the times Saturday October 1 2016
30 Travel
the times Saturday October 1 2016
Travel 31
France
Castles and coast: see William the Conqueror’s homeland
As the 950th anniversary of the Battle of Hastings approaches,
Louise Roddon savours the history, beaches and food of Normandy
I
t’s the colours that hit you first. The
chestnut flanks of galloping horses
and shields you could easily believe
were fashioned from gold paint
rather than dyed thread. I’m in
France at the Bayeux Tapestry
Museum, admiring the sheer
intensity of scenes that are well over
900 years old.
Vivid red blood spurts from a choppedoff neck. A horse in a boat laughs, and
Harold’s mob are depicted as unshaven
long-haired louts. I’m not surprised the
museum has dubbed this early Game of
Thrones the world’s first comic strip. It
is action-packed and cartoonish, yet full
of pathos.
This month marks the 950th anniversary of the Battle of Hastings, and although
the UK has commemorative events, I have
come to Normandy to check out William
the Conqueror’s home turf. My week here
takes me to Norman castles and William’s
tomb, hamlets with slit-windowed
chapels and on to the region’s latter-day
assets — its unsung beach resorts, where
broad sweeping sands front palatial
beaux-arts villas.
More of those later. Right now I’m wishing I could prolong my viewing of the
Bayeux Tapestry (it’s technically an
embroidery rather than a weaving), but
although the audio guide is excellent,
annoyingly it lacks a pause button.
Instead, in a voice as clipped as Harry
Enfield’s Mr Cholmondley-Warner, the
commentator whips us briskly along and
all too soon Harold gets it in the eye.
Upstairs, I find replica battle boats,
chainmail suits and intricate miniatures of
Norman villages. There are castles too,
including a model of William the
Above: A
scene from
the Bayeux
Tapestry.
Below:
Falaise
castle,
birthplace
of King
William
Conqueror’s Tower of London. And
cobbled Bayeux has other medieval treasures, from wonky half-timbered houses
to the cathedral crypt’s squat columns,
where weary-looking painted angels are
doomed to an eternity of flute playing.
I take a break from the past and trace the
river path along the fast-flowing Aure. It’s
a decent walk of about 40 minutes and
uncovers a quieter side to Bayeux. Tourist
chatter and car horns give way to the soft
gurgle of moss-coloured water. A coypu
scuttles for cover under a weeping willow,
its whiskered snout slick with wet. Walled
back gardens are next door to an
old watermill, and later I
find a park with a humpy
wooden bridge worthy of a Monet
painting.
On to Caen, a
half-hour drive
away, and although it is
shadowed by
its
betterknown ferry
port,
there
are unmissable
signs of William’s
presence in its
centre — his first big
castle built atop a
grassy knoll dominates
the skyline and, near by, his
Abbaye aux Hommes. In marrying
Queen Matilda, William had annoyed
Pope Nicholas II. His method of avoiding
excommunication was to build this and
the Abbaye aux Dames.
The two abbeys house their tombs —
the queen in the Abbaye aux Dames;
William in the former, where Gothic
cream-coloured arches lead the eye towards a modest slab bearing the
no-nonsense inscription: “Here is buried
William the Conqueror, Duke of Normandy and King of England, founder of this
house who died in the year 1087.”
He was 59 when he died, a decent age for
the period. And doubtlessly William the
Bastard — do let’s call him that — gained
grist from a childhood spent in Falaise
castle. Here I trail chattering children
and skedaddle up and down twisty stone
staircases and, with the help of a personal
tablet, chilly rooms are magically trans-
formed into scenes of medieval haute
grandeur. Stone walls acquire tapestry
hangings, dogs snooze in front of fires and
steam rises from gleaming tureens.
Ah, tureens. You can’t escape food in
Normandy. Driving through the soft
green countryside of Calvados requires
self-restraint. I lose count of the tempting
roadside signs for cheese tastings and nips
of cider, farm butter and home-made
biscuits. But I’m saving my appetite for a
madeleine — and where better to try them
than Cabourg?
Proust, who spent seven summers in
Cabourg, is known to have waxed lyrical
about the cake’s potency for triggering
memories. He even modelled the imaginary place of Balbec on this neat little
town. And so, like Proust, I check into the
Grand Hotel and munch away. No memories surface, but boy is it good. Buttery,
toasty, with a hint of almonds.
And the hotel is also gorgeous, easily living up to its name, but with a creaky,
slightly neglected air that only adds to its
appeal. I fall asleep to the sound of waves,
wake to the sight of dogs taking their
elderly owners for promenade walkies
(apparently it’s the straightest in France)
and enjoy breakfast in a sea-facing fancy
ballroom that Proust once termed the
aquarium because of the promenade gawpers who pressed
their noses against the
windows.
The sun sets to a
rosy glow. The tide
is out, revealing
sands of unfathomable broadness. A smartly
suited man sits
on the promenade alone. He
sips his chilled
muscadet, peels
another prawn
and gazes happily
out to sea. Somehow
it sums up Cabourg,
and indeed many of the
Côte Fleurie resorts we visit.
They are gentle, time-warpy, the
perfect place to take stock and simply be.
Neat beach huts flank the prom; so too,
do grand half-timbered villas that resemble giant doll’s houses. And there’s not a lot
else to Cabourg — no modern developments, or many tourists.
We leave and rapidly find ourselves in
Dives-sur-Mer, where William the Conqueror set sail for Hastings. First impressions are underwhelming, but set back
from the road we find an idyllic cluster of
twisty streets, a church whose plaque lists
William’s battle companions and a “village
d’art” of souvenir shops housed in medieval wooden cottages.
