St Martin de Bréhal, just north of Granville is typical. There are commercial farmed mussel beds apparent at normal low tides, but at les grandes marées the sea retreats far further out.

So, after lunch on Monday, hundreds of people went to the beach, men, women, families, old and young. By mid afternoon there were more people along the water's edge and in the shallows than on a hot summer weekend. The sound of the raking could be heard from hundreds of yards away.

People of all ages arriving at the beach, armed with special tools

 The Bay here has whelks – Granville is the biggest whelk producer in France – and scallops, both of which are quality controlled and protected. There are also clams, queen scallops, flatfish such as flounders, and round fish like sea bass (hard to catch without rod and line), but also crabs, lobsters, oysters and many other crustaceans, shellfish, and fish.

Wading, digging, scratching and raking for a host of  creatures

The la pêche à pied is a long established tradition, but now has to be controlled to protect resources (link in French). There are limits on how many of each species can be collected, and on the minimum sizes. One can buy plastic boards with holes labelled with the species: if an example goes through the relevant hole, it is too small and must be put back. The range of species, and the limits for each, at Granville are in this table (in French).

By full low tide, there are thousands of people on the edge or in the water mall along the coasts, as here at St Martin de Brehal, with Granville in the background 

This being France, where laws are obeyed and are enforced (or repealed after manifestations – protests, demonstrations and civil disobedience) the vast majority of people comply with the restrictions. However, some don't, and the police do carry out raids; the penalties for too much or too small include fines of up to 22,860€, about £20k . Last year at several beaches a couple of hundred police, customs and ministry officials descended and checked every basket and creel. A large number of people were charged, and had their catch confiscated.

Although the majority just get enough for a family meal or two, there are some who are effectively commercial, taking things to sell, and they are the real target of the rules.

If you ask anyone why they do it, there are three main explanations: for the fun of the outing, for the reward of the hunt, and for the freshness of the food. Quite right, too.

Three hours later, after everyone had gone home, the tide came back and all but the a ribbon of sand was under water.

Wine and the French

Everyone knows that wine is very important to the French. Not only as a valuable industry in its production and sale worldwide, but in its consumption: the French drink 47 litres per year each on average, compared with 20 litres in the UK. Just how deeply embedded wine is in all aspects of life is shown in all sorts of ways that are surprising to people from other countries. A meal without wine in France is almost unthinkable, a social gathering without wine is not social, and a visit to a friend or acquaintance will always start with a glass or two wine.

My house insurance - a normal, everyday policy – includes under its list of things covered automatically votre vin (your wine) to a value of 1782 euros, because most people will have a stock of wine in their cellar or shed or a back room.

Every year in January the mayor of every commune holds a public meeting, to wish everyone a happy new year, and to report on what happened in the previous year. In our little commune of 260 people, over 80 turn up for the meeting, which takes place in the Salle des Fêtes, the meeting room used for everything from grand meals, private receptions, clubs and societies, arts and exercise. After his speech, champagne is served. Similarly, after the Remembrance Day ceremony, and any other public events, there is a vin d'amitié (wine of friendship) afterwards. The cost of these wines comes from the local funds, and the electorate consider it an essential use of taxpayer money. Any chance of the same thing happening in the UK?

The famous Relais Routiers – restaurants with enormous carparks for lorry drivers throughout France - provide three or four course fixed price lunches for around 8-12 euros. This usually includes a quarter of a litre of wine (or in Normandy cider as well). When I first started coming to France in the 1970s, at a time when British food was at its worst but Elizabeth David was having a big effect, the RR were a revelation. Interesting, varied high quality food, and nothing fried in grease. They are still enormously good value. In towns, where there is no space for lorry parks, many small cafe/bar/bistros/brasseries/restaurants offer a Menu Ouvrier (workman's meal), essentially the same concept of at least three courses, usually wine included, for the same sort of prices. Often the wine is in opened bottles on each table, and you help yourself to what you want.

Wine buying is an everyday process, for everybody. Supermarkets have extensive wine sections , often with wines at several hundred euros a bottle, as well as cheap everyday quaffing wines. In October, most supermarkets and wine merchants have Foires au Vins (wine fairs) where they have a huge range of wines in six or twelve bottle cartons at good prices. This is because the wine producers have to find room for the new wine from this year's grape harvest, so sell off existing stock that is left or reaching the point where it is about to pass its prime. Many excellent bargains to be had, but you have to go quickly because all the best wines and best deals sell out very rapidly: every French person knows a lot about wine.

In common with many traditional farmers in Normandy, which of course has no wine production, a friend of ours buys his wine direct from a producer in Bordeaux. Once a year a tanker turns up, and runs a hose into one of his outbuildings where a couple of barrels are filled with the current year's wine. This is drawn off into bottles as needed, and is not at all bad.

Another local family has its next generation producing wine in the Loire region, and each year they come to the village and provide a buffet meal and wine for all comers, in that village's Salle des Fêtes, with of course dégustation (tasting) of the currently available wines. A lot of people turn up, and many order cases for delivery later. The wines are very palatable and good value.

