August 31, 2005
Lisieux - Le Havre
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I was up about 8am. I let Barbara sleep on a little and went down to breakfast. After the usual, I decided to let Barbara sleep some more and so, took myself off for a look at what Lisieux is most famous for, St. Theresa's basilica. Those of a Catholic background will probably know something of Sainte Thérèse de l'Enfant-Jésus et de la Sainte Face, to give her full canonised title, or the Little Flower of Jesus, as she is sometimes known. I walked further up the hill past a reliquary superstore selling printed movie-star images of the holy lass, a beautiful technicolour face glowing radiantly off the surfaces of anything from coffee mugs to tea-towels. Contemporary photographs, like the one on our hotel staircase, show her plump and plain. A true representation is evidently not good enough for the devout household. A brief history: She became a nun, prayed a lot, wrote a book with help and died young. For this, she was made a saint.
I continued on my way up the hill towards her most obvious memorial, the basilica. I walked across the car park towards it. I have tried since to find a definitive explanation of what constitutes a basilica. Sacré-Coeur, Montmartre in Paris is a basilica, so is St. Peter's in Rome. A basilica is not necessarily a cathedral, but some cathedrals are basilicas. I found all this rather confusing. The best way I have been able to put it to myself is; a basilica's a f*cking big church. St. Theresa's in that respect, more than adequately fits the bill. I satisfied myself with a brief outside view. I had not brought the camera, so I walked back to the hotel. Barbara was up and about now and within half an hour or so we were ready for the off. I asked Barbara if she wanted a walk up to see what I'd just seen. She wasn't enthusiastic. We couldn't leave straight away however, the hotel proprietor had gone out and no-one else could take payment. We loaded the bikes. There was still no-one to pay. 'Would you like a walk up to the Basilica?' I asked again. It was another beautiful morning, so for want of anything better, Barbara said she would after all.
Past the reliquary again, Barbara's disdain was palpable. This time we gave the building a more complete inspection and took some pictures from the outside. Above the imposing entrance arch are carved the words: Car quiconque s'élève sera abaissé , [For whoever raises himself shall be lowered] Et quiconque s'humilie sera exalté. [And whoever humbles himself shall be exalted]
Well, they got that right. At the time of construction, in the 1920s, I don't imagine a sense of irony insinuated itself into the fund-raising process. We went inside. It naturally seemed very dark after the bright morning sunshine.. In the centre of the building is a glass casket containing the bones of St. Theresa's right-arm. A group of three black women each kissed her own hand and then transferred the kiss to the casket. This is [almost] where we came in. We went back out.
Back at the hotel, we paid the bill, freewheeled down the hill and stopped at a town centre artisan-boulanger for bread [une tradition, of course] and pastries. Posted on the inside of the shop window was the most comprehensive description so far, of the processes involved in producing a traditional loaf. We re-crossed the river and picked up the rest of our picnic supplies and directions to Pont l'Évêque, at a North African food store. This was a late start, even for us and the day was rapidly warming up. This first flat stretch, however, following the river Touques, on D48, the quiet side, made for an easy start. On the main street of Pont l'Évêque we found a café in full shade and stopped for, our by now, near mandatory café-au-lait and pastries.
We continued straight on from the main street of Pont l'Évêque along RN175, which fortunately for us is paralleled by the A13 autoroute and so was not too busy. We had to get back uphill out of the valley now, which was hard work in the hot sunshine. At St. Benoit d'Hébertot, we turned left onto D17 then almost immediately right onto D140. This pointed us in the direction of Le Pont de Normandie. We stopped in Genneville and took pictures of the differing styles of vernacular architecture. Through Ablon we had our first view of the Seine estuary. Le Havre was visible in the distance, as was a furiously burning refinery flare stack. We dropped quickly into La Rivière-St. Sauveur and from just short of the village we had our first glimpse of Le Pont de Normandie. Next to the church, the top of the bridge towers peeked above the roofs. We turned left towards Honfleur. It was very hot now. Before tackling the rather convoluted cycle access route to the bridge, we stopped at a McDonalds and drank a large Coke, mainly for the ice. At the same time we had the water bottles refilled. You could have brewed tea with what had been in there.
