Eight-Week Europe Solo Travel 2011: Roundabouts and Ring Roads, 800 Years Too Early, and the Bayeux Tapestry

Wednesday June 8, 2011, Bayeux in Calvados, Normandy, France.

One of the ironies of my visit to Calvados, Normandy was that I was there during the 67th anniversary of D-Day, and I hadn't even thought about touring sites related to WWII. I was focused 800 years before that on the 12th century. For a moment I was sad that I had no time to learn more about that day in our history in the place where it happened. But I had a mission to focus on those sites that were much older. I did enjoy being able to talk to so many Americans and Canadians (and some ex-pat Brits) in Bayeux and Caen who were there visiting or working because of the D-Day tourist attractions.

Wednesday, June 8th, I took the mid-afternoon train from Caen to Bayeux without incident.  It was a 30-minute trip. Because it was one of the cheapest train tickets I would buy, my travel agent had suggested I not use my EuRail Pass and, instead, purchase the ticket directly. So I followed her advice. My, how much easier it was not having to deal with the EuRail Pass!

View of the southbound (towards Caen) platform at Gare de Bayeux, 29 October 2011, by Nick-D (Own work) CC BY-SA 3.0, via Wikimedia Commons

During this tour of Europe, whenever I arrived at a new destination and before I departed the train, I would ask myself, am I really at the right place? I had a moment like that at Bayeux. Earlier that day, I had called the Hotel Churchill for directions from the train station to the hotel. A lovely gentlemen gave me detailed instructions in an impeccable British accent, and I wrote them out on my travel itinerary. But I was disheartened when I looked out the window as the train arrived. The Bayeux train station appeared to be in the middle of an industrial area. Nothing hotel-like or town-like around. I stared at the paper that spelled out the directions, hoping it would all make sense once I started walking. (Looking back on this incident, I can't help thinking that travel would have been so much easier a couple years later, after I had upgraded to a smartphone with GPS built-in. But it would have changed the nature of the adventure. And I would not wish for that now.)

My scribbled directions to Hotel Churchill from the Bayeyx train station.

Directions Scribbled on The Travel Society Itinerary for Hotel Churchill in Bayeux, France:
Come out of Train Station. Cross street (the junction with bypass) St Rue de Cremil.
Go straight. At light go straight: On Rue aux Coqu.
In 300m on left street going down. Turn (right before parking lot) Before street curves right: This is Place de Tribunal. Court Building.
Place de Quebec. Parking. Hotel is there.

A view from one of the bridges over the Aure River, which flows through the old city center of Bayeux. Planters of flowers were everywhere.

The scribbles didn't make complete sense, But I knew I would figure it out. I was three weeks into my travels and nothing horrible had happened. Even the horsefly bite hadn't set me back.  Upon exiting Bayeux le Gare, I took the opposite direction of most other people getting off the train, crossing the street as instructed. Then I hesitated. I wasn't in a great hurry and I still didn't see what looked like a quaint French village, so I glanced again at the map in my guide book. No, I was right. I was heading in the right direction.

The front desk at the Hotel Churchill Bayeux. The hotel has since become part of a larger hotel system with the addition of the new Villa Lara Hotel.

After crossing the street I came to a roundabout, which was not mentioned in the directions at all. It passed under a highway bypass, which was. There were no street signs in front of the station so I couldn't confirm which street I was on. Where was St. Rue de Cremil? I traveled around the roundabout clockwise heading north-northwest. Ah! There it was! Rue de Cremil!  I followed it northwest and, to my relief, traveled away from industrial modern Bayeux. The town center was actually quite small and quaint. Aha! Rue de Cremil BECOMES Rue aux Coqs! That's right! Now I was cooking. I found my left turn and went down along the Place de Quebec, skirting the parking lot, and winding my way by the court building and there it was, as the street bent right. I walked into the lobby and I had entered a Hotel in the middle of Old London.

Editor's note: I later found out that the roundabout I traveled through was part of a larger “ring road,” which was the first of it's kind in Europe, having been built by British military engineers right after D-Day.

A close-up of the key cabinet on the wall across from the front desk at the Hotel Churchill.

