Lest We Forget - A Postcard From France

Summer, 2022

We are avid collectors of antique postcards. A picture on one side, to someone and from someone and a date on the other. And a short message, somebody’s story, what they saw, what they felt, usually not a lot of words. Antique markets are rich with these little cards and their stories, and these markets are the germ of this story.

This story begins a year earlier, in Amiens, in northern France. At its heart is the centuries-old rederie, an annual antique and flea market stretching along several kilometres of sidewalk in the core of this ancient city. Last year, despite relentless rain, hundreds of vendors were set up in the city centre, their wares spread out under tents dripping water on all who came by. The entire range of modern history was on display -- Napoleon III ornate silver and porcelain, Art Nouveau glass, Italian retro, and many other items of unknown provenance, ranging from high-end antique to garage sale ordinary. Rain notwithstanding, we drove an hour from Saint-Valéry for the sale. Umbrellas in hand, dodging puddles, our determination and that of the sellers was stronger than the chill of the inescapable humidity. We managed to visit most of the stalls and came away with a fine selection of treasures to bring home.

A year later, we weigh the probability of rain twice in a row and decide to test the odds.

To be near to the sale, we reserve a hotel room near the cathedral and the pedestrian zone of Amiens in June, months before the October sale. This is the anchor for our planning. Our travel calendar begins to get populated, the town-wide Sunday antique sale in Tongeren, Belgium, the annual brocante in Trouville-sur-Mer, and destinations in between. We set dates, obtain airline tickets, reserve a car, and finalize an itinerary with six hotel and apartment reservations.

All that remains is to pack and this is done at the last minute once we see the three-week weather forecast.

Thursday, September 22

We arrive at Charles de Gaulle airport and pick up our car, a Dacia Duster, a French-Romanian SUV, compact for North America but large by any French standard.

We are unfamiliar with the GPS in this vehicle, but manage to program the Hotel Mercure in Beauvais, a short drive north of Paris. We are guided to a destination in a farmer’s field somewhere in the countryside. We realize our programming error and try again, getting it right this time. There had been no sound, but we find out how to switch on the voice – it is a woman’s voice in heavily-accented British English. We call her Camilla. Camilla will become our constant companion and directs us to our hotel in short order. As is our practice, we choose an overnight stop a short distance away, this time Beauvais, to help us adjust our jet-lagged body clocks before the long drive ahead.

We hear there is labour unrest in the fuel transport sector and some drivers have begun to stage strikes. This is the same sector that was on strike on a previous trip to the north of France thirteen years ago, but so far it does not appear to have affected service station supplies. We need to keep our eyes on this.

Beauvais is known for its 13^th century cathedral, intended to be the largest in France. It was never completed, victim of construction failures, and only the transept and choir were built. It was once the tallest construction in the world, and we seem to be craning our heads upwards a lot to appreciate the ornate Gothic facade that dominates the small city. Inside, a twelve-metre tall nineteenth-century astronomical clock impresses with its 52 golden dials. Curiously, a smaller tenth-century cathedral is attached outside, standing where the nave should have been built. We cap a stroll through the compact downtown with non-descript lunch in a brasserie.

Friday, September 23

We leave Beauvais right after breakfast for the drive into Belgium. Although we have only 300 km to cover, our itinerary includes several potential antique stops along the way so we expect to take most of the day for the drive. The first stop is La Maison des Brocanteurs in Péronne, about an hour and a half drive from Beauvais. This multi-dealer antique mall is a type of shop familiar to us in North America, something we have rarely seen in France. La Maison is a pet project of Julien Cohen, a television celebrity among antique lovers in France, who has established three of these multi-dealer shops in rural towns around the country.

Péronne’s downtown is neat and modern-looking with several monuments and museums recalling its history as one of the most devastated towns in France, having suffered destruction by the Normans, the Spanish, and then the Germans in the Franco-German war and then two successive World Wars. It is quiet in mid-day so we head over to the brasserie “Aux Gars du Nord” for lunch. They offer local specialties such as pork in sauce Maroilles and potjevleesch (akin to terrine or head cheese) on the menu. However, we are still not feeling too adventurous, and a few euros buys us a delicious steak-frites and glass of wine.

