My nautical kitbag - bought in PolandLa Rochelle was the antithesis of Royston sur Vasey. It was stylish, elegant, and oh so French. In the two hours it took to drive there, ,my bad experience was already fading from my memory, helped by Lily Allen whose jolly ditty "F*** You" was being played with enthusiastic regularity by Radio NRJ. I sang along as loud as I could, trying to project the sentiment, if not my voice, back to Royston sur Vasey.
I parked up and strolled down through the medieval colonnades of the old town, grinning like the village idiot. I had lost £200 but regained my sang-froid. Lovely shops, and lovely restaurants, and - ooh! lovely yachts! I have always liked ports, even though I don't know a boom from a barnacle. When Harold was alive, it only took a whiff of sea air for him to launch into full piratical mode, rolling one eye seaward and affecting a nautical gait, in a manner more reminiscent of Popeye than Sir Francis Chichester.
La Rochelle is a mecca for sailors, windsurfers and Friends of Scrumpy. There were several groups of dreadlocked youth with their trademark African baggy pants and dogs on strings. I donated the bag of leftover food to a couple of French ecowarriors resting up in a doorway between G20 meetings, who were most grateful and remarkably polite. As I walked away I heard their yelps of delight - they had either found the bottle of wine and 2 cans of 1664, or else were big fans of over-ripe Camembert.
The old town is simply gorgeous, crumbly medieval buildings with colonnades protecting pedestrians and rough sleepers from the hot summer sun, the salty Atlantic winds and the occasional downpour, of which there were a few during my sojourn. Not having taken my gay umbrella with me, I invested in a yachtie-type pacamac, whereupon the rain stopped quite suddenly. Always works.
I was keen to visit at least one of the islands, and crossed the 3 km bridge to the Ile de Ré. The toll is a bit steep for a day trip, but the island is a little treasure, dotted here and there with villages of single-storey whitewashed cottages with green shutters and wild hollyhocks, and vineyards. The unspoilt beaches were practically deserted, probably because I visited them at lunchtime. The main town, more like a big village, is St Martin de Ré, once notorious for its high security prison (still functioning - lucky inmates!), with its pretty harbour packed with sailing and motor boats and surrounded by restaurants where, at 12.30 on the dot, every table was occupied. The French certainly set their clocks by their stomachs.
Lunchtime on a Rétois beach
The tide was out when I arrived and a few people were out on the foreshore collecting cockles and mussels, alive-alive-oh. Oysters are the speciality of this part of France, sadly after a couple of unfortunate experiences with molluscs in the past, I dare not. Not unless I am within a few yards of my own WC and preferably with a toxicologist and a priest in attendance. I contented myself with sniffing the air while I nibbled my quiche lorraine on the quayside.
Back in La Rochelle, I was spoilt for choice with eateries. Creperies are there in abundance, due to the proximity of Brittany. A delicious ham and egg buckwheat pancake with a traditional pottery bowl of Breton cider makes a cheap and cheerful lunch at under 10 euros, especially when you are serenaded by a street band of guitar, double bass and violin doing a passable imitation of Le Hot Club de France. On an evening I covered the waterfront, trying to decide which of the tempting 3-course menus on offer would lure me in. There are so many restaurants in La Rochelle that you could eat out every night for six months without going back to the same place twice.
Whenever I am by the water, river or ocean, I like to go for a boat ride. The old port of La Rochelle is a kind of marine bus station, with an armada of vessels offering trips out to the islands, round Fort Boyard, or just across the harbour on the "sea bus" to Les Minimes, the largest European sailing marina on the Atlantic coast, if you believe what the French say. Sounds impressive, but when you realize the only competition is Portugal and the West of Ireland, it's not such a big deal. I scanned the row of gleaming white cabincruisers and catamarans where tourists were piling on, without much enthusiasm. Then my ship came in: the "Tchou-Tchou" ("Choo-Choo"), a barely modified fishing boat painted bright green, offering a turn about the bay for 6 euros. I spent a pleasant hour with my feet up at the back, being lulled into a state of wellbeing by the gentle rocking of the boat.