Journal Excerpt, Wednesday June 8, 2011, Hotel Churchill:
Feeling so welcomed at Hotel Churchill. One clerk says I have brought the sun. The other clerk reminds me of a Dickens' character: Small, robust, a bit round-shouldered, balding, white hair, spectacles. He wore a brown tweed jacket over a white dress shirt and dress slacks and shoes. My guy wore a black suit—formal yet friendly.

The view from the walkway over the inner courtyard of the old Hotel Churchill that led to my quarters.

The Hotel Churchill did seem like it was lifted from an 18th-century British novel. I wouldn't have been surprised if the older clerk had a pocket watch anchored to the button hole of his waistcoat. English was everywhere!  My room was on the first floor (second floor for us US types). To get to it I had to go up a stair and cross a walkway into an adjacent building. The room was small and comfortable with lots of light. There was a lovely view on my way to and from the lobby and dining room through the elevated walkway, which looked down on a courtyard with of urns filled with flowers and small trees. There were also flowers everywhere along throughout the old city center.

My room at the Hotel Churchill with my handy-dandy HP mini running Linux, which allowed my to process and post photos as I traveled.

I would have a short stay in Bayeux--only two nights-- and I was leaving by the 2:30 train that last afternoon, Friday, the 10th. I had planned to see Mont Saint Michel, a rocky hill of an island in the middle of a tidal flat along the coast between Bayeux and St. Malo. At its peak was an 8th-century monastery. Sometimes the island was connected to the mainland, sometimes it was surrounded on all sides by water. It was an ancient site that had survived the hundred years war and the Nazi's. I was not going to miss it! Mont Saint Michel was about an hour-and-a-half journey by shuttle. Unfortunately, Thursday's shuttle had been completely full when my travel agent called to make arrangements for me, and she was forced to book me on the tour for Friday. That meant I was at great risk of missing my train if I went. So, one of the first things I did upon arriving at the Churchill was to ask to change my reservation on the shuttle to Thursday. I was in luck! They now had room, and my reservation was changed to the next morning. I had to be ready to leave at 8:20a.m., so no lounging in bed!

Picture of Bayeux tapestry behind glass at the museum in Bayeux, France. Photo by Dave of Travelin' Tigers, 2002.

There was plenty of time left before dinner, so after changing my reservation with the clerk, I headed for the Tapestry museum.  The Tapestry museum houses the famous Bayeux Tapestry which depicts the Battle of Hastings in 1066. During the battle, Duke William of Normandy, formerly Bill the Bastard, defeated King Harold of England and took the crown from him, becoming William I of England. There are many myths surrounding this tapestry, and some questions remain unanswered. But scholars believe that the tapestry was commissioned by Bishop Odo, William's half brother, and made in England by seamstresses or monks. It is not technically a tapestry because the design is not part of the woven fabric. The design was embroidered onto a woven piece of off-white linen. Some art historians now refer to it as the Bayeux Embroderie. The Bayeux tapestry is 230 feet long and 20 inches tall. It is the largest medieval tapestry of its kind to survive (panels of a Scandinavian embroidery using the same basic technique have been found dating from the 9th century and were likely the precursor of Anglo Saxon and Norman embroidery). The Bayeux Tapestry survived the Huguenot invasion of the 16th century, the French Revolution of the 18th century, and both the Nazi occupation and the Normandy Landing in the 1940s. It depicts, among other things, Haley's Comet, which helps date it to after 1066.

Detail in the Bayeux Tapestry showing the Battle of Hastings, England, 1066. By Unknown Weaver, English (active c. 1080) (Web Gallery of Art:   ImageInfo about artwork) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

The museum is housed in a beautiful 19th-century building, which was a former seminary, complete with a replica of a Norman ship out front. There were three Japanese flags standing beside the longboat. I have no idea why. Inside, after paying my fee, I received an audio guide in English that described each panel of the tapestry. In the viewing room, the tapestry is laid out in full under glass and in the dark. The tapestry is back lit so the images in each panel glow. It takes a while for your eyes to adjust to the low light. Flash photography is not allowed, so I did not attempt to take a picture with my little Canon Powershot. I was amazed at the brightness of the colors in this 950-year-old work. The border was full of little figures, some naked, some dismembered (in battle, one would presume) and some farming the fields and going about their business. Controversies surround some of the panels. In the one in which King Harold gets shot in the eye by an arrow, there is a clear label above his head that says, Harold Rex. However in the next panel, a different figure who experts believe is Harold, is killed with a sword. Above this figure's head, it says interfectus est, or "he is slain." Evidence shows that the arrow was added in the 19th century, so the original meaning of the panel is still under debate.

