Normandy: une invasion d'une seule femme

One may think that its a little out of character for the Baroness to be a WWII movie buff, but I am… I grabbed the first opportunity presented to me in the form of a ferry/bus trip and began my One Woman Reenactment of the D-Day landings in Normandy, though admittedly I was more or less distracted by the culinary delights the French had to offer instead.

Ferry Crossing
Believe it or not I handled the floor quite well on the overnight crossing, and psyched myself up at 6am in the morning watching the distant continent and my fate drawing closer and closer over a piping hot croissant and a less than average ferry café au lait.

Honfleur
As I leaped off the boat in heavy armour (my 2 pound jacket from Edinburgh), I found myself very little action in the small fishing village of Honfleur. Not a Jerry in sight, so I eased into the relaxed and untamed atmosphere of this quiet Saturday morning. It would be perfect for a reenactment for the Casino scene from The Longest Day, what with a few beat up abandoned buildings with the missing windows and a lady dusting her carpet from a second floor window. To stock up for the long journey along the Normandy coast, I headed towards the farmers market after a brief walk along the cute windy cobbled streets. The market is unbelievably well stocked for a small place – particularly the stall which sells a 50-plus range of wild boar sausages, though after having a few sample slices, I can’t be totally convinced that I want to bring body odour home on the ferry with me. Further along the market something pungent is simmering away. Apples are of course a major produce in the area re the famous cider, and here they are being cooked with - wait for it, wild boar sausages!!

















Bayeaux
I rolled along in the Tank towards Bayeaux, one of the first major towns to be liberated from the D-Day landings, marked by the statue of General Montgomery The grand towering cathedral is one marvelous piece of architecture, and equally interesting was the ancient Bayeaux Tapestry, which was once revered by Napoleon as a major inspiration to plan out an invasion of England which he never got round to (yes, short men are relentless like that). I was however more interested in cleaning out the deli. Here is the cheese I had for lunch and I will be bringing home some crepes marinated in Grand Mariner… And I am pleased my negotiation skills in my meager broken French has not totally escaped me.













British Cemetery (Bayeaux) & the American Cemetery (Omaha Beach)

Time to pay some respects to the service men and women of WWII who gave their lives in this ruthless and unforgiving time in history. It puts things into perspective when you see the sheer number of graves row after row and how young most of the casualties of the D-Day invasions were. These are the graves of two men who died for their country at the same age as me this year, and the crosses and stars-of David at the American cemetery at Omaha Beach.
















Omaha Beach
Ayyyyyyy Yaaaaaa! BANG BANG BANG BANG BOOOOOOM! This is me storming Omaha Beach – attacking the enemy with the absolutely deadly element of SURPRISE! ready to save Private Ryan. And a thorough map of how I could have invaded Normandy if I could commanded 150,000 men.
Arromanches
I rolled along in a Zundapp motorcycle sidecar onto Arramanges, where I carried out an reenactment of pulling the mulberry harbours together. These are makeshift floating ‘bridges’ (to save every ship to havae to dock) built by the Allies to transport hundreds and thousands of tonnes of military equipment and supplied to support the liberation of Europe from England for the several months following D-Day.

Big Party in Caen
I headed to Caen in the evening for some well-deserved dancing and cigar puffing, as there is a huge rock music festival going on, perfect for a village liberation scene where I would give the locals chocolates and cigarettes and in return they all kiss me, feed me, give me cider, throw a big party and make offers of marriage to me. (as shown in the Carentan episode of A Band of Brothers). But instead they just ignored me and went on with enjoying themselves. Oh well. The Rock Music Festival is organised in a way where every 10 meters or so along the main streets you could see a different rockband performing. The streets are swarming with partying people young and old, eating bloody frits and boozing away, obviously showing off in contrast of how meager my One-Woman mission looks. Given that most of the bands were quite bad, I had to force myself into having a Red bull flavoured ice cream just so I could keep up with the head banging with those teenage French goths. Interesting flavour but a bit over powering, and almost dissolved my teeth with the overt sugeryness and acidity. But for a cheap high, yeah I’d do it again for 2 Euros.