To look at some more figures is informative. The British consumption of actual alcohol is virtually the same as France, 13.37 as opposed to 13.67; alcoholism rates are virtually identical. The key difference is that the French virtually always drink with food, even if it is just nibbles with a glass of white at 6.00pm with a friend, and drink small amounts each time, whereas the British seem to drink to for its own sake or simply to get drunk.

Another set of interesting numbers: the USA average wine consumption is only 7 litres per year, but they consume 216 litres of soft drinks like colas. This undoubtedly explains their social problems and the bad tempered aggressiveness that is so prevalent. It certainly can be no coincidence that their obesity rate is 30% compared with France at 9%.

Abbaye Blanche, Mortain 900 years old

 This year is the 900th anniversary of the founding of the Abbaye Blanche in Le Neufbourg, Mortain. Unlike the Abbey at Lucerne d'Outremer, which I wrote about in this blog post, or the Abbey at Hambye, this is a relatively little known historic place. I only found it because I had a meeting at the nearby bar restaurant, and saw a sign pointing to it down a little road.

L'Abbaye Blanche, Le Neufbourg, Mortain

Mortain itself was once important, but is now known for two things: the cascades on the River Rance, and the virtually complete destruction of the town in 1944. Its history has effectively been overwritten. The Abbey survived the war, although the Battle of Mortain was a critical moment when the Counterattack by Germany was halted, mainly because it was beside a key US army control point. A mad US officer had demanded that 'Mortain be totally destroyed, so that nothing can live there', and that was very nearly achieved. You can find information from one of the US Army unit's records, including photos of the destruction, one of which includes the comment that 'now you know why some Frogs (French) hated us: we tore the Hell out of their cities'.  For a more unbiased and reliable description of this battle and the whole campaign, Antony Beevor's D-Day – The Battle for Normandy has the definitive information; this Washington Post review is helpful.

The seminary (not even all of it) at l'Abbaye Blanche, Mortain

Today, the Abbey is effectively abandoned. The huge seminary still stands, in good shape apart from a couple of broken windows, but has had no priests in training for over 30 years. It is a lovely building, but what purpose could be found for it today? It is just too big for any conceivable use, and in the wrong place for a massive hotel.

The cloisters

The abbey church is still used occasionally, like most churches these days, and is open, so one can just walk in and look around. The exterior has cloisters that are very similar to those of the Abbey of Mont St Michel, and may have been built by the same people. Because of the seminary having closed so recently, comparitively speaking, the outbuildings, kitchen gardens, pathways are still there, though decaying.

The church at l'Abbaye Blanche, Mortain

The interior of the church is elegant, clean, and very unfussy. Interestingly, there is a Green Man carved into a misericord under one of the choir stall seats, only the second  have seen in France.

A Green Man carved on a misericord

Cycling in France

You will have read that Bradley Wiggins, winner of the 2012 Tour de France, and Olympic gold medal, was knocked off his bike and injured earlier this month (November 2012), while training. Of course, there is always the risk of a crash while on the road, and I cannot comment on the details of the incident. But what horrified me, and many others, is the level of absolute hatred directed at cyclists in some of the UK Twitter and other social communications. This was so awful that the Guardian ran a piece on it. Some of the comments that this article attracted continued this irrational and disgusting hatred.

What is wrong with so many British people?

Cycling in France has always been a respected and shared activity. Not just the professional sport, but ordinary people of all ages are enthusiastic and active cyclists. I have never encountered anyone disliking cyclists for cycling. All motorists in my experience slow down for bikes, give them time and space, and are aware of the risks to them.

It is clear that cycling is very important in France, and seen as such. There are over 2,500 cycling clubs, most of which have their own club uniforms, and local sponsors. Over 2.3 million bikes were sold last year. There are about 500 organised cycle races every year. There are about 60 velodromes. There are even 73,000 trips every day by Velib, the original in Paris of the BorisBikes in London. Driving around you will see bike riders every day, not just the smaller number using bikes as transport, but people in club colours, in ones, twos and groups, riding a hundred kilometres or more, for fun or for training for competitions.

2011 Tour de France racing through Brecey

In 2011, the Tour de France passed through Brécey, near where we live. People started forming crowds three or more hours before the race was due to pass. An hour before the caravan arrived – an hour of sponsors' and promoters' vehicles: specially adapted and transformed lorries and cars, with people throwing goodies like sweets, bags of croissants, flags and banners, whistles and toys, into the crowd. Five minutes before the race arrived, the sun disappeared and ferocious rain started. The bikes whizzed past in a couple of minutes, and it was all over; the rain then stopped.

There is also the Tour de Normandie which is a similar race, but is accompanied by a randonnée cycliste, a non-competitive open to anyone ride through Normandy. Last year we encountered the randonnée unexpectedly. To get to our house one has to go along a number of roads which are basically one lane wide. We turned off a two lane road into a one lane, having seen quite a few bikes crossing ahead of us as we approached. Once we entered the narrow road it was obvious that we were on the route of the randonnée. This was because as far as we could see there was an endless series of cyclists approaching, individually or in groups filling the road.

