Lisieux to Vimoutiers – Pure Normandie

I had a good lunch and a good dinner last night in good value cafes.

I’m sure you’ve noticed the proliferation of ‘good’. Today, after a proper French breakfast (two coffees and a mini baguette, coated in unsalted French butter), down in the bar near the station I didn’t need a lunch.

So what?

Only saying. It’s part of a one way information flow along the ancient blog route.

So what?

Oh dear. I’m sensing conflict between myself. Switch to a photo quickly! My room was third from left on the top floor.

So what?

Oh dear.

Setting off about 10.15am it’s a long day today. Somewhere around 17 miles. The temperature isn’t too bad and it’s dry so far. Then across the road I saw a weird bloke watching me.

Today was largely down country lanes, starting busy then getting quieter. This was the standard eye candy – ever heard a more horrible phrase? Don’t answer him Pike!

The first village I passed had a small farmers’ market. It was very colourful too.

Then I cut across country and didn’t pass a village with a shop until Vimoutiers, 15 miles later. But lots of typical Normandy houses.

And an amazing chateau, Chateau de Saint German de Livet, with a white peacock. Incredibly rare birds, one in 30,000 chance of one being born to peacock parents apparently.

The lanes got quieter but seemed never ending. Mercifully the skies were cloudy enough to keep the temperature down.

There were some self-indulgent, idiosyncratic features in a few gardens. Some French people are good at that; however my view is that it is as previously described. Self-indulgent. Ha!

I’m getting a bit too grumpy for a fifty year old bloke.

I love these shrines, if shrine is what it is. But I only have decorative appreciation. I’m not religious. Sometimes I do feel quite spiritual. Certainly in front of stunning structures of outstanding beauty, and always when I have been high in the Himalayas. Guernica, the amazing painting by Picasso evoked something spiritual in me.

There I go, being self-indulgent again.

So what?

Oh ffs!

These bales of hay are great, every time!

This is so sad. In the middle of nowhere this 17 year old lad, fighting for the French Resistance, was killed. Younger than my daughters. God bless.

This little village, Lisaroles, must have seen some action. French, US, British and Canadian flags outside the Mairie. This area felt the brunt of post D-Day military action. Hundreds of thousands killed in Normandy. Mercifully mostly the Nazis but many allies and civilians too.

After what seemed like an eternity I got a first view of Vimoutiers. A town which was flattened, a week after D-Day, by 20 minutes of US bombing in June 1944.

Don’t wish me to forget these things. I won’t forget the sacrifices of millions of good people against the evil of that time. It touches me when I walk past each monument, in Sheffield, in Melbourne, in Javerlhac, in Lisaroles. But time moves on. And so do I. From the wonderful Departement de Calvados down to L’Orne.

My tent is up, the night is closing in and I must sleep, but not until I’ve eaten my bottled asparagus, tinned sardines, ham slices and taboule.

Loved it.

Night night.