When we still lived in the south of England, we visited the area around Rouen two Decembers running. I did not know then, of course, that my grandfather had passed this way seventy-eight years previously...

Unfortunately, we didn't take the camera with us either time (we were so lax in those days...). So (for the first time ever, on any of my blogs) my headline image is from Flickr.

The first trip, in 1995, owed itself to some fortuitous circumstances. We were always keen supporters of our town's European film season, but most of our fellow-citizens weren't, and we sometimes found ourselves alone in the cinema. That's how it was on the night we won the prize draw...

So, against no competition whatsoever, we found we had won a free passage to France. At our disposal was a 36-hour ticket for car and two passengers.

The only snag was that we were informed on 14 December, and the trip had to be taken before the end of the year. But stuff like that doesn't get in our way, and we cooked up a plan to head for France that very weekend. Nigel was elsewhere, but we arranged that we'd meet at Portsmouth on the Saturday, catch the 2.45 pm sailing to Le Havre, stay the night there, and come back on the afternoon boat on Sunday.

The Le Havre area was new to us, but I was already a fan of Arsene Lupin, the gentleman-thief who figures in Maurice Leblanc's outrageously melodramatic but thoroughly enjoyable tales, so I was looking forward to visiting his stamping ground.

Despite the Force 6-8 wind, we had a very pleasant sail. A drink in the bar; a highly acceptable three-course dinner in the restaurant; duty-free shopping -- that was so the way to travel... .

We rounded the evening off with some Calvados in our Le Havre hotel, always the sign that you've reached La France.

Here's an account of Sunday, straight from my diary:

Today was rather grey, but that didn't matter too much for a drive down the quietly spectacular Seine valley. The river is wide and full there; on one side there are numerous quite high chalk cliffs; and there are lots of pretty villages and churches. Among the latter is Jumieges, which also features in an Arsene Lupin story. It's an archetypally pretty French town, with a lovely ruined abbey.

Rouen is a great place for a pre-Christmas stroll. It is beautifully mediaeval -- the Rough Guide says not genuinely so, but who's worrying? -- and abounds with interlacing narrow streets, half-timbered houses, and amazing Gothic buildings. The shops were mostly open, as a Sunday special for Christmas, so although it wasn't crowded, it was pleasantly active, with people scuttling around bearing Christmas trees, bunches of holly, and other seasonal accessories. We strolled round the square that was probably the one where Joan of Arc died. There is an enormous modern church (bold in a way that only the French can carry off, with a massive sweeping roof, and a tower like a bent witch's hat), and it's integrated into a complex that contains bits of old town ruins and a big covered market. An inscription says that while Joan has no sepulchre or tomb, she knows that the true resting-place of heroes is in the hearts of those who remember her...

We strolled on up the streets to the Gros Horloge, which is a really picturesque spot, and deserves its place on all the tourist brochures. We had a look round what I think was the Cathedral -- immense, Gothic, and containing some fine windows -- and returned, via some more arched, turreted, gargoyled buildings, to the car.

It was quite foggy on the route back. There were glimpses of nice villages, soft Norman countryside, and intriguing gates in walls, but mostly it was a blur.

Back on the boat we dined off toasted goat's cheese, a fillet of sole, and tarte au citron. Shopped for whisky, Tia Maria, and advocaat. Plans carried out to perfection...

Brilliant weekend.

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Having enjoyed this brief taste, we went back in 1996 for more. We booked a cabin and a night crossing to Le Havre this time, but the drink in the bar and the excellent duty-free Michel Birion Calvados were the same.

Here's an account straight from my diary:

Friday 20 December

A few hours' bunk sleep, and then they were knocking on the door and announcing breakfast.

Off the boat into a dark world. We headed for Etretat, and stood on the prom just as it was getting light. Extraordinary cliffs (chalk, striped very evenly with flint) soar out of the sea in massive walls, stacks, and arches. The water was an ethereally sheeny grey-blue in that half-light. The seagulls were racketing around. They couldn't compete for beauty with the song of the thrush, which was the first thing we heard as we got out of the car, but seagulls do add charm to a place, I find.

Etretat has some beautiful houses, classic French-style as well as seaside Gothic. It would be a good place to divide one's time.

We tracked down a money machine, a cafe dispensing coffee and croissants, and a Le Monde.

Then we climbed up either side of the bay onto the top of the cliffs. First, the one with the little chapel. The views were excellent, despite the mist swirling over the far headland every now and again. Then down, along the prom, and up the cliff with the arch and the needle. From up there you get views of yet another arch. Of course it brings back memories of Arsene Lupin. The little causeway is there, the rock chamber, the window in one of its walls, the letters in iron in the rock... The sea sucks at the shingle. The seagulls moan.