There was no point in trying to proceed, so we just parked in a field gateway and waited for them all to pass. This took a couple of hours: there were about 3000 riders formally participating, but many others joined in for the fun of it. There was no racing, just an endless stream of bikes, ancient and modern, racing bikes, granny bikes, mountain bikes, vintage bikes. Riders of all ages, male, female and indifferent. And because this was France, every one of the riders said 'Bonjour' as they went past us.

Young riders waiting for the start

Teams from all over the region

Family affair

And they're off

Cycling is for everyone. We had a load of gravel delivered, and gave the driver a cup of coffee. He told us he cycled about 150km every weekend, but 250km the previous one for a club competition. He also said he was retiring in a couple of weeks. Then there is the annual fête at a little village called La Lande d'Airou (population 509) which includes cycle races that attract competitors from all over Normandy. There are races for all ages, from five year olds, under 10s, 11-15, and adults. It is all taken very seriously, with roads closed, cups and trophies for winners, and pretty good crowds of spectators. The four photos show a bit of what it was like.

Cycling is indeed part of the French identity. Their poor performance in the Olympics, and the failure to win the Tour de France for many years, is a huge embarrassment.

Back again

There has been a bit of a gap in posts to this blog. What happened is that my wife and I retired, and decided to live in our house in Normandy for a few months, renting out our flat in London, while we made decisions about the long term. In the event, the estate agent handling the rental found a cash buyer who made an offer we could not refuse. So we didn't. The only catch was that the sale had to be completed in three weeks, which meant disposing of almost all the furniture, sorting out documents and other bureaucracy, and moving to Normandy.

Which we did. However, we soon found that our house was great for holidays, but not really big enough for full time living, especially as we both had various little continuing obligations that really required a bit of desk and filing space. We started to look for a bigger house, and found the ideal one about 10 miles away. Needed completion of renovations, and other work.

So, we sold our London flat, moved from London to Normandy, bought a new house, sold the original house, and are now very, very content. But during that time, there seemed little opportunity to keep posting to this blog. There are plenty of other blogs about the issues and problems of moving to France, finding and doing up properties, and I did not have the enthusiasm or energy to add to that. Of course, there were other things I did and other things I wanted to talk about, but the blog just got neglected.

So why have I decided to start again? Firstly, I was greatly encouraged by the very interesting web site, Normandy Insite, reprinting a number of the earlier pieces here, and secondly, we are now pretty firmly established exclusively in Normandy, and I have time and energy to do so.

I will try to add what I hope are interesting and/or informative blogs regularly. Please add any comments you like.

The issue of the bees

The concern at the loss of bees is becoming widely known. From press articles, and television coverage such as this there is a lot of interest. Unlike the 100 square kilometre monocultures of the USA, like for almonds, which require the transportation of bees all over the country for the flowering season, Normandy is mostly natural. There is not (yet) a disaster. But rears are growing, and explanations being sought.


This is partly because there is still an enormous number of cattle and other beasts which graze, and are fed on hay in winter, so that wild flowers are everywhere, and of course the apple and other fruit trees. In April, the apple tree over our terrace was in full flower, and a short spell of warmer weather meant we could have our lunch outside. The apple blossom was covered with bees, the noise of their buzzing constant. A bit like the World Cup vuvuzelas. As far as I could see the bees were mostly honey bees.

The bocage also - even though it is becoming less - is still a huge reservoir of trees, bushes and flowers. The local authorities in the country carry out 'fauchage' twice a year: a process of cutting the vegetation on the verges and the high bocage hedges. One man on a tractor with a sort of enormous beard trimmer attachment can do kilometres in a week. The result is that there is a continuing series of flowering plants: primroses, violets, orchids, cut down after going to seed, and then followed by foxgloves, scabious, knapweed, thistle etc. with ferns and grasses for seeds coming up in profusion. Recently, in many places they have delayed the first cut because the winter was so bad, and all the plants are late.


Bees, and all forms of wildlife thrive. No pesticides, no flailing to smash trees and shrubs, and respect for the cycle of the seasons.


Honey bees are not as common in general this year as the several varieties of bumble bees, but they usually appear in large numbers in late July and August. Apple trees are mostly laden with fruit, as are other fruit trees. All flowers are blooming and dying back very quickly, because they are very rapidly pollinated, which is a good sign in general, although indicative of a bad winter.


We have a path to out back door through a near jungle of herbs - mint, oregano, lemon balm, lavender, rosemary, tarragon, which will take over the path when they all flower in a couple of weeks. Apart from the wonderful scents when you walk along the path, brushing the plants, there are great clouds of bees and butterflies which rise up and settle back as you pass.