The nearby market is the real draw —
not just because it’s old and lovely (built in
the 14th century), but because it still trades,
albeit only on Saturdays. I stand next to an
American woman and drink in this scene
of medieval perfection: the whorled wood-
DANITA DELIMONT/GETTY IMAGES
Head to Hastings for
a live history lesson
P
The Aure River in
Bayeux. Above right:
the beach at Houlgate
en counters, weather-beaten timber posts
and a tiled roof so steep it drapes the
exterior like a generous suit of armour.
“Well, look at that,” the woman says.
“How do they cope with the dirt? That
would need a lot of cleaning.”
There’s nothing I can offer in reply.
Except to suggest neighbouring Houlgate,
where civic pride means that the sand
is regularly combed and fluffed, and
private gardens seemingly compete for
horticultural prizes.
Like Cabourg, Houlgate grew from
nothing but sand. The clever project of
19th-century Parisian financiers, it rose as
rapidly as an early Dubai, its empty spaces
giving way to a grand resort for city-weary
Parisians. We wander its uncannily quiet
streets and find a Jacques Tati world of
extraordinary villas with twiddly minarettopped roofs and hedges of unerring
straightness.
Yet the sands cry out for sandcastle
builders, which we find at Trouville-surMer. Its broad blond stretch is busy with
tennis courts, boules players and cafés offering oysters and glasses of rosé. It’s not
my first visit, but I’m glad to see the town
unchanged, its port-facing pavement still
home to a daily fish market, where booths
sell punnets of prawns and langoustines
and fresh fish soup to hungry shoppers.
This is the place where Napoleon III
held his summer court. It’s also from here,
in 1870, that his Empress Eugénie fled
France in the yacht of an English admirer.
And the town is still distinctly belle epoque
— from its wedding-cake casino to the
grand sea-facing homes that are linked to
the boardwalk by private wooden steps.
Cut behind the town, though, and you
find skinny streets of fishermen’s cottages
and everyday shops — ironmongers and
grocers, tabacs and launderettes — an
ordinariness not found in Trouville’s
snooty sister town, Deauville. My stroll
here includes an unsuccessful attempt to
cross a road as five red Ferraris snarl by at
high speed.
Deauville is handsome if you fancy the
idea of a chi-chi seaside Weybridge, but it’s
not for me. Yes, I like the coloured
umbrellas furled on the beach and the
Poirot-style bathing huts adorned with a
roll call of Hollywood nametags
(Deauville’s grandness is tied to its annual
American Film Festival and racetrack),
but I’m happy to leave this moneyed world
of faux-medieval villas and return to
normality. After all, in Normandy, the real
medieval is never far away.
ENGLISH
CHANNEL
Le Havre
Deauville
Houlgate
Cabourg
N13
Bayeux
Caen
A84
A13
Trouvillesur-Mer
Divessur-Mer
N158
NORM A N DY
10 miles
Need to
know
Louise Roddon was a guest of
the Normandy Tourist Board
(www.normandy-tourism.org) and
Brittany Ferries (brittany-ferries.co.uk),
which operates routes from Portsmouth
and Poole to Le Havre, Caen and
Cherbourg in Normandy from £79 each
way for a car plus two people.
Where to stay
Logis Hotel le Lion d’Or, Bayeux
This old coaching inn set around a
courtyard has a bar with signed
photographs of former guests — from
Dwight D Eisenhower (his bedroom
has been kept unchanged) to Lord
Mountbatten. Charming, contemporary
rooms cost from £55 a night (00 33 231
92 06 90, logishotels.com/en).
Le Grand Hotel Cabourg
If you’re a Proust fanatic, check into
room 414, the author’s childhood
holiday bedroom. If not, insist on a
sea-facing room in this grande dame
of a hotel. B&B rooms cost from £172
a night (00 33 231 91 01 79,
le-grand-hotel-cabourg.com).
Cures Marines Trouville Hotel
Another sea-facing beauty, the early
20th-century Cures Marines has been
rigorously updated and its public rooms
sport a chic and playful decor. There’s
also a fabulous spa. B&B rooms cost
from £156 a night (00 33 231 14 26 00,
accorhotels.com)
ennants flutter, a volley of
arrows flies at a wall of shields,
soldiers wave their axes
menacingly and horses thunder
across the earth.
The annual re-enactment of the
Battle of Hastings is a living, breathing
Bayeux Tapestry. You can study history
until you’re blue in the face, but to
understand what really goes on in a
medieval battlefield, you need to be in
the thick of it.
What better way to see how Harold,
arriving early at the field in Sussex
where the two armies clashed 950 years
ago, chose the high ground, giving his
Saxons an advantage. And to see
how their wall of shields held strong
against the Norman archers, their
infantry and even their cavalry, until
William ordered his troops to feign a
retreat, luring the Saxons to their
deaths. Even if we know how it
ends, it’s fascinating to watch this
blow-by-blow battle, condensed into
a 60-minute show.
It’s a great event for all ages; my son
and his friend were as entranced by
the number of people “dying” on the
battlefield as they were to discover that
people come to spend their weekend
living, sleeping and eating as medieval
Saxons and Normans did. Food
smoulders over fires and is speared
with knives — forks hadn’t yet been
invented. There’s also plenty of armour
to try on, shields to wield and weapons
to wave around.
This year there’s a new exhibition at
the abbey that William of Normandy
built on the battle site as penance for
so much bloodshed. And the number
of re-enactors expected for the 950th
anniversary? More than 1,066, says
English Heritage.
Details The re-enactment of the
Battle of Hastings is on October 15
and 16. The abbey is open all day from
10am-5pm and the battle takes place
at 3pm each day. Adult £15.60, child £9,
discounts for English Heritage
members; english-heritage.org.uk
Jane Knight