I've posted this in the bike group, but thought some here might find it
interesting.

Isn't the EuroTunnel fantastic? None of the herded about like cattle
stuff, having to listen to mewling kids, all the while (if you're, like
me, not the greatest sailor in the world) fighting off a vague
queasiness. Oh no; you book online, drive up, bung a reference number
at a bloke, park til called, drive on, sit for half an hour, and you're
in France. Absolutely superb, and run with military precision, even on
the French side of things. Would use in preference to ferries every
time, and unless there are some seriously cheap deals going, will do so
from now on. The security is also interesting, with your steering wheel
being swabbed for traces of explosive by a friendly cop with what looks
like a washing-up mop - "you get a valet free? Superb!"

Arrive Calais around lunchtime, sat nav takes up from where it left off,
and away we go. A word about the TomTom 910; it's the total ballons de
chien - seamless, Europe-wide mapping. Even when in the tiniest of
French villages, it knows precisely what it's doing, and its mapping &
route planning appear better than the cheaper ONE by quite some margin.
The synthesised voice (as opposed to the pre-recorded one on the ONE)
also makes a pretty good fist of pronouncing French place names,
although we found ourselves reduced to fits of the giggles every time it
tried to say "Rouen", as it sounded as if the poor girl was throwing up
into a bucket. They've also improved the way it deals with the more
confusing, multi-option junctions; if you manage to get lost while using
this then, frankly, you're too dumb to be driving. The French speed
camera warnings appeared mostly ok, although I *think* I got pinged by a
non-listed unit on the way back; there was a single flash only, and I
didn't see the unit, so not quite sure. Time will tell; I presume this
is a fine only, or do they now transfer points as well?

The 9-3 Aero Sport was a superb vehicle for this trip; fast, handled
superbly, was comfy and quiet at speed, and had enough luggage space for
our kit and shitloads of booze (more of this later). I also noticed its
amazing grip and balance potential when we were caught in a couple of
torrential downpours, in fearsome sidewinds, yet it remained stable and
planted, even up around 130 mph. Only downside was that Saab have
decided that, despite the thing being capable of 140+, the cruise
control is limited to 125 mph. Poor show. Overall, being thrashed
mercilessly to some silly speeds, it managed 24.5 mpg for the entire
trip, which I thought very good, considering the speeds; more restrained
use sees 30+ mpg, but frankly, fuck that; it's France - driving fast is
half the fun.

Stopping along the way at an autoroute service area, I was reminded just
how good French motorway services are; clean, nice places to sit, lovely
grub and not overpriced, although the service is typically laid-back,
but worth the wait. Although I speak next to no French, I found that
making at least the initial effort was rewarded, as we didn't encounter
a single non-friendly person at any point during the entire trip. Seems
like it's better to ham (jambon?) it up with halting, comedic attempts
at French then to give up and say "je ne comprends pas".

A few hours later (speeds were kept north of 100 mph almost all the way,
so it didn't take long) we rocked up at Honfleur, and the folks at work
who suggested it did me proud; it's quite simply a place of incredible
beauty and charm; the back streets are very narrow, the houses
apparently ancient, and it does that "stylish dilapidation" thing that
the French & Italians do, very well.

I'd booked in advance, over the net, at the Hotel du Dauphin, having
gleaned it from the Lonely Planet guide to France; excellent hotel,
amazingly friendly, all-female staff (they insisted in taking our bags
up to our room while we parked the car at the car park up the road,
despite the best room in the place (which I'd booked) being up about a
million winding, spiral staircases), and the room was on about 10,000
levels, so very charming, but one word of warning; booking in advance,
via the net, is fine, but the prices all the hotels charge are higher
via the net, so if you want to save, and you're not going at a busy time
of year, you'd be better off rocking up and then walking round and
booking in person. As a guide, our top of the range room, with spa
bath, was 150 euros for 2 via the net, whereas it would have been 120 if
we'd booked in person. Still, lesson learned at not much cost, so no
worries. The nearby Hotel du Lea looks excellent too.

Honfleur is counted as an expensive place (very popular as a weekend
away with the Parisian posh, so we were told), and the first bar from
the Lonely Planet guide we went to seemed to confirm this; the Green
Parrot offered a staggering array of bottled beers (some 80-odd!), but
was lacking in either charm or atmosphere, and the prices were highly
naff, as in 5.80 euros for a normal-sized (330ml) Chimay bleu, which I
counted as taking the piss. However, moving on to the other recommended
bar, L'Albatross, this turned out to be the exception, rather than the
rule. The Albatross was more my sort of place; old wood, quaint,
shedloads of older (and some younger) French folk, and more bottles of
ancient booze than you could shake a bear at. As I was on a "money no
object" trip, I sampled the delights of the best Calvados they had to
offer; now 12 euros a pop for apple brandy may sound outrageous, but the
measures were very generous, and I discovered that, although I like
"normal" calvados quite a bit, I am seriously in love with the 30 year-
old stuff. Ditto the better, older, eau de vies, but the ancient
Calvados was simply sublime.