The tapestry was so astounding to me with so many figures and scenes depicted, I went back the next day to see it again after I returned from Mont Saint Michel.

Water wheel along the Aure River in the center of Bayeux, France.

I found dinner at a local cafe, and when I returned to my room, I called my 82-year-old father back home in the States. My sister had mentioned in an email that he was worried about me traveling by myself. He hadn't heard from me since I left, other than through the post cards I had sent him and the other members of my family, as well as my friends. I knew my dad would want to hear my voice. I imagined he was thinking the worst: me being kidnapped or caught up in a terrorist bombing. He was relieved to talk with me and glad to hear that nothing bad had happened. He was doing okay, but only okay. He was having a lot of trouble adjusting to living alone since my mother died almost a year before. He was still living in the house I grew up in, in the country.  He was worried about me; I was a bit worried about him. So, we were even. But my mother's death had also affected me. I think it is one of the reasons I had to take this eight-week trip alone. Mom was a writer, teacher, and traveler. She had visited New Zealand by herself and had traveled to Europe with walking tours without my father, who didn't like to travel. I had traveled with her to Ireland twice, and in some ways, we were traveling together on this trip.

That night I slept soundly because, in the morning, I was off early to tour Mont Saint Michel. It should be something.

TO BE CONTINUED!

References:
European Traveler, "See the Bayeux Tapestry and Museum in Normandy"
Wikipedia entry on the Bayeux Tapestry
 

Eight-Week Europe Solo Travel 2011: Bill the Bastard's Birthplace, Cider, and Road Rage

Monday evening through Tuesday, June 6-7, 2011

From my notes scribbled on the itinerary:
From Auxerre, take Train #91158 departs 12:09pm; arrives Paris Bercy Station at 1:46pm
Taxi to Paris St. Lazare Station
Take ICE Train #3311 departs 3:10pm; arrives Caen 4:57pm

When I arrived in Paris on the train from Auxerre, I flagged down a cab and was taken to the north side of the city. There I met the train that would take me along the north coast to Caen, a city in Normandy. The cabbie was very nice and understood English quite well and got me out of that city. The country girl in me was done with Paris.

Hotel Mercure Caen. Photo prise par sylvrgirl : "Hotel" (May 2012) via TripAdvisor France.

The train to Caen was crowded. But I found a seat and stowed my big back pack in the bin above it. Then I relaxed. When I arrived at Caen, I was disoriented. I got off the train and walked in the wrong direction in search of my hotel. I found the river, but I saw nothing that resembled a busy commercial district that would contain a hotel like the Mercure Hotel Caen where I had a reservation for two nights. I stopped a woman and asked for directions and she got me pointed correctly toward the northeast. I had to cross a boulevard, the river, and a "basin" to get to Port de Plaisance and away from modern Caen to the heart of the city with its narrower streets and close-set buildings.

A view of Caen looking southeast from the walls of Caen's medieval fortress.

Caen was almost completely destroyed during WWII. It was rebuilt in the 1950s, so most of it is modern and kind of ugly. No one neighborhood is completely medieval. Yet it boasts the largest castle fortress in Europe. I would enjoy exploring that the next day after journeying to Falaise by taxi to see the castle where William the Conqueror was said to have been born (and Eleanor of Aquitaine lived occasionally). Falaise Castle was very important to the medieval heirs of Normandy and England.

Place Reine Mathilde where Matilda of Flanders rests in a crypt at the Abbey aux Dames

I had dinner that night at the restaurant attached to the hotel. It was lovely from beginning to end. I had a small table at the front window so I could people watch yet relax. My server was a handsome young man who spoke English and was very kind to me by helping me decipher the menu. I had a wonderful swordfish entrée with dessert and wine. I was so full afterwards I decided to begin exploring the town. Maybe I could work off some of those calories.

