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The Atlantic seascape was calm and vast under a sky of billowing clouds as we drove along the northern shoreline of Normandy. The lush countryside felt foreign at first - our departure from the crowded Gare St. Lazare in central Paris still lingered. But it was for real. A two hour train ride had delivered us at land’s end.
George and I had come to explore the stretch of coastline between Cabourg and Honfleur advertised in tourist literature as the cote fleuri. I had translated fleuri to mean flower gardens, wind-swept boardwalks and quaint resort towns. I’ve got to get a new dictionary. It wasn’t like that at all.
Among these towns, port of Honfleur came closest to depicting fleuri in the sense that it had the most to offer visitors (my translation). The town is wonderfully picturesque, full of life and rich in historic highlights. It’s weather-beaten appearance can be attributed to its siting at the mouth of the Seine River. Honfleur has been the target of numerous naval attacks since the 11th century.
For a window shopping experience unlike any other in Paris, take a walk on rue Lepic in Montmartre. Since its earliest days, this street has provided our neighborhood with meats, cheese, fish and produce from colorful open-air stalls. Today, many additional retailers and restaurants vie for a piece of the action. Lokking for train tickets to Nice? a box of Belgian chocolate? a vintage Moulin Rouge poster? a simple waste basket? A trip to Costco could never be this much fun.
By the time we returned from Paris in May, my herb garden already had a month’s head start. A casual observer would have assumed I had started a spearmint farm. Thick, square mint stems were sprouting among sage branches and had surrounded two dense clumps of flat-leaf chives (a/k/a society garlic). The only other survivor in this shallow-bedded location is a weedy sorrel plant. It had soaked up cool April rains and produced a crop of spear-shaped leaves for soup. By the time I arrived, it had already sent up tall, unsightly, seed stalks. Were sorrel’s leaves not so wonderfully tart and refreshing, I would have dug it up long ago. After all, this tidy boxwood-bound herb garden is right next to my front door.
My favorite shopping therapy is wandering the Paris flea market on Sunday afternoon. There is something for everyone - from genuine antiques to obvious Rolex knock-offs. I’m always hoping to purchase an art object with an interesting backstory at a bargain price. It never occurs to me to look among my own belongings for such treasures - it took our recent change of residence for me to discover one family heirloom hiding in plain sight!