September 2, 2005
St. Valery-en-Caux - Dieppe - London
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Barbara's stomach, grace au pâtissier, was feeling a little overloaded this morning, so I ate breakfast alone, alone that is, apart from the 75 or so Dutch women and their few surviving spouses. After a somewhat frenetic breakfast, they boarded their transport and returned to Amsterdam. Today we could take it easy. We were going no further than Dieppe. We paid the bill, loaded the bikes and rode back to the town centre. There were people about now. In the square near the bridge over the harbour, was a busy market. We made for the sea end of the square, where the night before, we had seen a modern church, decorated, externally with maritime motifs. I took a couple of pictures. With some difficulty, we wheeled our bikes back through the market. There was not much worth looking at, the majority of stalls selling cheap junk, much like the market back in Lannion, minus the underwear this time.
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We climbed out of town on the quiet D4 until we reached D925 which we followed as far as Veules-les-Roses. I waited for Barbara at the junction of D68, the coast road. She was still feeling a little queasy so took her time catching up. We turned right for our final set of sea views. The temperature was up on the day before and the terrain not too exacting. The small towns and villages back of the sea appeared leafy and prosperous. We stopped for coffee and pastries at Quiberville-Plage. Further up the coast, we took seaside photos of each other and the bikes. We met a couple from Lewes in Sussex, taking a short break over the water. I asked about ferry times. As I spoke a ferry was sailing towards Dieppe. They weren't sure of times, but during the course of our conversation I learned more about the Dieppe-Newhaven link. At the end of the last village before Dieppe, Pourville, was an oyster farm, after which we had a winding climb to the top of the cliff. Before the summit, was a small car park with an overlook, where we stopped to take in the view and more pictures, as it happened, the last on dry land.
Cresting the climb we were in the western suburbs of Dieppe. From there it was downhill all the way to the town centre. What we saw of the town was slightly shabbier than I had expected. It was not without charm, however. We made for the water, then had to ask directions to the ferry terminal. This was a good distance from the centre of town, round the harbour and back out to the west.
I had heard that the government of the department of Seine-Maritime had bought the ferry company to maintain the service between there and Sussex. What I hadn't known and what the man back down the coast told me was, that they had also bought out the harbour facilities at Newhaven. The Channel Tunnel has naturally taken business away from the ferry companies. I presume this is a move to boost the local economy. I'm not overly optimistic about its future.
We had two hours or so to spare before the departure of the ferry. Inexplicably, we were told that we couldn't buy tickets yet. Come back in half an hour I was told by the girl on the desk. She wasn't being deliberately unhelpful. Her boss would make the decision. I presume this was done on the grounds that the boat might fill up with cars at the last minute. This did not appear very likely. We spoke to other foot passengers, who told us not to worry, we would get on. We did, but the decision was not made until 15 minutes before departure, so we were irritatingly, kicking our heels at the ferry terminal, when we might have had a look at the town.
We rode onto the car deck and asked a female crew member, where to stow the bikes. In French. 'Où on met les vélos?' 'I dount shpeeekh French,' she replied. [that's a Liverpool accent back there] 'Alright, where do we stick the bikes,' I asked again. 'I thought this was a French boat,' I remarked to Barbara. The whole crew was British as it turned out, even the cooks. This might have something to do with labour relations. The National Union of Seaman is no more. Most British vessels are 'flagged out' i.e. they sail under the flag of a country, like Panama or Liberia, where labour laws are not too strenuous. French seafarers are better organised.
The sea was flat, the crossing uneventful. We rode straight through the customs shed at Newhaven and out to the railway station. We had to change trains at Brighton: The Boat Train is a thing of the past. We wheeled our bikes across the concourse of Brighton station to the London platform. 'You've never taken me to Brighton,' said Barbara. 'I have now,' I said.
We alighted at Clapham Junction about 9pm. We rode home through hip and happening Battersea [I'm not joking here] The streets were full of busy bars with loud music and the smell of grilled meat. At home we unloaded, then put away the bikes, then made tea. We saved looking back for later.
Today's ride: 46 km (29 miles)
Total: 772 km (479 miles)
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