I like bridges a lot more than basilicas. Riding across this was going to be a real treat. One thing I tend to forget though, is that crossing long bridges means a long drag up. The deck of the bridge provides two lanes of traffic in each direction a pedestrian walkway, separated from the cycle path by a low wall and the cycle path itself separated from the traffic by a white line, a shoulder in other words.
The cycle route to the start of the bridge was a bit of a maze. We rode through the visitors centre car park, then a small area of greenery, over the highway and then we were there. It was a decent climb, to the extent that we received a cheery 'Bon Courage' from a group of pedestrians on the opposite walkway. At the centre of the bridge, I stopped to wait for Barbara. When she caught up we took photographs. It was cooler up here above the river and we took in the view for a while. There was a 70kph speed limit. This was resolutely ignored. I would have resolutely ignored it myself if I hadn't been closely passed by an HGV travelling at about 120kph. This is where the lack of a divider between the bike path and the vehicle lanes counted. The draught threw the bike into a wobble and I hit the brakes. My speed topped out at 69.3kph.
The toll booths are on the Le Havre side, followed immediately by the approach to another bridge over the canalised branch of the river leading to Le Havre docks. Cyclists are prohibited. We therefore had to make a decision here; whether to head east inland then turn north to join the coast near Fécamp, or turn west and ride through the port area and city of Le Havre itself. We chose the latter. For the first two or three kilometres there was a cycle path by the side of the road, after which we were forced to use the road, which was not busy, but the traffic using it was all HGVs, empty by the sound of them on their way to the docks to pick up fresh containers. Beyond the container terminals the way was quieter until we crossed the dock exit and entered the city itself. Today, because of the heat, I could half close my eyes and imagine this busy northern port to be Marseilles. I heard later the temperature hit 40C. We passed through a lively looking neighbourhood, part Maghrebin* and part West African, in character, a refreshing change from the almost pure whiteness of rural France. After that, we navigated by instinct, until, having run out of ideas and off any main road, we happened on a bus park. I asked a driver if he could direct us towards the city centre. 'I don't know the city,' he said. I restrained myself from gritting my teeth and hissing at him in frustration, 'But you're a f*cking bus driver, you're supposed to know this stuff.' Instead I asked him where he was going. 'Caen.,' he replied. My mistake, he was from out of town. He must have seen something in my face though, because he did tell us that the city bus terminal was about 200 metres away.
We stopped at the bus terminal to take stock. It was about 4-30pm and Barbara was feeling the heat by now, she was tired and unhappy to be surrounded by busy traffic. Across the road was a Novotel. I went over to check room prices. €120 was a bit more than we were prepared to pay. Nearby, at a busy junction was a city plan. I eventually got my bearings and suggested to Barbara that if we continued on through the city towards the coast we'd soon find somewhere to stay. We set off again and after about three blocks Barbara shouted at me to stop. She had seen an Ibis hotel down a side street off the other side of the road. We swung round and got ourselves checked in for around €65. We were asked to park the bikes in the hotel underground car park.
The room was fine. The sleeping area could be partitioned off and the living section contained a sizeable table. Today, apart from the croissants aux amandes at Pont l'Évêque, and some fruit, we hadn't eaten. Our lunch was about to become our dinner. I took the first shower, then went out in search of wine, water and cold beer for the picnic in our room I found another North African food store about two blocks away. It was there that I overheard the conversation about the day's high temperature. 'But tomorrow the temperature's going to drop by 20 degrees,' said the man at the checkout. I couldn't decide whether this was good news or bad news, time for a Gallic shrug.
Back at the hotel we ate a very untidy meal. By the time we had finished, the surface of the table was covered with fruit peelings, bread crumbs, plastic bags, beer cans and wine stains. It occurred to me that we must have been doing the bird life of Northern France a great service over the last few days.
Having enjoyed our brief night-out in Lisieux, the previous day, we thought we might seek out a bar with live music. I asked at the hotel reception if they knew of anywhere. We were directed to a nearby wine bar. It was closed. We walked back to the city centre and drank beer in two fairly scuzzy bars, before abandoning the search for entertainment, so it was back to the hotel. Mercredi soir au Havre was a bit of a disappointment.
*Maghrebin is the French for a native of what was formerly French North Africa, i.e. Algeria, Morocco or Tunisia. It derives from the Arabic word maghreb, meaning sunset, implying the region west of Arabia.
Today's ride: 67 km (42 miles)
Total: 628 km (390 miles)
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