We are doing our best to help the bees, growing trees, bushes, plants with flowers throughout the summer, and for the solitary speciies placing bamboos and other open tubes around the garden for overwintering and spring nesting. No pesticides, herbicides, or paranoid weed free cultivation. We have hedges on all four sides of our garden (1700m2), with hazel, beech, oak, medlar, blackthorn, hawthorn and holly. We have two big patches of garden that are not mowed, just left to nature, and they are full of flowers at the moment. In winter, we can often see goldfinches hanging off the knapweed seed heads from our bedroom. We also have three fields, which are used for grazing by a neighbour, with a family of cattle there for two or three weeks, then moved elsewhere, to return in a couple of months when the grass has regrown.


Virtually a paradise, which will end if the bees go.

Another Fete

We are well into the season of village fêtes, vide greniers and celebrations. See previous post for more information. Bastille Day, 14 July, sees festivals and events everywhere. We went to one, and as always, encountered a few pretty unexpected incidents which we would never see in the UK.

Usually, the fêtes include a communal meal, most often served in a canteen style - line up with a tray and pass along the servers to get a starter, main course, piece of cheese, and a dessert. You then find a place on any of the long trestle tables under very large marquees; it rains sometime in Normandy. There will be a 'bar' where you can get bottles of wine at three or four euros, mineral water, and of course cider. There are variations, some feature mussels and frites as the main course, some grilled meat, some start with a rough - in the sense of not smooth, not low quality - pâté, occasionally served in very large terrines on each table to help yourself.

The fête we went to was called a 'mechoui' which strictly speaking is a word for a whole roast sheep, but locally is often used for a feast which may or may not include lamb. Here it did. There was a small vide grenier  which was literally stuff from attics, and a bouncy castle.

The village has a population of just over 600; there were 731 lunch tickets sold. When we arrived, there was a huge modern marquee set up. No guy ropes and tatty canvas, this was a light weight state of the art metal frame with canvas stretched over it. It has a proper wooden floor. There were two rows of tables, each table seating 20 people. This was the first time we have found proper plates and cutlery - usually it is all disposable stuff. Though at one you were supposed to take your own couvert (plates, cutlery etc) which we had not realised. Fortunately near enough to the home of one of our party to drive back and get enough for all of us from her house. Like all French people she had enough stuff to cater for twenty or thirty at a meal at home. Here there were glasses made of glass, and paper napkins of superior quality, and all the places were laid out before anyone got there. Top stuff all round.

And the food was served to the tables, starting with a rosé wine based aperitif. The first course was one of those sort of fish terrines on a bed of macedoine veg, and mayonnaise. Taken out of a refrigerated lorry at the last minute, and brought round to the tables. This was followed by huge platters of barbecued sausages, traditional herb and spicy merguez together, with really excellent frites. Next were grilled lamb chops, followed by slices of roast leg of lamb and more frites. The lamb was probably the best, most tender, lamb I can remember. We had earlier seen the meat being grilled behind the marquee. a dozen or so big square barbecues for the sausages, and two huge rotisseries for the lamb, each with I think eight spits, each of which had seven or eight whole lamb legs over fires of large logs. They were hand cranked, basted with home made basters made from long poles with a metal cup or bowl attached to the end, and a large tray under the meat to catch all the juices. The meat was also basted with a broom made of bunches of beech leaves tied to a pole.

After that, a little portion of camembert followed by an ice cream (industrial, but French catering quality). Not bad for 15€ each. There were 61 volunteers setting up, cooking, serving and washing up afterwards.

The after lunch had finished (about 4.30) entertainment was the donkey races. These donkeys are not the tiny things at English seaside resorts, or wavering under huge loads or very fat men in the Middle East, but Normandie donkeys, of which there are two races: the âne Cotentin, from the Cotentin peninsula (you probably guessed that) which is pale with a dark cross of St André on its back, and the âne Normande which is browner. Both are threatened species and you can - apparently - receive a subsidy for keeping them. These donkeys were ridden for four laps round a little oval hippodrome type circuit, with volunteers riding them. These jockeys were adults who had clearly enjoyed their lunch, and had taken some wine with it. The donkeys were like donkeys always are, reluctant to co-operate very much. The result was that half the riders or more fell off, and by the last lap the donkeys slowed down, sometimes turning round and going the wrong way. The fallen riders seemed not to get trampled, even when they fell near the beginning when the donkeys were trotting along at a reaonable pace. There were no helmets, no saddles or reins, no liability disclaimers to be signed, no elfin safety of any sort. No one was hurt, and everyone laughed.

A couple of other things were going on, including a raffle where everyone got a prize (otherwise it was gambling and required a licence), and something described as a lapinodrome. This was a low wooden circle with numbered holes cut in it. Inside the circle were some rabbits  (lapins), and the public bought tickets with the same numbers. The winner was the one who held the ticket with the number of the hole through which the first rabbit emerged. Similar games in the UK. The difference here was that the winner kept the rabbit. The event continued until all the rabbits had been won. They were not taken home as pets. Many country people keep rabbits as a food supply. They know how to deal with a live rabbit.