The rain got more frequent towards the end of the week so I abandoned the great outdoors for a couple of hours to visit the swanky and relatively new Aquarium. This is a masterpiece, and if you're heading down the West Coast of France at any time of the year is worth stopping for. Hundreds of tanks ranging in size from water feature to Olympic swimming pool and containing three million litres of seawater support marine life from the five major oceans in a highly realistic environment. You enter through a perspex underwater tunnel while ethereal milky jellyfish float all around you. A massive cylindrical core tank runs through the middle of the 3-storey building from top to bottom and contains sharks, stingrays, and other behemoths of the deep. There are several spots where you can sit in darkness and observe through a transparent wall the sometimes beautiful, sometimes ugly, and sometimes downright weird undersea world of Jacques Cousteau. If you think some of the creatures in Dr Who are bizarre, go and see what's lurking about on the ocean floor.
One interesting fact I learned about fish was that in many species, it is the male which incubates the eggs until they hatch. And many fish change sex several times during their lifetime. Bearing in mind we evolved on the same evolutionary scale, it is hardly surprising that a number of humans are, to say the least, confused about their gender.
The sea life was so lovely and graceful that I briefly thought it a shame that most of them tasted so delicious. But strangely, at the same time, I was starting to build up an appetite for something with tartar sauce and chips. What the hell, I reasoned, they eat each other anyway. A short documentary film showed how the animals are fed. As you might imagine, this being France, the aquarium has a proper kitchen where the fishes' meals were lovingly prepared. If you are a fish who has the bad luck to end up in an aquarium, make sure it's in France.
After the fun, the lecture. A room full of exhibits devoted to the biosphere and an explanation of how the damage we humans are doing on land is impacting on the oceans. Being a fully paid-up eco-warrior now, in my African trousers purchased from a friendly Senegalese chap on the Ile de Ré, I spent a long time studying the exhibits and recalled the sage words of the eminent marine biologist Billy Connolly, on swimming in the North Sea: "We don't belong in there." I then emerged into a mini-rainforest, with a waterfall, a tank of piranhas, and a, er, penis tree.
Dammit, I'd just straightened my hair
Say hello to Doug and Dinsdale
I couldn't quite believe my eyes
Having completed the educational visit, I spotted my two Friends of Scrumpy, suitably refreshed on my leftover victuals, banging on their bongos on the harbour wall as I set off in search of a nice fish restaurant. I gave them a raised fist, but I was still thinking about that tree.
I parked up and strolled down through the medieval colonnades of the old town, grinning like the village idiot. I had lost £200 but regained my sang-froid. Lovely shops, and lovely restaurants, and - ooh! lovely yachts! I have always liked ports, even though I don't know a boom from a barnacle. When Harold was alive, it only took a whiff of sea air for him to launch into full piratical mode, rolling one eye seaward and affecting a nautical gait, in a manner more reminiscent of Popeye than Sir Francis Chichester.
La Rochelle is a mecca for sailors, windsurfers and Friends of Scrumpy. There were several groups of dreadlocked youth with their trademark African baggy pants and dogs on strings. I donated the bag of leftover food to a couple of French ecowarriors resting up in a doorway between G20 meetings, who were most grateful and remarkably polite. As I walked away I heard their yelps of delight - they had either found the bottle of wine and 2 cans of 1664, or else were big fans of over-ripe Camembert.
The old town is simply gorgeous, crumbly medieval buildings with colonnades protecting pedestrians and rough sleepers from the hot summer sun, the salty Atlantic winds and the occasional downpour, of which there were a few during my sojourn. Not having taken my gay umbrella with me, I invested in a yachtie-type pacamac, whereupon the rain stopped quite suddenly. Always works.
I was keen to visit at least one of the islands, and crossed the 3 km bridge to the Ile de Ré. The toll is a bit steep for a day trip, but the island is a little treasure, dotted here and there with villages of single-storey whitewashed cottages with green shutters and wild hollyhocks, and vineyards. The unspoilt beaches were practically deserted, probably because I visited them at lunchtime. The main town, more like a big village, is St Martin de Ré, once notorious for its high security prison (still functioning - lucky inmates!), with its pretty harbour packed with sailing and motor boats and surrounded by restaurants where, at 12.30 on the dot, every table was occupied. The French certainly set their clocks by their stomachs.