The barman/owner was superbly efficient and well trained, in that he'd
clearly been doing this a long, long time, despite not being all that
old himself, and (not for the first time), I found the French attitude
towards bar work & waiting (in that it's seen as a "proper" job, and
often paid accordingly) excellent; some of these guys are a joy to watch
work; efficient, friendly, amazingly knowledgeable, and generally they
seem to really add something to the experience. Paying a little extra
to support this effort strikes me as a good thing.

Said owner/barman asked us where we were going to eat, and what we
wanted to eat, and we went through the list of places in the Lonely
Planet guide; he said all of them had been written up well, and he
mostly agreed with the comments, but that they'd missed a place off that
the locals liked, a seafood speciality place called "Le Bistro du Port",
and suggested we try it. I'm always a tiny bit wary of comments like
that, in case someone's on a back-hander, but as he was so pleasant we
decided to give it a go, and bloody hellbeans, what a good call :)

My companion went with the 32 euro set menu, which meant I got her
starter as she's a seafood-eating veggie, rather than a carnivore; the
plate of Carpaccio de canard fume avec pate de fois gras was simply
divine, and proved a superb opener to the main event; the Fruits De Mer
Royale; a 52 euro (yes, 52 euro) dish that required a deep tray of ice
over 2 feet across and almost as high to frame it; everything imaginable
was there, in quantity; a whole large crab, clams, winkles, whelks,
lobster, a dozen oysters, langoustines, huge prawns and another, raw,
shellfish that I couldn't identify; sort of like a bigger clam, served
raw like oysters, and delicious. The service was also excellent.
Including a fairly expensive bottle of my fave white wine (Pouilly Fumé,
which I prefer to Sancerre), and 2 excellent deserts (orange Crème
Brûlée in my case, pineapple with caramelised topping and sorbet in
hers), the bill came to about 130 euros, which I oddly considered a
bargain, given the amount and quality of the food provided. Stuffed and
very happy, we retired to bed.

Saturday morning dawned much sunnier (at least at first), and we awoke
to find a market had sprung up in the square; ideally I would have like
to have had a leisurely wander round, but we had lots to do that day, so
we packed up and made our way towards Juno Beach. After much research I
have discovered that this, and not Gold or Sword, was where my
grandfather had come ashore on D-day (at least that was what some
indicators said), and I was keen to see if I could find any reference to
his unit there, as the official records are very patchy.

So off we set. A word here about French autoroute driving; as
previously mentioned by many, the lane discipline is streets ahead of
other nations, and the low traffic density means you can really push on
if you want to. On those rare occasions that someone does pull out and
get in your way, it's through incompetence, not malice; I didn't see one
example of aggressive driving, although there's the distinct impression
that half of France is pissed by mid-morning. So long as you pay
attention to the warning signs of someone half-cut, and "making
progress", then you'll be fine. Stopped again at an autoroute services,
and had yet more good grub for brekkie, and again at a reasonable price.

A slight detour to the Canadian cemetery followed; the Canadians formed
the bulk of the troops on Juno on June 6th, 1944, although there were
also free French, Polish and commonwealth troops (including a group of
Sikhs), as well as a smaller contingent of British units, my grandfather
among them, and Juno is generally felt to have been the second-most
difficult beach to take, after the slaughter of Omaha, level with Utah,
but with a more difficult break out of the beachhead than Utah. I
intended merely to take a quick glance at the place, but I found the
sight of the hundreds of headstones strangely moving, though not
upsetting, and I stayed for a good half hour walking slowly round the
immaculately-tended graves, looking at the various inscriptions; the
commonwealth headstones, unlike the most of the American and German ones
in other cemeteries in northern France, have individual epitaphs,
written after the event by the soldiers' families, and some of them are
very touching, and strangely never twee or mawkish. It was also sad to
see the ages of many of these chaps; 19 and 20 year olds abound. I
don't know about you, but I didn't have a clue when I was that age; what
it must have been like to be slung at an entrenched enemy from a flat-
bottomed landing craft one can only imagine. As I said, the graves are
simply immaculate; someone must spend a *lot* of time tending the place,
though I saw no-one else there. I looked at the book, kept in an open
locker in the stone viewing platform, to see if I could spot anyone from
my granddad's unit, but this was an almost entirely Canadian site,
although I did spot a couple of free French.