The other similar thing was fishing for ducks. One sees this at many events, lots of little yellow toy ducks with loops attached being caught by very young children with sticks with little hooks. At this feast, the sticks had three inch rings on the end, and the ducks were live. What they call cannettes, young ducks. And, as you might now guess, if you got a ring over the neck of a duck, you won the duck. One boy of about ten announced that he had just got his third duck, and ran off with it to put it in his parents' car. There was no likelihood that the duck would do any damage. Or indeed, anything by then.

Holidays, coaches, peasants

The older generation of - what they are happy to call themselves - peasants in France never had the chance, time, or reason to travel much. Many have never gone more than a few kilometres from their home village. We know quite a few people in our corner of La Manche who still take their annual holidays in caravans at the nearest seaside camp site - about 35 km from here, a little town we often visit just for lunch. Now there is a splendid health service, a lot of people have gone further afield for medical attention, to see specialists in the big towns, or have operations. Not travelling for fun and adventure, though.


It took a lot longer for the French economy to progress after the war than it did the British. This was particularly so in the rural, agricultural areas, such as Normandy. As late as the 1970s it was possible to see horse drawn ploughs and other implements occcasionally. Of course, the French standard of living is now well ahead of the UK in subjective terms, though UK, Germany and France are 19, 20 and 21 in the world by Gross Domestic Product per capita,  adjusted for relative purchasing power, according to the International Monetary Fund 2009.


However, in the last 10-15 years, many people who previously had neither the money nor the inclination to go anywhere, have discovered it is not only possible, but fun. With reasonable pensions, improved life expectancy, and families who have moved away, to other regions of France, or even other countries, a lot of the older people have begun to do a little exploring. Not by themselves, admittedly, but none the less going on trips. This has been facilitated by travel companies, so that it is easy, safe, not too expensive, and reassuring. In general, the travel companies organise one day coach trips to a particular destination, either a specific town, or around the region. These are arranged locally, and often start from about 6.00am with the coach going around several villages picking up the pre-booked customers. And off they go, returning at about 10 in the evening.


Being French, the price includes all meals. The first stop is for breakfast in a cafe on the way. We used to travel overnight to Caen-Ouistreham or Cherbourg from Portsmouth, and arrive about 8.30 at Villedieu-les-Poêles where we would have breakfast in a café. Most times, there would be a sudden influx of 30-50 elderly people, arriving at the same time, and obviously expected. They would be served café-au-lait or hot chocolate, a croissant or two, and in ten minutes they would all be off. Back to the coach. Lunch is usually at an auberge in the country - there are quite a few that now rely on pre-booked coach parties to keep going - with three or four courses and wine. Dinner will be somewhere else, and something similar. The expectations are that there will be proper meals, with proper traditional French food, at proper meal times.


In between the meals, the coaches will visit whatever places of interst are the apparent object of the trip. We were in Rochefort-en-Terre, in Brittany, when three coaches suddenly tirned up, and hordes of elderly French country folk descended simultaneously, and divided into two groups - one to queue at the public toilets, the others to rush into the village to see everything and buy souvenirs. The noise was incredible. A hundred people all chattering at once in what had a minute or two before been a quiet, hot place. The sound was a sort of loud twittering, impossible to hear any words, because every one of the people was talking at the same time. The only time I have heard something similar was when a huge flock of starlings finished wheeling through the twilight sky like smoke and all settled into the same group of trees at the same moment. Within an hour, the coaches had left for the next site.


Most of these travellers are women of a certain age. Men in general, and farmers in particular, do not last as long as women when they retire. The coach trips allow groups of friends to go on  a trip together, without having to worry about making complicated arrangements, or finding places to eat, or having to drive. And being used to organised lives, they have no problems in starting before dawn.


There are also more and more package coach tours to more exotic places, lasting a week or even more. These work in the same way, but go to the further regions of France, and even other countries, and have hotel stays included.. The wife of a friend of hours finally made her husband go on a holiday to Provence this way, with some other friends, and it was the first real holiday away they had ever had. They were both over 60. When they came back, Yvon and Yvonne had different views of the experience. She enjoyed every minute. He found it interesting in a way, but was shocked that there were no cows, and that the land was all rubbish dry, stony, no grass. 


In fact this was their second long coach trip. When the euro was introduced, there was a period of a bout a year for people to change their francs into the new currency, which could only be done at banks, and who recorded the details of each exchange. This created an immense dilemma for farmers and other country people. Many of their transactions are cash based - buying and selling animals, fodder and so on, and the money nver goes near a bank.. They do not appear in any documentation, and of course do not get included in tax returns. That is one reason why France has a higher standard of living and more actbve economy than appears in the official statistics. The difficulty was of course that the state would want to know where they got all these francs from, and demand taxes. The tax demands would be calculated on the asumption that whatever cash was found now, it was only a fraction of what had not been declared in the past, and the tax demands would hurt.