Lunchtime on a Rétois beach The tide was out when I arrived and a few people were out on the foreshore collecting cockles and mussels, alive-alive-oh. Oysters are the speciality of this part of France, sadly after a couple of unfortunate experiences with molluscs in the past, I dare not. Not unless I am within a few yards of my own WC and preferably with a toxicologist and a priest in attendance. I contented myself with sniffing the air while I nibbled my quiche lorraine on the quayside.
Back in La Rochelle, I was spoilt for choice with eateries. Creperies are there in abundance, due to the proximity of Brittany. A delicious ham and egg buckwheat pancake with a traditional pottery bowl of Breton cider makes a cheap and cheerful lunch at under 10 euros, especially when you are serenaded by a street band of guitar, double bass and violin doing a passable imitation of Le Hot Club de France. On an evening I covered the waterfront, trying to decide which of the tempting 3-course menus on offer would lure me in. There are so many restaurants in La Rochelle that you could eat out every night for six months without going back to the same place twice.
Whenever I am by the water, river or ocean, I like to go for a boat ride. The old port of La Rochelle is a kind of marine bus station, with an armada of vessels offering trips out to the islands, round Fort Boyard, or just across the harbour on the "sea bus" to Les Minimes, the largest European sailing marina on the Atlantic coast, if you believe what the French say. Sounds impressive, but when you realize the only competition is Portugal and the West of Ireland, it's not such a big deal. I scanned the row of gleaming white cabincruisers and catamarans where tourists were piling on, without much enthusiasm. Then my ship came in: the "Tchou-Tchou" ("Choo-Choo"), a barely modified fishing boat painted bright green, offering a turn about the bay for 6 euros. I spent a pleasant hour with my feet up at the back, being lulled into a state of wellbeing by the gentle rocking of the boat.
The rain got more frequent towards the end of the week so I abandoned the great outdoors for a couple of hours to visit the swanky and relatively new Aquarium. This is a masterpiece, and if you're heading down the West Coast of France at any time of the year is worth stopping for. Hundreds of tanks ranging in size from water feature to Olympic swimming pool and containing three million litres of seawater support marine life from the five major oceans in a highly realistic environment. You enter through a perspex underwater tunnel while ethereal milky jellyfish float all around you. A massive cylindrical core tank runs through the middle of the 3-storey building from top to bottom and contains sharks, stingrays, and other behemoths of the deep. There are several spots where you can sit in darkness and observe through a transparent wall the sometimes beautiful, sometimes ugly, and sometimes downright weird undersea world of Jacques Cousteau. If you think some of the creatures in Dr Who are bizarre, go and see what's lurking about on the ocean floor.
One interesting fact I learned about fish was that in many species, it is the male which incubates the eggs until they hatch. And many fish change sex several times during their lifetime. Bearing in mind we evolved on the same evolutionary scale, it is hardly surprising that a number of humans are, to say the least, confused about their gender.
The sea life was so lovely and graceful that I briefly thought it a shame that most of them tasted so delicious. But strangely, at the same time, I was starting to build up an appetite for something with tartar sauce and chips. What the hell, I reasoned, they eat each other anyway. A short documentary film showed how the animals are fed. As you might imagine, this being France, the aquarium has a proper kitchen where the fishes' meals were lovingly prepared. If you are a fish who has the bad luck to end up in an aquarium, make sure it's in France.
After the fun, the lecture. A room full of exhibits devoted to the biosphere and an explanation of how the damage we humans are doing on land is impacting on the oceans. Being a fully paid-up eco-warrior now, in my African trousers purchased from a friendly Senegalese chap on the Ile de Ré, I spent a long time studying the exhibits and recalled the sage words of the eminent marine biologist Billy Connolly, on swimming in the North Sea: "We don't belong in there." I then emerged into a mini-rainforest, with a waterfall, a tank of piranhas, and a, er, penis tree.
Dammit, I'd just straightened my hair
Say hello to Doug and Dinsdale
I couldn't quite believe my eyesHaving completed the educational visit, I spotted my two Friends of Scrumpy, suitably refreshed on my leftover victuals, banging on their bongos on the harbour wall as I set off in search of a nice fish restaurant. I gave them a raised fist, but I was still thinking about that tree.
