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In Which I Go House-Hunting
August 8, 2007 by Mike
Yport
Route: Camiers - Cucq - Berck - Le Crotoy - Brighton-les-Pins - Dieppe - Fecamp - Yport
Yesterday was lazy. I rode into Le Touquet. It's actually called Le Touquet- Paris Plage -- Paris Beach -- because so many of the capital's sea-loving sun-seekers decamp here.
In other words, it is the French version of Brighton.. only here, it isn't the hip, the cool, the young (and me) who try to bring metropolitan sensibilities to the small-town seafront, it's the BCBG - bon chic bon genre, the beautiful people, the young aspirationals (the those who aspire to be aspirational). And those who have already 'arrived' - slightly older, or a lot older, wealthy, comfortable, confident. It's an expensive lifestyle -- huge houses, designer clothes, chic restaurants are de rigeur in Le Touquet -- but the beach is democratic. At times it resembles the French World Cup-winning XI in all its multi-hued harmony.
I spend most of the day getting the tops of my legs burned a brighter shade of pink -- the one colour missing from that team.
--
Between Camiers and Le Touquet, the small town of Etaples is one long snarled traffic jam. There is a large supermarket at one end. It is unremarkable in every aspect save one. North of the town, just beyond the supermarket and a campsite, lies a Military Cemetery.
More than 12,000 casualties of the Great War lie here. In acre upon acre of well-tended lawns, the headstones laid out in wave upon wave, in every direction. Words cannot describe...
I find the record books, covered in green plastic and tucked away at the side of the main memorial. There is a Private Walton of the East Surrey Regiment here: my paternal grandmother's surname. He's no relation, but his parents are listed as Alfred and Sarah: as it hapens, my paternal grandparents' names. So, adopting one headstone out of 12,000, I note his reference number (XXII Q 19A) and track him down.
Sadly, when I find XXII Q 19A, it's the wrong Private Walton: this one's from Cheshire.
12,000 headstones. I'm saddened, chastened, not surprised, that in amongst the calamity of war and the overwhelming horror of this place, two young men have been misplaced. It's not the worst thing that happened to them in this place
Note: set apart from the main body of the cemetery lie the graves of the Chinese, Indian and West Indian soldiers who died here. White men and black men were not buried together. The Great War happened a long time ago .. but not that long.
--
The ride south today actually took me through Brighton-les-Pins. Yes! It's a small suburb of Cayeux-sur-Mer. I had to take a picture to prove to myself (and you) that I'm not just stalking the good folk of Brighton.
The rest of the time I spent pondering which house to buy. There's plenty to choose from.
Do I get a run-down manor house, all broken windows, fallen gate, over-run garden, roof staved in, pigeons in the rafters? Or a vernacular cottage - low and thin, white-walled, red-rooved, shutters in regimental order the length of the building? Or a townhouse - high and thin and within a step or two of the butcher, the baker - and the bar? Or a modernist classic - a bungalow or villa, angular cubes and primary colours? Nice way to pass the time.
The other style that predominates here is the Hansel & Gretel House - there's a plethora of Gothic turrets, gargoyles, mock-mediaeval timbers, bourgeois villas lined up in rows along seafronts and main roads, very proud and unlike anything I've seen in the UK - or elsewhere on this trip.
--
I've seen signs for at least three travelling circuses since Holland - from Vienna and Moscow, and on this coast the Zavatta Circus -- scions of a great French circus family, by all accounts. There are signs up and down the coast advertising "Coming to [name of town] soon". Periodically, I pass a cavalcade of lorries, or see vast candy-striped tents being erected on the outskirts of another town. Camels are tethered nearby for toddlers to gawk at. This must be a part of the landscape of a traditional French summer.
One of these days I'll be in town when the circus is actually there and in action. I'll give it a go, but be prepared for me to bleat about the treatment of the animals.
--
The municipal campsite in Yport costs 3€60 -- 4€60 in fact, because I want a hot shower. £3.12. Result! (Of course, I proceed to spend too much on house red to celebrate.. but I'm still quids in.)
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By Nick | August 11, 2007 10:07 AM
I've said it before and I'll say it again – your photos are BRILLIANT!
Dew yew keep a'troshin!