So, on to the Juno Beach Centre. This is a recent construction (2003),
built with the assistance of the local mayor, with contributions from
Canadian veterans, and an interesting structure it is too, clothed in
what's claimed to be titanium, but which is presumably titanium-coloured
(shiny grey) metal, in the broad shape of a maple leaf. Lovely bit of
design, managing to look both modern and strangely military, without
being in any way triumphalist. See here:

http://www.junobeach.org/

It's certainly a modern museum; the opening event is a re-creation,
using modern AV, of being in a landing craft approaching the shore. I
did find it a bit pro-Canadian, in that it gave the impression that only
Canadians landed at Juno, whereas many free French, Poles and
Commonwealth troops did too, but as they paid for most of it I guess I
could forgive them that. It's a bit simplistic too, but again, they're
pitching it as a visitor's centre to educate the young, as well as to
remember the fallen, so again I can forgive them that. Worth a look if
you're in the area.

In the bookshop in the gift shop, I found a book that finally, after
some time spent searching various archives, confirmed in one reference,
that my grandfather's unit did indeed land on Juno on June 6th, and
furthermore that they rapidly made their way inland to support the other
Juno beach troops, suffering substantial losses in the process. For
some reason this gave me a profound sense of pride in the bravery he and
others must have shown, as well as impressing the hell out of me; when
you walk the shoreline at Juno you realise what it must have been like;
you're amazingly exposed, and frankly something of a sitting duck, and
the size of the gun emplacements there make you realise that, for
ordinary infantry to have taken the place, they must have been both
talented and supremely determined.

And so, on to lunch; as this was going to be our last main meal I wanted
something a bit special, so we looked at the Lonely Planet again and
decided on nearby Bayeux, and La Rapière, which stood out on account of
its "non contrived, hearty home cooking".

And strewth, what grub! I started with the soup (crème de
langoustines), followed by the beef fillet in a blueberry & wine sauce.
The soup was sublime, and although I was a bit unsure about the
blueberry sauce when reading it, it turned out to be superb; rich, full
of flavour, and generally of top quality - even the fillet itself was
tender and properly aged. We even experienced something the barman at
the Albatross referred to as a "trou Norman" (Norman hole), an apple
sorbet with added calvados, which is supposed to allow one to cram in
more food, and so this proved; 5 courses in all, and although the
measures were just fine, I didn't feel bloated at the end. Absolutely
superb food, and again despite ordering an even more expensive bottle of
Pouilly Fumé, the bill for 2 people eating 5 courses was around the 110
euro mark, which believe me was a bargain. It became obvious why the
Bayeux tourist centre closes for 2.5 hours for lunch :)

As a result of our leisurely meal we were a bit tight for time as far as
shopping was concerned, so decided to go straight to CiteEurope, which
at the time was a good 350 klicks away. Time to give it some; the
weather had started to close in again, but I was pleasantly half-cut,
and the Saab seemed as eager as ever, so I opened the taps and we spent
the next couple of hours cruising around the 110 mph mark, occasionally
bapping up to 130 when the rain abated. As previously mentioned, the
French speed camera listing for the TomTom 910 appeared a little
incomplete, so I'm expecting a fine in the post at some point, but it
was worth it - a hugely fun drive, and not one vehicle on 2 or 4 wheels
managed to keep up, although a chap in a Beemer 330 had a bit of a try
for a while, but then fell back when the rain and crosswinds increased
again; the Saab's stability in adverse weather is nothing short of
miraculous - you have to look at other people to work out anything
untoward is going on out there.

We arrived at CiteEurope, made our way to the Carrefour, and somehow I
managed to spend 450 euros on booze, with a few cheeses and pates thrown
in. Sounds like a lot, but we're talking 10 cases of wine, some high
quality, some just good vin de table, plus 10 bottles of quality booze,
plus 5 whole brie for the folks at work and mummy bear, plus shedloads
of pate and tubs of marinated olives, so not too bad really; the Saab's
boot is cavernous, and the self-levelling xenon lights are also a boon.

Having shopped, we were a bit early for the EuroTunnel, but on bunging
in our reference number at the automated booth, the screen popped up
with "would you like this earlier crossing as there's room?", and we
squeezed onto the final call for the next one, so no hanging around at
all.

So, overall, easily the nicest short break I've ever had; the EuroTunnel
was superb (and at £54 return, not too pricey), the hotel excellent, the
food and booze beyond compare, the company lovely, and the French as
warm, welcoming and good hearted as one could possibly imagine. I
suspect it's the effort to meet them halfway with some halting French
that helps, though frankly everyone we met spoke English anyway, but I
consider it polite to at least try.

One other thing; the bridge into the Normandy area is a thing of beauty;
what is it with the French and civil engineering? It's just a bridge,
but they'd rather spend the extra and build something that's lovely to
look at, as well as functional; it looks like 2 huge tuning forks
supporting a road surface that seems to rise at a staggering incline to
top out way, way above the river. Smashing fun, though it needs to be
at 5 euros, each way.

All I can say is, if you want to get away for a weekend, you could do a
lot worse than northern France; I'm determined to make this sort of
thing a regular part of my relaxation therapy :) And thanks to those
ukrm'ers who suggested Normandy - it was superb, and I'd gladly go
again.