Deteriorating edifice at the Abbey aux Dames.

As the sun was beginning to go down, I strolled to Place Reine Mathilde, Matilda of Flanders' final resting place, at the Abbey aux Dames. Queen Matilda built the abbey to appease the church for marrying her cousin, William the Conqueror. I was mildly interested in the building, but it was locked so I could not go inside. From the exterior it was obvious that the Abbey aux Dames was magnificent once, but now the exterior stone crumbled. I admired the red door with its metal strap work. I have learned since my visit that the metalwork on doors was a task during which blacksmiths could show their creativity as well as protect the door from heavy blows. And this door did not disappoint. I have read since then that early medieval strapwork was more decorative than the later work that replaced it. I am guessing this door shows later work.

Door at the main entrance to the Abbey aux Dames featuring metal strapwork.

The abbey was quite square and Gothic-looking, and the thought occurred to me that it had been rebuilt in later generations. I later found out that the original spires were destroyed in the Hundred Years' War and replaced by rectangular parapets. The worn stone, dark and dingy, made me think of wars and the strife of life long ago. I was halted in time. It was the dark ages. I stood there expecting to see the Monty Python crew come around the corner shouting, “Bring out your dead!” and black death victims being tossed onto their cart. I hope that since my visit the town government has spruced up the outside of the abbey. I realize, in retrospect, that my head was full of fancies and falsehoods about medieval times. I would discover throughout my journey that the middle ages was a much brighter time than I knew. I trundled off to bed and slept soundly, happy that I had made it successfully to this next stop on my journey.

Abbey aux Dames today with it's spires replaced by blocky towers.

Journal exerpt, Tuesday morning, June 7, 2011 at Mercure Caen Hotel:

Listening to some Brits talk about WWII. There are many Americans here, too. I'm honored to be here among men and women who were there at a crisis point in history. They are talking about the leaky shower. I experienced this, too. They had trouble closing the door in there. I just had trouble shutting it off.

Memories are streaming out all around me, I am listening to the experiences related by these octogenarians.  Nothing specific. I just catch a phrase or two. And what lively wit: One lady says of her husband, “He's not a happy bunny this morning!” Her husband, when he held out his hand to her as she left the table, mumbled something, which sounded like, “Causing trouble?” Her reply: “I'm not trouble! It's all these other people who are trouble!”

Again the croissants are a little dry here—although better than at Auxerre, they are definitively not as good as Paris and Les Grande Chenes! So odd to hear American music everywhere. Maybe some is British Pop, but definitely American Pop. R&B, Blues, Jazz, Alternative... So why don't these people—particularly the hotel employees—speak the language? :)

Maybe I am being paranoid by locking my computer up in the hotel safe when I am out and about, but that HP mini notebook is a lifeline for me. It's how I stay connected to my life back home. Where I am not a stranger.

Today at Falaise will be interesting. I've been reading about these castles and ruins for so long! I finally get to see them! However, I think I'll skip the Churche of the Hommes—William the First's chapel that he built for his sins in marrying his cousin, Matilda of Flanders. Matilda's sister chapel—actually abbey – was ugly in overall shape although in detail beautiful. Williams's will probably be much the same. I would go if it wasn't so far away. Okay. We'll see. This afternoon it is the Caen Chateau after I get back from Falaise-- maybe I won't stop for lunch and just snack on something I grab here—but then that puts me out looking for dinner in-between brasserie hours and restaurant hours. Hmm. Perhaps I can find a cafe or brasserie just in the nick. I don't want another grand dinner like last night or be up as late.

Okay. Now the dining room is playing country music! I think that I have now heard the entire American music oeuvre.

View of the entrance to Falaise Castle from atop the battlements.

