I have been to France many times now, and everytime I go there I enjoy it, whether it's with Angus, work, or with a chipper redhead. Many things are said about the French, but if you're willing to give the language a try and enjoy the local cuisine then chances are you're going to get along fine and have a great time. Where else can you enjoy a jug of wine poured out of what looks like a gas tank, which tastes fantastic with a side of gooey cheese? What other country lets you drive around absolutely spotless motorways with art deco lighting and the occasional very bizarre sculpture marking the exits to the side roads?

And so it was that Angus and I joined a host of other English and drove our car to Portsmouth, to take a 5 hour ferry to Le Havre (I was prepared with Tom Wolfe's "I Am Charlotte Simmons", which might explain why I had a thick Southern accent from time to time on the trip). These trips are known as Booze Cruises, as the business case for buying liqour and food in France is incredible-we all come back with the trunks of our cars leaning heavily towards the ground, so cheap is alcohol and food.

The day was unbelievably hot and sunny. After parking the car in the depths of the ship, we made our way outside to sit in the sun. A short while later and we glide slowly away from the dock, and the sea air is so refreshing and cool that I don a light sweater.

Angus, meanwhile, is tough.

It doesn't take very long before the trip gets bad. A trio of Englishmen in their Manchester United shirts stand next to me, looking over the railing. The talking I don't mind, but then they bend over, facing the sea, and their asses are mere inches from my head. I was on guard in case the noxious gasses escaped from sphincter cages, 'cause if that happened some men were going over board.

No gasses escaped, but the men did spend their time consoling one of their party and telling him how to "make his bird understand that he was the man and the one in charge".

I still regret not throwing them overboard.

I decide to go to the girls' room and so make my way inside the ship. Once my eyes get adjusted to the darkness, I am stunned by how incredibly loud it was. Blinking to end the pupil dilation, I am stunned by the sheer mass of teenagers running amok inside. I shake my head in wonder and then realize that we are on a ship full of French teenagers returning from a holiday in England.

The noise...the screaming...the laughter...Incredible.

The teenagers figure out that the doors actually open outward and in no time swarms of pubescent French kids are crawling and laughing all over every part of the ship, screaming and shouting and rudely pushing you in the hallway. The temptation to turn my feet out and walk like Charlie Chaplin is overwhelming, the pull to hear that satisfactory splash of a teenager going overboard is like an ache.

I run into another group of screaming teens, and this time, they're speaking English.

We're on board with two tour groups of teenagers. I find, amazingly, that I am fair and unbiased. I am not prejudiced.

I actually hate both groups equally.

I have become old and cranky overnight.

We get to Le Havre late in the evening and make our way to a faceless business hotel. We crash, but not before wrapping our limbs up in each other and having a quick shag. After all...we're on holiday.

The next morning after a quick round of bedroom jockey we get moving and head into the Cherbourg peninsula. We stop at two grocery stores and buy an overwhelming load of wine and stinky French cheese (oooh...the Camembert! The Pont L'Evec! Heaven!) which we load into a cooler in the back of the car. We buy some Comte cheese and a loaf of French bread, and as we make our way through the day we stop and spread a blanket in a field and picnic on bread and cheese, revelling in the sun.

We also have al fresco loving.

When in France...

We make our way to the hotel at Barneville-Carteret, stopping along the way to see some of the Beaches. Once we get there, we go up three tiny flights of stairs to our room, which faces the sea. Ironically, our room is also the one room with access to the fire escape, and so hanging outside our bedroom door is a key enclosed in glass to break in an emergency-this key is our room key. Our room can be opened by any Tom, Dick and Francois in the hallway. This, we find funny. We also find our 1960's style room funny, because nothing says "High Class Establishment" like walls covered in pink carpeting.

The view outside the room is lovely, made lovelier when the tide comes in. When the tide is low the estuary is empty, but as the night grew on the sea flooded in and we kept the doors to the room open, inhaling the salty air. Breathing it in, we did what any normal couple would do-we opened a bottle of wine.

And had sex again.

We had a nice dinner and then head back to our room where we open another bottle of wine and then sleep peacefully after our Fourth Round of Action for the day.

In the middle of the night, I am awoken by sleepy and loving hands massaging my back. It is excruciatingly lovely and I ooze and squeeze my way between his fingers as he tries to wake me up for some loving. I sigh and giggle and am melting into his embrace and-

OH MY GOD FOR THE LOVE OF CHRIST WHAT IS THAT SMELL?

Like a bolt I am out of the bed. The stench in the room is something like pure unfettered sewage. We look at each other and realize the culprit is the tide going out, and leaving in its wake a sea of dead and decaying seaweed in the estuary. We run and close the sliding glass doors to the balcony.

We are able to recover our lust, and then fall back asleep in sleepy satisfaction.

The next morning it's raining and chilly-clearly al fresco is off the menu for the day. We giggle and get ready, and find when we get to the car the smell of the cheese is pervading the ice box and our car is smelling like something has crawled in there and died, somewhere in the vicinity of the trunk.

