Bastille Day in Les Andelys

The weather in Normandy continues to be blistering, so became an effort in pushing Sir Gulliver up the hills. No matter how beautiful the surrounding countryside can be, it does get a bit old at times. When I pulled into the Camping Municipal de Bernay, I felt completely whacked: sweaty, sunburned, dehydrated, and more than a little bit ticked off by the 5+km additional road I'd just struggled over, due to the signs for "le Camping" continuing to point me away from the centre de ville. When I checked in with acceuil (welcome) the woman was totally delighted to meet what I think she said was the first American to camp there. Wel, I can certainly guarantee I was the first middle-aged female solo cycle tourist to show up on her watch. Anyway, she insisted that before I set up camp I spend time talking with about 10 other campers, all French, all talking a mile a minute, and drink a glass of champagne. Well, when you've just ridden 40+km in a broiling Normandy heatwave, of course that's exactly what you want to do, isn't it.

But she was so nice, how could I say no, so I agreed, accepted a glass and tried to remember how to speak French. Well, being exhausted, I couldn't remember the words to just about anything, and I mangled the verb tenses so awfully that one of the other campers helpfully tried to give me a grammar lesson. Well, it was about the only thing I could do was restrain myself from screaming:"listen, mate, I am totally whacked and the last thing I care about right now is the present pluperfect tense." So I smiled, and excused myself to go collapse in the shower.

After Bernay, it was évreux, chosen precisely because I notices a "voie verte" on the tourism map. This means S-H-A-D-E, so that's the route I took. I chose to skip visiting Rouen because there was no voie verte in sight. After Evreux it continued like this, until I ran out of Voies Verte and headed for the Seine, and Les Andelys, actually 2 separate towns: le petit and le grand, which are about 25km from Vernon, and the closest camping to Giverny, where Monet's house is.

This meant 2 days in Andelys, which was fine with me. The camping de l'ile de trois rois is in the loveliest location imaginable: banks of the Seine, at the foot of Chateau Galliard, built by Richard the Lionheart in C12th. Folks, we are talking seriously old here.

On Bastille Day I planned to ride, blessedly free of the full pannier load and zip out n back to Giverny, getting a good dose of Impressionism for the day. Well, I was impressed all right, impressed by a thunderstorm that involved 3 hours of non-stop rain, thunder so loud the birds flew out of the trees, and all happening about 5km out of Vernon, where, soaked and defeated, I rode back to Les Andelys, and spent about 30 mins shivering in the shower trying to warm up. Still, by 6pm, the weather turned blistering hot again, so the Bastille Day dance was held on the banks of the Seine, with the combined population of petit and grand all salsa-ing, or doing the tango, or, in one case happily doing some local version of Texas line dancing, all the while while the band played dance tunes that echoed off the walls of Richard's fortress. The other activity of the townsfolk is to set off all the firecrackers you have purchased within about, hmm 5 metres of the stage. Everyone was letting off firecrackers, dads showing their toddler sons how to light a stick of dynamite just so, groups of teenagers setting off firecrackers under the nearby bridge, to maximize the effect. The best moment was when Madame le Maire was doing the formal fireworks countdown, and we were about to witness 15 mins of feu d'artifice set off from the castle overhead. As Madame spoke, a wayward rocket, from one of her consituents, scored a direct hit on the stage. Oh-la-la! No worries, nobody hurt, not a gendarme in sight.

Sure is different here.