I was picked up at 9:30 Tuesday morning for my tour of Falaise Castle (Château de Falaise) by a Normandy native, Mrs. Anne Brard. She spoke little English, but she was very kind. She handed me a piece of paper immediately that included information about Falaise. Since I spoke little French, we communicated using a rudimentary sign language to get our meaning across, and it was kind of fun. I had been told that Anne was not a licensed guide, but a taxi. She could not legally give me a tour. But she could drive me to the site and drop me off. That was OK by me.  The castle and fortress at Falaise, France lay about 26 miles southeast of Caen, so I must have a driver or rent another car (a little voice inside my head said “non!” to that). Hiring a taxi was the only way I was going to see it. And I wanted to see it. This was where William the Conqueror (or “Bill the Bastard” as he is known locally) was born--sort of. Historians say he was likely born at the home of his mother,  Herleva, the daughter of a ducal chamberlain, in town rather than in the fortress itself. Falaise Castle is also the place where Matilda, Duchess of Normandy and wife of William the Conqueror, is thought to have embroidered, with the help of monks, the famous tapestry most of us know as the Bayeux Tapestry (what Anne called “Victoire de Hastings”). This idea is in dispute, however, as records show that the Bayeux Tapestry was commissioned by Bishop Odo of Bayeaux (William's half brother) in southern England (probably Canterbury).

Looking down through the glass and steel structure built to help hold up the Falaise Chateau and to help visitors see its insides.

I enjoyed my tour of the castle and fortress at Falaise. Richard, Duke of Normandy and father to Bill the Bastard, built it on the site of an old fortress. The fortress keep was rebuilt with steel girders and glass and made into a museum in 1997. You can see deep into the keep and chasm below through the glass and stairways.

When first entering the keep, an audio and video recording begins based on a motion detecot to guide you through the palace at your own pace. There were some technical glitches, but I learned a few things and even saw a model of what a guarderobe looked like. The guarderobe at the castle at Poitiers plays an important role in my novel, so I took several pictures and tried to imagine what it was like to actually make use of such a facility in the 12th century.

I imagine this is my antagonist, Maël, having to do his duty and clean the loo after he found his coat hanging there. Medieval folk thought that the uric acid protected clothing from vermin. That's why the privy was called a guarderobe or wardrobe...

Another room was designed to look like a typical small private audience hall that the queen might have used when she was in residence at Falaise. It was richly decorated with wall hangings and large wooden chairs and a long table. I walked up to the turrets and got a view of the town.

Arrow loops through which archers would let loose their arches looking like they were just carved out of the limestone at the Falaise Chateau.

I then walked back out of the entrance way of the castle and explored the grounds. The walkway back down to the gift shop was at the same level as the remaining curtain walls on the east side of the fortress. Arrow loops or slits were cut into little turrets along the wall. Wow. The classic cross shape. They were bigger than the ones at Guédelon. The round ends of each line looked clean and straight, like they had been carved only a day ago. But time and nature had obviously taken over most of the ruin. I loved the way that rosy wildflowers dotted the base of the curtain wall on one side, softening the rough, rock strewn ground. A beautiful yellow flowering bush sprouted from a large boulder on the grounds.

Wildflowers along the base of the wall at Falaise Chateau.

After an hour and a half, I felt I had seen everything I needed to. So, I walked down the broad carriage way back to the spot where Anne had dropped me off. But my cultural adventure in Normandy was no where near finished, however...

Anne picked me up at noon as planned and she made it known that she would take the back roads back so that I could see some more of the Normandy countryside. I did not know how to refuse and was truely interested to see some of France that I would not see otherwise. I had nothing else scheduled that day. Anne drive us along windy, two-lane roads through countryside that reminded me of cape cod and other coastal areas of the U.S. I didn't see any ocean, but there were many rolling hills covered in brown and green and trees hugging up tight to the roadside.

Countryside somewhere in France. It gives the general feel of the countryside I was driving through with Anne like a bat out of hell. Image from Pixabay taken in 2011 by tpsdave and released under Creative Commons CC0.