Ruen
I arrived in Ruen on Sunday morning on horse back. The cross on the left commemorates the place where Joan of Arc was burned at the stake in 1431. Speaking of ‘stake’, I had lunch with two Australian compatriots (if you haven’t worked out that the Aussies have taken over the world then you’re very out of touch) who pretty much did an reenactment of the Mr Bean episode where Mr Bean ordered Steak Tartare. It really was literally a eeny meeny minee mo type menu situation because our French was so poor and the Waiter couldn’t speak ‘Strayaan’. No words could describe how hard it was to prevent me from laughing out loud when the bleeding lumps of meat was brought onto the table and presented to the two of them with their jaws dropped. For my part I had eeny meeny minee mo’ed myself into a Croque Madame, which I expected to get a female crocodile covered in some sort of alcoholic sauce, but it turned out to be a boring old fried egg on toasted cheese sandwich. Boooo!























And homeward bound via the scenic hills towards Calais, and sailing in from the white cliffs of Dover, with the thoughts of war behind me and a belly full of stinking cheese - a comfortable trip every intrepid soldier deserves.

Honey, I blew up the Bath

Not every girl gets offered a mystery weekend on a first date (back in May), so how could I say no?





Bradford on Avon
Quaint riverside boutique hotel, view over the water, rose scented linen, a big soft bed that doesn’t squeak, and a gluttonously warm and slow breakfast over the Saturday paper. Whooa.


























Our room overlooked the river into the town centre, onto the infamous bridge where apparently in 1788 an angry mob in the height of the industrial revolution burnt and over turned a large factory machine into the river in protest of the loss of their traditional lifestyles. Since then things have toned down a little, and its revered as a quiet and aesthetically classy place where people reject smog and stress.

The houses and buildings here are pretty ancient, but the residents take absolute pride in their presentation. Here are some of the eclectic garden scenes on the hilltop houses.

























Kennet and Avon Canal
A slow afternoon stroll along a cooling canal, meeting eccentric characters along the way, and an ice cream under the shade. Wooooh.

(Map courtesy of Wikipedia)

The stretch of canal we walked along towards Bath is about 15 kms (small curly stretch as shown on the map where the light blue and dark blue overlapps) , which cut through cute little hamlets. We were so exhausted when we got there at about 6pm, and pretty much headed to bed at the hill top youth hostel.















































































Bath skyline walk & Pryor House
Panoramic views, the smell of wild flowers, stunning landmarks poking into the sky, treasure hunting in the bushes, and lakeside singing birds. Awwww.














Street Party
Then we walked into a traditional English street party! Pimms! Spit Roast! Marching Band! Eeeeha!lk













Roman Baths & frolick in the park
Big giant hot bath, big giant freezing bath, big giant sauna room and ancient healing spells that cures you of all worries. Mmmmm.



























To Thai It All Up ....before we board the train back to London
Duck curry, fish sauce and pearls of jasmine rice - mmwaahh. yep this girl's impressed ;-)

Wiltshire: White Horses, Wet Pie, and a Wee bit of Wool

We have been blessed with great weather again, so out we roll the tents and pegs for a camping weekend in Wiltshire with M-8 (whom recently became my Squeeze), Mr & Mrs Deno, a sparkly hired grown-ups car called The Annihilator.

Avebury Stone Circle
After deciphering out of the infamous ‘Magic Roundabout’ in Swindon (there’s nothing magical about it, other than being bloody confusing), we headed in a beeline towards the mystical and sheepish Avebury for the Stone Circle and some education of how people lived before the time of calendars, tiled roves, television and Christianity. (Quite happily, probably).



White Horse at Cherhill
The large white figure glistened in the hills from a distance, and seem to run along with us as we roamed the highway. The soil in the area is actually chalk, and way back around 1000 BC the practice of leucippotomy ie. The art of carving chalk horse figures started in Southern England. There are quite a few white horses in this area, and this one is in Cherhill was first carved in the 18th century and was last restored in 2002.

We parked The Annihilator on the road and walked up the hill towards the chalk figure and a monument. There’s lots of pink beetles flying around which caught a lot of my attention. It wasn’t until a young boy from Manchester that started picking on a dried pile of bird droppings that I discovered that the diet of birds here contained pretty much entirely of these little beetles. Lovely.