Some guy called Robin has made a nice little film about La Rochelle and the Aquarium, in which you even see the Tchou Tchou chugging into port. I'm sure he won't mind me sharing it with you.
15 comments:
Sharks are boring creatures unless they're feeding. I've never managed to get one in an aquarium to make eye contact with me. Did you eat any unusual seafood dishes, milady?
My dear Daphne, the sunshine and salty sea air must truly have tilted your balance, as you so easily relinquished your haul of Kronenbourg and vino to a couple of daytripping anarchists.
The old adage is true then.. toffs are indeed careless.
The penis tree? Hmmm...
I'd never have to go out again.
Sx
What a delightful post. Swordfish for lunch?
what a delight, sugar! even with the rain, i am so envious. thanks for the little film. xoxox
Ò mon país !!
L'épopée narrative est pleine de charme !
Heureux !! Heureux qui, comme Ulysse , a fait un beau voyage , ou comme cestuy-là qui conquit la Toison , et puis est retourné , plein d'usage et raison ...[DU BELLAY ]
Cestuy-là ( le soleil ) de ses yeux enlustre , enflamme , enlumine les cieux , et cestui-cy nostre France décore ...[Ronsard]
Tant de choses à dire...Je Reviens !!!!!!!!
Parfois mon esprit divague et...! L'inspiration ...Des sandales !! Elles ne sont pas rouge et noir !? ciel ! Quel dommage , autrement !
"L'infortune, dit le proverbe écossais, est saine à déjeuner, indifférente à dîner, et mortelle à souper."[stendhal]
Penser à du Stendha ici ? comme c'est curieux ! L'arbre peut-être ?
Hi Daphne, I noticed that in one of your earlier posts you called the mayor of Brussels Freddy 'Toots' Thielemans. I assume this was a 'lapsus' as Freddy Thielemans has nothing to do what so ever with Jean 'Toots' Thielemans, Belgium's greatest internationally reknowned jazz artist ... playing the mouth harmonica! Martine
Oh I thought she was just being funny referring to him as Toots! Vi xxx
GB, I don't do unusual seafood. Lobster thermidor and a teaspoonful of caviare are about as unusual as it gets. Eye contact with a shark is to be avoided.
Jimmy, what else could I do with it? I had no fridge in my hotel room and a laydee would not be seen swigging a bottle of rosée in the street.
Scarlet, would you become a tree-hugger if you had something like that in your garden?
Pat, was that thing in the aquarium a swordfish? It looked uncannily like Cassandra in Dr Who.
Savannah, thank Robin, not me. No idea who he is but he obviously had a similar experience of La Rochelle to mine.
Crabbers, tu divagues tellement loin parfois que je te perds de vue ....
Ladybird, I reserve judgement until I have heard Freddy play the harmonica.
Vi, speak for yourself.
les sandales (sur le bateau vert"Tchou-Tchou") Avec ...Stendhal sans " L " Ça ne vole pas haut (Faute de frappe), un à-peu-près raté !
L'idée de prendre Cet arbre est ... Troublante ! Drôle mais troublante !
On peut caresser les raies ! l'as-tu fait ? Pour plus de précision " A l'aquarium ", pas de quiproquo chez moi !
Aquariums are triffic. Did they have any of those deep-sea fish that come with their own lanterns attached?
Ah l"huitre "la Marennes-Oléron "! Le mollusque bivalve qui...Bla,bla,bla...Pleine de protéines , minéraux et toutes les vitamines ! Eh bien ! L'un des prédateurs est...Le bigorneaux !?! Ce n'est pas pour autant que les ostréiculteurs portent aux pieds des godasses pointues !!
En "Fines de claires" ou "Spéciales de claires" On la déguste crue accompagnée de citron ou mieux de vinaigre à l'échalote, en la croquant et non en la gobant.
Et bien nous ne déplorons à ce jour aucun décès ni même de tourista suite à sa consommation , les contrôles étant extrêmement rigoureux ce qui offrent les meilleures garanties sanitaires !
I just might do!
Sx
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