What I wasn't expecting was that Anne was fluent communicator of road rage. A car ahead of us was going a little too slow for her, so she tailed him and honked. This went on for a while. I sat tensely in the passenger seat, not saying anything. The couple in the car ahead seemed to be taking their time, probably sight-seeing. Finally they pulled over and I was relieved. However, Anne was not through. She pulled alongside their car and used the control on the driver's side door to lower my window. Then she leaned across me and yelled at the driver of the other car. He and his companion ignored her. After what seemed like too long a time of Anne cursing in French, she withdrew to her side of the car and got back on the highway. I don't think I have to tell you, I was terrified. She drove too fast in my opinion, but otherwise she was a very capable driver. However, emotionally, not mature enough, even though she was in her late forties or early fifties.

Anne got me back to the hotel safely and came in with me. She gestured for me to follow her to the desk. She then told the clerk, in French, of an archaeological dig happeningin the new part of town. The clerk cheerfully translated for me. Apparently some new construction had unveiled a crypt or the foundation of an old building. It was very kind of Anne to alert me to this, and I appreciated it. But I was not sorry to say goodbye to this driver. Upon reading through my journal entry for that afternoon, I was surprised that I didn't even note the automobile adventure.

Normandy Cider by User: Mahlum (Own work) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

Journal excerpt, later Tuesday afternoon, June 7, 2011, Sitting at an outdoor cafe:

Back from Falaise, from the castle of William the Conqueror's birth. Mostly destroyed and rebuilt and re-envisioned by Bruno Decaris, Chief Architect of Historical Monuments with the sponsorship of the town of Falaise.. interesting. I agree with Lonely Planet—the audio visuals are a bit tricky if you are following on the heels of the folks in front of you. I've learned how to pronounce “Caen” and “Falaise” finally. I now think “cah” and “FahLayse.”

I have an empty stomach and I want to order, but I've lost my waiter. I feel I have to keep an eye out for him and order before I can focus on writing. The temp keeps changing. I was warm when the sun was out and now it is cold and no sun. But really pleasant. My body doesn't adjust normally to temperature so who knows how warm it really is.

Okay. The order is in. I hope. I didn't understand the question the server asked at the end: “Un cah?” I said, “Oui.” I hope it just meant a can—a can of cidre or cider. Learned how to say that at the castle. He gave me the menu back. That's good in case I want dessert. But I think I might want to get out to the chateau here in Caen before it gets too late.

Bill the Bastard as they call him here--his birth place is very eerie, like other medieval edifices, but the stone was more bland than, for example, the Abbaye les Dammes: a white stone. Was it sandstone or limestone? I think sandstone. I'd like to know my stone better. I'll talk to Darcy about it—my local geologist. The stairs were broader in some places than Guédelon, but the towers were still fairly narrow. (Editor's note: it was likely limestone, the same stone as used to build the abbey although it seemed grayer. Caen is home to Pierre de Caen, is a light creamy-yellow Jurassic limestone quarried. Many buildings were built from it, including buildings in 18th and 19th century England and the USA.)

I can see why Bill and the original builders of the keep or castle chose this site. You can see for miles and miles from the ramparts: the hills. The land rolls away down from the sandstone plateau on which it stands. It was a very dangerous life in the early middle ages. Always prepared to do battle with your neighbor—if you are a noble of course. Peasants and merchants had different problems.

Excellent cidre—labeled “CRU.” This trip is all so very weird, but things are starting to move now—now that I'm in Normandy. I feel I've been through some challenging events and survived, including driving a car. I still have to figure the train to Saumur. Ifeel like I'm interfering here by not knowing the language!

Several surprises met me on this leg of my journey: Discovering the many Brits and Americans visiting Normandy to see the World War II memorials and delighting in eavesdropping on conversations I could actually understand, experiencing Normandy road rage, getting the inside scoop on an active architectural dig (see next blog entry) and finding out about Normandy cidre. Boy they love apples in Normandy. Cider-making is a large production, starting with picking apples in the late fall, letting them sour, then smashing them to get out all their juices, separating the juices from the chapeau brun (“brown hat”) or the floating solid matter, and making a variety of different alcoholic beverages. I sampled cidre, which is slow-fermented for three months then bottled with yeast for a secondary fermentation. Result: bright, bubbly sweet and acidic. When I come back I'll have to try calvados (apple brandy) and pommeau, an aperitif made by combining unfermented apple juice with calvados. I think I got the best of the three styles, though.