We head off to the Beaches again as we may our way back to the area of Le Havre. We stop at Arromanches and see the massive man-made pier that was built in England and towed to France to allow Allied Troops the ability to get replenishments and supplies. We buy crepes and walk hand-in-hand in the rain. The final hotel spot for the evening is in the tiny town of Honfleur, which we manage to get to after playing Petrol Chicken (many places in France are closed on Sundays, and gas stations generally only take French credit cards. Luckily we found an open one, or this story would'veturned out a lot differently).

As we drive I have my feet on the dashboard and for some reason am singing the C&H Purecan Sugar commercial. You know. As one does (When you cook, when you bake, for goodness sake use C&H!)

We had passed through Honfleur on the way to our previous hotel and found it a stunningly charming French village, marked by a 105 year-old carousel that had clearly lovingly maintained and running in the center of the village. We check into our hotel and find that it's a fantastic old inn that had been renovated, to include a massive jacuzzi bathtub with LEDs lining the bottom of it.

That just had to be investigated by the two of us and a bottle of wine.

After our toes and fingers resembled raisins, we headed down for dinner. All around us were English speakers, including an American dad who was obviously divorced with his teenage daughters visiting for a few weeks. The teens looked bored and talked about their private school, and I couldn't imagine being so lucky as a teen to not only be in private school but to visit Dad in boring old France.

The meal was fantastic, and the waiter clearly liked us. We followed all his recommendations and had a fantastic time, laughing and relaxing in the atrium of a lovely restaurant, listening to the rain fall. After the meal, the waiter came up with a large crystal decanter with a liquid a cool clear amber in the bottom. He winks at us.

"It's a special treat. It's Calvados." he said, smiling. Calvados is a special liquer in that area of France, made from apples. He uncorks the decanter. "This is very special Calvados. Very rare. 12 years old, and on the house." He pours us two snifters of it and we taste it. It's like liquid fire going down that explodes into heat blossoms as it reaches the stomach.

We head back to our bed and fall asleep entangled in each other. The next morning we get moving and head back to Le Havre, boarding the ferry (again filled with a gaggle of French teenagers). I finish my book. Angus sleeps. Once we get to England we are let out of the massive ship and drive home, where Angus hops out and drives to Heathrow to catch a plane to Finland.

The wine is put away, the fridge smells like a gym sock, but the memories of the long weekend are still deep inside.

-H.

Posted by: Everydaystranger at 08:10 AM | Comments (11) | Add Comment
Post contains 1673 words, total size 10 kb.

1 Have I mentioned just how much I hate bubbles sometimes.... Great story H, glad you had fun =)

Posted by: Dane at June 02, 2005 09:26 AM (ncyv4)

2 So what is the weekend sex record for you two? I think I've counted 6 in this episode, but is that the record?

Posted by: Simon at June 02, 2005 10:33 AM (UKqGy)

3 You gotta watch those cheeses - they get everywhere and there isn't a cool box constructed that can contain them - hell even tuppaware isn't up to the job! Glad you had a good time though.

Posted by: Rob at June 02, 2005 10:52 AM (kXZI6)

4 Mmm, calvados is good! We can get it at home and it's just lovely, always follows the cheese that has a life of it's own nicely. Glad you had a good time, France is an excellent place to escape to. AxXx

Posted by: Lemurgirl at June 02, 2005 11:36 AM (jY30K)

5 Simon my dear, 6 is nowhere near the record

Posted by: Helen at June 02, 2005 11:37 AM (MmtAs)

6 oh the calvados (it is an apple brandy)... him who stares but scares was from that region and once served some up. Watching your dissertation adviser drunk on Calvados... = Experience! Viva La Bubble Femme!

Posted by: stinkerbell at June 02, 2005 12:00 PM (ZznPv)

7 6 times and you think you're getting old? What, are you kiddin' me? Please. You may be getting cranky, but old. Not a chance. I hope Angus is taking his vitamins. Sounds like a really lovely holiday! Great pics!

Posted by: RP at June 02, 2005 01:22 PM (LlPKh)

8 Wow, sounds like you had a great time. I so would love to go to France someday.

Posted by: justme at June 02, 2005 02:16 PM (dnZNG)

9 Okay, correct me if I'm wrong, but when does your fridge not smell like a gym sock? It's a tasty gym sock, but a gym sock nevertheless.

Posted by: emily at June 02, 2005 03:50 PM (6RZ2o)

10 Helen, in that bathtub picture you are GORGEOUS. It's gotta be the smile— you smile and it just lights you up!

Posted by: B. Durbin at June 02, 2005 04:08 PM (e+pdA)

11 Hey, you look pretty good in a bathtub covered in bubbles... And was it the cheese that made you two so horny? If so, send me some.

Posted by: diamond dave at June 02, 2005 09:51 PM (gkwrQ)

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