The tiny republic of Andorra, between France and Spain, presented a solution. There were no border processes, and the banks there would exchange francs for euros with no questions asked. Very many rural French people suddenly discovered that they had always wanted to see the wonderful sites and people of Andorra, and there was a constant stream of coaches visiting there for one day holidays. I have no idea how news of this benefit was circulated, but inevitably the French government realised what was going on, and started making spot searches of coaches along the road to Andorra. Anyone found with more francs than a short stay needed, was faced with a tax demand, and a fine. The trips carried on for a while, but when one coach was stopped and all the luggage searched, and a number of suitcases opened to reveal bundles of francs which nobody on the coach claimed, the risks became too great.


But it introduced a lot of people to the idea of travel and visiting new places. One of our widow friends last summer went to Spain, the Costa del Sol no less, on a coach trip for a week. She went with three of four other people from the village, and they joined forces with some from another village. They had many interesting evenings planning the holiday, and discussing arrangements over dinner at each other's houses. The holidy itself started the evening before, when they all gathered at two of the houses, so they would all be collected together. The coach began its collection of passengers at 3.00 am, and then went all the way to Spain, arriving in time for a late dinner, stopping only for meals on the way. There was a toilet on board, of course. The coach apparently had two drivers who took it in turns to drive. A week in Spain in a decent enough hotel, organised excursions and two good, proper meals every day. It was perfect. 

Slow worms, and other lizards

Slow worms, anguis fragilis, are legless lizards, about nine inches/24cm long. I can only remember seeing one in the UK, where it seems to be getting rarer. Here in Normandy a couple of weeks ago I saw this slow worm in our garden, moving very casually through some grass. This is the fourth time I have seen one here, each time in a different corner of a half acre garden, so I think I can assume that there is a colony living here.

Looking at it clearly, it is easy to see that it is a lizard, not a snake. Its head is lizard shaped, and although it moves like a snake, it does so because any creature with no legs and a long body has to move that way. It flickers its tongue, but so do most lizards. Despite their name, they can move quite fast, and can disappear into a hole or under rocks pretty rapidly.


We usually find common lizards  in the garden at some time during the year, but not very many. We are not only fairly far North, but also our area is quite high above sea level, so we do not have as many as one would find around the Baie de Mont St Michel locally, and certainly not the numbers of individuals and different speciies that are common further south. The other reptile that we have is the salamander, and there is more about that here.


I also saw a quite large lizard, about 8 inches/22cm on a path by the sea on Morbiham, Brittany, a few weeks ago, but is scampered off into the undergrowth. It emerged a few minutes later, but imposible to get near. This photo is an enlarged detail, and not very good, but the best i could do. I do know what species it is.

Birds in spring

On a cold, but bright, afternoon in April, we were walking along the promenade at the beach at St Martin de Bréhal. There were very few other people about, and the wind blowing off the sea was fairly vicious. The tide was incoming, nearly high, but with a low coefficient, so a lot of sand was still exposed. In the distance, it looked as if there was a cloud of pale smoke drifting along the beach. As we got closer, it was clear that it was a large group of something running about on the sand. A bit like an enormous number of very large spiders. Closer still, and it resolved into about a hundred and fifty sanderlings chasing almost in unison along the beach. 

Sanderlings on the beach at St Martin de Brehal, Manche

Normally these waders run along the shore, following each wave as it recedes, and then scampering back as the next one arrives. Because the wind was whipping up fairly large waves, and there was very little exposed sand in between one receding and the next arriving, the birds were mostly looking for sand hoppers and other things ahead of the tide. There is another photo of sanderlings on the beach at Jullouville, in a more usual behaviour pattern, below.

Granville, a couple of miles down the coast from St Martin is on  a very distinct promontory, and is used as a navigation point by planes. It used to be that Concorde flew over the town, very high, at about 10.00 every night, accelerating past the sound barrier once it was well over the ocean. In theory. In practice, the sonic boom happened nearer to the land; we would hear it inland about 30k from the sea. Ordinary jet planes are usually well over 30,000 feet high, and not normally audible. Migrating birds also use it for navigation, and at Carolles, four or five miles further south, there is a thriving ornithological society which holds bird watching events spring and autumn to see the migrations. In fact, most of the west coast of the Cotentin, and especially the Baie de Mont St Michel, is a key annual migration site, as well as being full of seabirds, waders and others all through the year.

A couple of weeks after our walk at St Martin, we stopped off for a coffee in St Jean le Thomas, another of the coastal villages overlooking Mont St Michel, and as it was the first really hot day after the cold, we walked along the beach. The tide was way out, so to speak, with a high coefficient, and the edge of the sea was the other side of a couple of hundred yards of sand, and another three hundred of mud. At the water's edge we could see several hundred, maybe 1,000, largish birds. They were silhouetted against the sun, and imp;ossible to identify, but with the wind off the sea we could clearly hear that the larest were curlews, and some of the slightly smaller ones were whimbrels, confirmed when some of them flew inland over our heads, calling as they did so. We didn't identify any of the others. But a final surprise was that there were several shrikes hopping about on the large rocks dumped to protect the dunes. Had never seen the species before.