Pub lunch at the White Horse Inn
When you live in London you tend to forget that people stop eating lunch and only drink beer after 2pm, but we managed to squeeze in some food at the White Horse Inn just outside of Calne. So I am no longer a Steak & Kidney pie in Suet patry virgin.
But I might have to abstain now.










Lacock
Lacock is a quiet and beautifully preserved little village near Calne, the entire village is owned by the National Trust. I refrained from touching anything because I know I will break stuff, including the precarious bench a whole bunch of tourists are sitting on. We headed into Lacock Abbey for a poke around. This is in fact reportedly the location where the first film negative was developed by William Tolbot in 1835 by photographing this very window. But most visitors are actually more interested in the abbey as the set for Harry Potter.

Calne in the Evening
After settling into the campsite, the boys were hankering to watch the Portugal vs Turkey game of the Euro Cup, so we went into a quiet little pub in Calne. The place looked pretty conservative and red neck, but I was having a good time over fish’n’chips until some racist dickhead made some really quite offensive remarks to me on my way to the bathroom. This later developed into what I recall as an episode of me quite bravely and politely starring a big bloke down with a one liner and without cracking my temper. Well done WaWa, but its time to leave before more of them arrive to beat us into pulp.

Castle Combe
Castle Combe has an air of Miss Marple cuteness and intrigue. The golden glow of the stone houses that line the curvy streets surround a peaceful village life away from the hustle and bustle, but this is the best setting as a façade for a well planned criminal activity – how could anyone here be cunning enough to be a murderer? And how would such a innocent and pretty little town hide any brimming secrets? For example, I can totally see the owner of the café which serves the best espresso and banana cake in Wiltshire motivated by the candid discovery of a fortune buried under the large well in the middle of the small town centre.

Dyrham Park
I am a huge Merchant & Ivory fan so it was such a delight to find out that Dyrham Park is where Remains of The Day was filmed. (is it just me or am I thinking I am just going from one film set to the next??) Set in an elegantly landscaped 300 acre area, it used to be a deer hunting park for the original owners (generations dated back to 17th century). There are still hundreds of deers living on the property, and it’s a real pleasure seeing them bounce in flocks from hill to hill in their light brown dotted coats.

The house itself reminded me of the continental European palaces, huge sunny rooms decorated in decadent interiors, art, and memorabilia’s from centuries of travels and socialising with other members of the upper class. Its full of random stair cases and spaces, complete with its own trompe l'oeila and a dumb waiter's room. Of course there is the intrigue of the complicated relationship between the upper class aristocrats that enjoys the luxuries and the working class male and female servants that clean up after them – but only the fake marble walls will know. What is left of the ‘downstairs’ to remind us of their lives is a line of bells that used to ring when they are called to duty, an extremely well equipped kitchen that can support a culinary team of 40+, a butcher the size of a double bedroom, and the ‘rent room’ – a huge space with a rim of seats organized for leasees of the surrounding farmlands to sit and wait while they pay rent to the estate’s owner. That’s English class, economy and power in a nutshell for you.This is the scenery from the nice walk we did around the estate before we headed home on the train from Swindon, though not before we were caught by some overtly friendly and over-bored locals for a good old chat about Helen Clark and the weather.

Priceless in Brighton

Scenario: Emma's boyfriend the lovable and intrepid Shin has finally touched down in town and we are on a big family outing at the beach

View: Watching the West Pier crumble into glittering gold, wishing it was hot enough to swim
Soundtrack: 'Anchor Me' by The Mutton Birds

- Return train ride from London:￡8
- Sun hat that I didn't use anyway: ￡7.99
- Sunscreen that I didn't use and will probably never use in England:￡6.99 two for one
- 3 x Whelks: ￡1.50
- 1 x Roll Mop: ￡3
- Sauce: 5 pence a sachet (for a blob of rotten tomatoes the size of a patch of ant vomit?)
- Pimms: ￡2 a pop (that's alright)
- Salt: free (what?!)
- Watching Tarui San develop Ridiculous Englishness: Absolutely Priceless