11/09/09

Day 3 – September 11
Left Quend at 9.00am (mainly to avoid the possibility of being charged to stay overnight!) and headed towards Dieppe following the coast, planning to stop for our now habitual pain chocolat and croissants somewhere picturesque. We didn’t achieve this until we reached St Valery sur Somme, a charming little town in the Somme basin. From here we called at Criel mainly because of the town sign showing fantastic white cliffs! We were not disappointed – the cliffs in this tiny resort rival those of Dover, but the erosion along this coastline is incredible and you have to wonder how much longer these plage resorts have left before they disappear completely into the sea.
On leaving Criel we came across a WW1 military cemetery at Mount Huon, virtually in the middle of nowhere. We parked up to pay our respects and were amazed to see how beautifully kept the cemetery was, with around 2500 war graves of British, Canadian, New Zealand and Australian soldiers – there were even some Germans in there too. It was sobering to see how many had travelled from the opposite side of the world to fight for a country they never knew, let alone the numbers of British soldiers lost in this area alone.
Our final destination today is St Valery en Caux, a much admired aire in the motorhoming fraternity! It is right on the quayside and we were lucky to sneak into the last space at about 2pm. The town is centred on a marina which was packed with boats and we whittled away an hour or so on the terrace of a bar enjoying the views. I remember visiting St Valery on a previous visit to France and having a lovely mussels lunch here, and it has always bugged me that I didn’t know the name of it, so the mystery has now been solved – until I forget again!
We picnicked on fresh bread and cheese and red wine and enjoyed the rest of the sunshine – bliss!
In the evening we wandered into a bar with only four people in it, one of which being a rather inebriated French lady who rather fancied herself as Edith Piaf, and the evening ended with Peter learning all about racing pigeons from a Frenchman who spoke no English at all and the only place in England he knew was Billingham – because one of his pigeons once ended up there!! I could say that the whole conversation was in pigeon-English but that would be too corny…..