Sanderlings on the beach at Jullouville, Manche

River Vire walks

After weeks of snow, and heavy rain, we are now left at easter with high winds and vicious showers. Nonetheless, the weather is good enough to restart some proper country walks. Like most of France, Normandy has a lot of well marked footpaths (randonnées), and maps and routes can be had, usually free from tourist offices, or newsagents (Maisons de la Presse). For example, there are many easy, interesting walks along the Vire River, from Pont Farcy in the south, to Carentan in the north. 

Towpath

Towpath sign

The Vire is an appealing river, going though a long gorge north from the town of Vire, and running alongside the road for most of the way to St-Lo. For much of that part of its flow, it seems to me to be very much like the Wye in England. It even has an equivalent of the viewpoint at Symonds Yat, at les Roches de Ham. Just before St-Lo, at Candol, there is a very old bridge and weir, and well laid out walks along the towpath (chemin de halage) in both directions. 

St Suzanne Village

For most of its length, the towpath has now been improved and surfaced, so that it is easy to walk and cycle, but also accessible without many problems for pushchairs and wheelchairs. It is also well marked with the signs shown below, information signs at all the points where you can join or leave, and regular distance indications - in km and minutes - between points. 




There are obstacles and weirs along the length of the river, but it was even so used for water transport until replaced by rail and road. In a number of places the river meanders along, with rapids and weirs bypassed by old locks and short canal lengths, some just 25 metres or less. These locks (écluses) are mostly ruins, and in many cases the canal bit is silted up and overgrown. At Vire town there are waterfalls and rapids that effectively blocked the river traffic, and to the north it joins the Vire and Taute Canal. Interestingly, as many of these old lock locations are where the water flow is faster or over a weir, there are micro hydropower electricity generating stations - 11 between Pont Farcy and St-Lo alone. Each generates enough power to supply a few hundred houses. So not only has the river been turned into a valuable leisure amenity, but also a renewable energy resource creator.



We joined the river walk at Condé-sur-Vire; there are small car parks at most villages along the length of the walk. There is a base for canoe and kayak sports there (in summer only, of course). A week or so before, we had gone past the valley of the Sée at Tirepied, where the whole flood plain was under water, again. The Vire had also burst its banks then, with the water level up to three metres higher than usual. That meant that it covered the towpath, which is raised above the land, and burst into the fields the other side. There are permanent metal signs at each access point, which can be folded open to show that the path is closed because of flooding. Useful, because the flooding can be localised to where the river is narrower or the towpath lower. We walked a little bit along the towpath at Candol a few weeks ago, but most of it was under water and invisible. Now the waters have receded, and there were no problems; there were a lot of little rivulets still flowing into the river, though, and the ground was throughly waterlogged.

Spring must be arriving, because we saw four or five swallows skimming the river in between the showers, and apart from primroses and celandines everywhere, there were a couple of clumps of marsh marigold in flower. On previous walks along the river, we have seen otters, an adult near St-Lo, and a juvenile a bit further south. We also saw this deer (chevreuil) at Candol, during the hunting season, so it may have been away from its usual place.

On yer bike?

The French of course take cycling very seriously. All through the year you will see cyclists in tight fitting club uniforms in bright colours, steaming along all the country roads, in ones and twos or sometimes a whole club of a couple of dozen identically costumed people, in a group, or spread out of several kilometres. Midweek, many of these cyclists are quite elderly men and women. While we no longer young English chaps never get much more exercise and excitement than discovering a new cardigan in Districenter or Gemo, our French equivalents are covering 100 km at high speed. For the fun of it. They may look wind battered and wiry, with faces like WH Auden in the sun, and wear hideously multicoloured nylon costumes and hats stolen from aliens, but my word they are healthy. Even sometimes into their eighties.


There are cycle races all through the year, big and small. The biggest of course is the Tour de France, and one of the second rank is the Tour de Normandie, which is happening right now at the end of March 2010. I don't read the sports pages in the papers anywhere, and haven't seen the local Ouest France for a a couple of weeks. I was thus utterly surpriased to find myself heading straight into  the Tour de Normandie last Saturday. We were driving through the Forêt de St Sever-Calvados on a road we often take, when suddenly a group of motorcycle cops with blue lights and sirens came screaming along the road towards us, and waved us to stop, and pull off the road. Not easy because there was a ditch, and very little else. They were immediately followed by a dozen or so other motorcycles with two up and signs saying 'Officiel' on the front, and then thirty or forty vans and cars, all covered in big ads, and most with half a dozen bikes on the top. That was when we began to think that the Tour was also going through the forest...


A couple of minutes later, more blue lights and sirens, and a group of about 15 cyclists in their midst, and then yet more vans and cars with bikes on top. We thought this must have been the end, and began to move off. More officials whizzed up and told us to stop again. After five minutes we could hear a roaring noise, like a train, and over 100 cyclists screamed by at full speed, throwing empty drink bottles, food pouches and other stuff as they passed.  They were so close together that it seemed that they could only be avoiding crashing by synchronising their pedalling. Five seconds and they were gone. Following them were more support cars, vans and bikes. And a group of people coming along picking up the rubbish the riders had thrown down. Two minutes later, it was all over, and we could drive on.