Up next, Fecamp. The Caux area seems to consist of coast, little tucked-in valleys leading up from the coast, and a sort of plateau. We ate our lunch on the route du phare, looking over the town and the port, next to a little chapel where the "les Terre-Neuvas" (sailors who spent months at a time fishing in the French waters off the coast of Newfoundland) used to place ex-voto offerings and pray for bon vent et bonne mer.

We looked round Fecamp's vast Trinity church, which is very long, very tall, and comparatively narrow. I love these places, perhaps because they're just a bit creepy. Gloomy side-chapels, shadowy confessionals, tombs, plaques recording thanks for answered prayer, the shrine where the "precious blood" is kept... It's all just that touch chilling, redolent of death and mysteries we don't understand. It's not what you would call a lovable church, this one; rather, it's perfect for evoking awe and dread.

Saturday 21 December

Excellent breakfast. Very good coffee. Very good croissants. Plenty of everything. I took my time, and read Le Monde over it.

It was a cold day, a day for scuttling from place to place. But it held many little joys.

We went to Honfleur, which is beautiful. There's a little harbour surrounded by tall, thin, rather Dutch-looking houses, and street after street of attractive buildings.

St Catherine's Church is built all of wood, with a separate belfrey. The space all around the two buildings is taken up with a very active and savourous food market. Inside the church, it is very dark. There is a double vault, and a sort of gallery arrangement, half-timbered. Some windows have bottle-glass; near the door there's a ceiling with those pendant things dropping from each square. It's all somehow homey, despite the large scale. Although there are many wooden statues of saints -- Anne, Joseph, Jeanne d'Arc, and so on -- there's not one of St Catherine herself. Many of the statues were reminiscent of the ones that adorn the prows of boats, which makes sense, as it was the ship-builders who built the church.

Next it was time to warm up with hot chocolate in a rather avant-garde salon de the, with a view of the port and a very effective stove... We had the most expensive and most delicious hot chocolate I've ever had -- 58 francs' worth of excellence, accompanied by broken chocolate pieces with hazelnuts.

Then up the hill to the Cote De Grace. At the top there is a Calvary, set off by large, grey views of the Seine estuary. There is also the chapel of Notre-Dame-de-Grace. Stained glass windows as you enter explain how the original place of pilgrimage tumbled into the sea, and monks built this beautiful, simple, 17th-century building.

I particularly liked the little chapel dedicated to Sainte Anne (Mary's mother) and Notre-Dame-de-Grace. The simple wooden statue depicts Sainte Anne, who holds Mary, who holds Christ. It was here that navigators and explorers came to pray and leave offerings before departing to "discover" (and colonize) Canada. (Samuel de Champlain set sail from Honfleur, and in 1608 founded Quebec, and this little chapel is dedicated to all Canadians of Norman origin.) It's amazing to think of them setting out in those frail boats, with so little assurance of safe return. The sea and distance reduce mankind to humility. I thought that Sainte Anne would be the ideal patron for our projected trip to New Zealand, and we lit two candles to her, one each. I perpetuated my prayer still further by spilling candle wax down the front of my coat...

We took refuge in another cafe by the harbour, which supplied coffee and very pleasant French music.

And then we went for a drive along the Normandy coast, through Trouville and Deauville. There were some fine views and, as the Michelin guide said, lots of glimpses of "handsome properties". This area seems to abound in half-timbered seaside rococo. It's a riot of turrets, gables, eaves, and balconies.

We ate in the hotel restaurant. Good salmon, tarte aux pommes, and a nice white wine.

Sunday 22 December

We went to Rouen, along the river, just as we did a year ago. Cliffs, river, oil-refineries, cold, grey sky, "handsome properties"...

We seemed to discover a bit more of Rouen this time, as we wandered round in the cold, raw air. The market was bustling, and there were plenty of people doing their Christmas shopping.

We looked round the cathedral. It has a good feeling of height and space, and smelled wonderfully of incense.

On the way back, we stopped at Robert the Devil's Castle to admire the view -- mostly grey and industrial-looking in this weather, it has to be said, with little sign of Rouen's dreaming spires.

Mon 23 December

Last breakfast. I've enjoyed the breakfasts very much.

We shopped at a giant Mammouth, stocking up on the things we always bring back from France (wine, cheese, coffee...).

We found a quiet vantage point above Le Havre where we could look down on the port, its breakwaters, and its traffic, before descending into the melee to procure supper, and have our final chocolat chaud. We're over budget, so we can't afford to eat in the boat's restaurant.

It's been really enjoyable again. I like just being in France. For me the highlights were the breakfasts, the churches, the scenery, and the easy obtainability of Le Monde. I'm very easily satisfied.

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Now I know what I know, I would love to go back... LOVE to go back. When all this is over, let's hope we can engineer to go that.