We found this for ourselves the time that we stayed in Trouville, which we reached via a retch-inducing sea voyage from Rosslare in Ireland to Le Havre. Once we were on dry land, however, we were fine. Our first find in Trouville was an inexpensive place to stay, the Hotel St James.
The hotel was modest but comfortable, but it did have one disconcerting trait. The woman who owned and ran the hotel was an undoubted cat lover and the breakfast room was full of cats. It was the kind of place where if you don't mind the moggies bedding down on the breakfast table, everything
was fine. People who aren't cat lovers mightn't take to this feline takeover quite so kindly. Anyway, during our time in Trouville, the Hotel St James was an acceptable home from home, with plenty of cats to watch us as we downed our modest breakfasts, cats and croissants, a rather delightful
combination!
What we quickly discovered about Trouville is how down to earth it is. The Fish Market was well worth seeing, an historic monument since 1922. We also discovered a wonderful restaurant close to the sea front called Les Vapeurs, which has been going strong since 1927. We found it full of atmosphere and its menu boards resplendent with all kinds of catches from the sea. Close by is another historic restaurant called Le Central Brasserie, but somehow, Les Vapeurs is a far catchier name.
Trouville is considered to be the oldest seaside resort in France, enjoying this status since the early 19th century. The beach is still superb and the planches, the wooden walkways along the top of the beach, are splendid if you feel like stepping it out. This we often did around midnight, with not a soul
in sight, perhaps not the most sensible thing to do, but a wonderful way of getting fresh sea air before bed. The town has all sort of other old world delights, like the Dickens Pub, even the casino, if you're into that sort of attraction. Overall, we found Trouville modest, unpretentious and thoroughly
enjoyble, much more so than Deauville, which is the far side of the Touques river.
Unsurprisingly, Deauville is often known as the 21st arrondissement of Paris because it is so uber glam. Paris is a mere two hours' distance by train.
The walkway at the top of the beach in Deauville is the last word in glamour, complete with its complement of poodles (the four legged kind). If you're into fashion, smart horse racing, casino going or watching the stars arrive for the American Film Festival every September, then this is the place
for you. Speaking personally, the much more workaday Trouville was far more modest and pleasing.
It's also a great place from which to see other delights of this part of the Normandy coast. I'm thinking in particular of the wonderful old maritime town of Honfleur, on the southern side of the Seine estuary. With its old fashioned houses, either half timbered or covered in slates, and its streets
dutifully cobbled, the harbour area in particular is an absolute delight. But of course since it is such a stunning old fishing town, it is always absolutely packed with tourists.
We also enjoyed Cabourg, another seaside resort along the coast here, despite its avarcious
mosquitoes, which do have a very nasty bite to them, as we discovered for ourselves. The promenade in Cabourg is very pleasant, complete with its promenade and Grand Hotel, even if the town behind
the seafront isn't particularly interesting. It's a comparatively recent seaside town, since development only began in 1853. Cabourg of course is best known for its connections with Proust and his Remebrance of Things Past. The fictional seaside town of Balbec that he created was based on Cabourg.
This particular trip to northern France was most enjoyable, fortified with some of the local spirit, Calvados, made from apples. Tasting sessions made the experience very enjoyable and I always think that it's a great pity that at least in Ireland, Calvados is seen as a speciality drink. That means you
are very unlikely to find it in the local supermarket, but you'll have to go to a specialised off licence to stock up.
We ended this particular trip by nearly missing the ferry home from Le Havre. For some reason or other, we were running very late and looked like missing the sailing. As we moved along the quays in Le Havre, towards the ship, along came a local sailor driving a battered old estate wagon. We were
slightly amazed, because he stopped to see if he could help, which he most certainly was able to do. We explained our dilemma and within five minutes had us at the gangplank for the ferry.
We were very amused, because he initially thought we were a couple of very polite English tourists. He in turn was perfectly polite, explaining how he always enjoyed playing rugby against the English, such excellent and civilised foes on the field. Then we told him, but no, we live in Dublin in Ireland. His reaction: "The English, that crowd of bastards!"
Meanwhile back at the ranch here in Ireland, it looks very much as if the revolution is
about to get underway. Preparations are in full swing for the swingeing impositions of the new property tax in Ireland. It's likely to cause widespread social disruption and protest and its imposition will Ireland as a place to live even more like the old East Germany, with the Stasi keeping
its eye on everything its citizens are doing. Up to now, people in Ireland have been remarkably quiescent about all the austerity imposed by the troika, but I've a funny feeling this property tax is going to be a step too far, the cause of much social disruption and dissent.
We don't have a Beppe Grillo in Ireland, but perhaps all the groups so opposed to all the new taxes
will manage to come together and form a credible and workable opposition to the new taxes coming down the line, not just property tax, but water charges too.