I had never actually seen a major cycle race up close, but the noise of the bikes, the speed at which they were going, and the closeness of the bunch were all quite extraordinary.


Cyclists having priority over motorists is not just something that applies to organised races, it is respected everywhere. Drivers will slow down, pull out to the left, and give way to cyclists as a matter of habit, whether the cyclist is a young racer training for the Tour, or an elderly lady coming back from the market, or a farmer who has already lost his driving licence wobbling home from the bar. Not like the UK, where cyclists are usually invisible, or if they are seen are perceived as two dimensional and need no space. Because cycling is respectable and respected, something like the Paris Velib system is very successful. Bike stands are everywhere, and the bikes are used by all sorts of people, from elegant lady lawyers with their briefs in the front basket, to elderly gentlemen with substantial bellies and award winning moustaches. Of course it also helps that Paris is much smaller than say London, and fairly flat, but the Mayor of London, Boris Johnson, a cyclist himself, is planning a similar system. Whether the bikes will last more than a couple of days without being stolen, vandalised or destroyed is still unknown.

Workers menus

When I first started coming to France often, in the early 1970s, finding so many good, cheap restaurants serving fresh, interesting food was a constant surprise. At that time, Britain was only just beginning to contemplate the idea of food as a pleasure, rather than a refuelling exercise. Elizabeth David's books had started a trend, but there was a long way to go. Apart from Chinese and Indian places, a few Italian restaurants and the Berni Inn steak houses, most towns had no restaurant at all, never mind one worth the name. There were the hotels catering for commercial travellers, and the places that catered for weddings etc, but the food was boring, overcooked, and unimaginative. A few pubs were moving on from the stale sandwiches and plastic pies, but then only into simple grills and fry ups. Having to move around the country for my work, I despaired of ever finding any reasonable place to eat with good food anywhere in the country. Even in London, there were not that many restaurants, other than in the very grand hotels like the Dorchester and the Ritz, way outside my income.

There was a feed back loop going on, of course. Because there was no British tradition of eating out regularly, there was no demand for restaurants. Because there were no restaurants, no one went out to eat. I remember at that time a German firm was looking at various places to set up a new, large factory, and Birmingham council was trying hard to attract them there, rather than somewhere in Italy or France. One of what the council saw as a strong attraction was the low wages that would have to be paid to get the right staff. The German management looked at the figures, and said 'But how can one of the workers afford to take his family out for dinner on Saturday night on those wages?' Birmingham said that no working people would do that, or want to, or expect to be able to. The Germans said that they did not want to be in the business of exploiting people, and that they wanted employees with more ambition and life, and set up their factory somewhere else. In the 70s, most British Francophiles knew about the Relais Routiers organisation. All the lorry drivers (routiers) used their guides to the best roadside restaurants catering for them, by having very large car/lorry parks, and providing very good lunches at reasonable prices. The idea that lorry drivers would expect to have a good quality, freshly prepared three or four course lunch every day was pretty extraordinary. That most of the meals cost very little in Brtisih terms, and usally included wine in the price, was a revelation. As was the fact that the drivers wanted to sit down at a table with others, and take two hours over their lunch. For us deprived Brits, particularly as for part of the 70s we were only allowed a very small amount of foreign currency each year (you collected it from a bank who recorded how much in your passport, and there were no credit cards), these relais were enough to justify a visit to France in themselves.

The Relais Routiers organisation is still going strong. The difference these days is that wine is not always included. The same tradition of good, fixed price, cheap meals of course is still important in France. Every where you go, there are bistros, cafés, auberges and restaurants with signs saying 'Menu Ouvrier' - workmens' menu - usually at around 8 to 12€ all in. Because of the catastrophic exchange rate, prices in France seem high to us, but are not in terms of French earnings. 8-12€ is in French terms really equivalent to about £5-6 - the same as a takeaway sandwich and coffee in London. But what you get is a choice of starter, such as a goat cheese salad, paté, hard boiled eggs with mayonnaise, or similar, or a buffet of all of them, followed by a choice of a steak, or pork chop, or beef stew or regional specialities, then two or three pieces of different cheese, then a dessert such as créme brulée, chocolate mousse or apple pie. Of course as much fresh bread as you want. In many places there are bottles of wine on the table, usually ordinaire, and you pay for (approximately) how much you drank: can be as much as 3€ for the whole bottle. Compare all this with a plateful of crap 'n' cholestorol for the same price in a greasy spoon truckstop in the UK.

Britain has improved beyond anything I could have contemplated thirty five years ago. There are many good, decent restaurants serving real food almost everywhere. Of course there are chains of rubbish places selling artifical pizzas, microwaved and boil in the bag ready meals, and other pretend food (tip: avoid places where you see a Brakes Bros or 3665 lorry making a delivery - they will be serving mass produced stuff in most cases). An aspect of this is that you can now eat as well in England as France, if you are careful, and at the same prices. That is a miracle.