It is already early afternoon, so we head directly onto to the Autoroute, bypassing the metropolitan area of Lille, and soon enter Belgium. In the Schengen region, only a flag and small sign indicates we have crossed a national border. A sign “Bienvenue en Wallonie” introduces us to the southern region of Belgium. However, several kilometres down the road we see “De province de Oost Vlaanderen heet u welkom” (the province of West Flanders welcomes you). It turns out the road straddles the border of these two regions of Belgium and we cross over back and forth several times before getting to our destination. Signs in Flanders are all in Dutch and in Wallonia in French. Soon enough, we make the association that signs (in Wallonia) pointing to Anvers will lead to the same destination as those pointing to Antwerpen (in Flanders). Similarly, Luik is Liège, Gand is Gent (Ghent in English). We are headed to Leuven (Louvain) so there is little chance for confusion. And, of course, Camilla is there to tell us where to go …

We arrive at Hotel The Shepherd, tucked into a corner just outside the pedestrian heart of Leuven. We take a lazy late afternoon stroll through the historic centre of the city. Now, Leuven has one of the oldest and most renowned research universities in Europe, and the street traffic is overwhelmingly university-age young people. It becomes apparent very quickly that the pedestrian zone is really a car-free zone since bicycles are permitted, and pedestrians need to be vigilant for cyclists weaving around them at full speed. But we adapt to the rhythm of the city, admiring the Flemish architecture and wide array of restaurants and terrace bars. At some point, we settle in for drinks and then dinner at a restaurant on the Grote Markt, where the outdoor terrace offers some of Leuven’s best people-watching opportunities. A block away, across the square, wedding parties gather around the ornate Gothic fifteenth century Town Hall, phones in hand for photos, each awaiting their turn for the €25 civil ceremony. Another night we feast on momos, Nepalese stuffed dumplings, a popular option among the many coffee shops and casual eateries in the student quarter.

A weekly town antique sale is held in nearby Tongeren. Vendors set up on the downtown streets on Sunday morning and the many antique shops open their doors for half the day. It is a chilly few degrees above freezing when we arrive in the early morning. We are soon warmed by the rising sun as we wander among the sellers’ tables and shops. In one shop, the owner greets us “welcome young couple” (first in Dutch and then in English once he realized we did not understand). Barry asks him who he is calling young. He replies he lived through a World War. Point well taken – lest we forget. Dutch, English, and many other languages are heard here as this sale is a very popular tourist event. However, the payment kiosk at the indoor parking lot operates in Dutch only, and Barry struggles for a moment with a message in Dutch that turns out to be “payment successful, remove card”.

Overall, many people speak English and some older people seem comfortable in French as well. We are a bit surprised that French is not more commonly used given Belgium’s multi-lingual status, in menus, for example, where Dutch and English are commonly seen together. This echoes the separation of languages we saw on the Autoroute coming in. We are familiar with this in Quebec. However, as in Quebec, bilingualism is common socially, especially among the young.

Monday, September 26.

We leave Leuven in the driving rain, through the morning rush hour around Brussels, headed to the North Sea and Oostende. We are looking for the large verkoopzaal (brocante), which, it turns out, exists only on Google maps. No problem, Amiens awaits. (It turns out that Google maps is not 100% reliable when it comes to searching for businesses. The drives are usually interesting, nevertheless.)

We continue along the coast and then head inland back to France for a leisurely drive off the autoroutes. We are headed to Arras, following the old routes départementales, centuries-old routes through villages and farmland. Along the way, every few kilometres, we pass a cemetery honoring British, Canadians, Americans, Australians, Moroccans, and so many others who perished during the Great War of 1914-1918. This route follows the Western Front. All is quiet today, but it is impossible to forget the horrors of the battles that were waged here. We recall having seen Second World War beaches and monuments on the Normandy coast on another trip, but we are unprepared for the reminders of the wholesale destruction that was showered on northeastern France over a century ago and the tragic loss reflected in today’s memorials and other lingering signs. We learn later that the Commonwealth War Graves Commission maintains over 20 memorials and 3000 of these cemeteries in France.

We arrive at our apartment in centre Arras on a street a few steps from the Place des Héros, one of the main squares of the historic centre. The Place is lined on three sides with Flemish-style Baroque townhouses with their attached rows of ornate gabled roofs and on the fourth by the Town Hall and its UNESCO-designated World Heritage Site belfry. We learn later that these houses were destroyed, as was three-quarters of the city, during World War I. The early builders of Arras had deposited detailed plans of their buildings allowing the citizens to rebuild the square accurately as it was before the war. The city has fine restaurants and museums and is well-located to allow day trips to many important sites.

We dine one night at La Passe Pierre, on Place des Héros. As usual, the staff are welcoming to their Canadian cousins and interested in hearing our stories. With a menu offering a wide array of fish and seafood specialties, we get to try the potjevleesch au fruits de mer (delicious). Before ordering, we mention that we have never tasted maroilles, the pungent cow’s-milk Picard cheese manufactured in the region since the 10^th century. The waiter returns with a small appetizer plate with some pieces of maroilles, some baguette, and two maroilles sauces to taste. Despite the rich smell, they are delicious.

A short drive from Arras takes us to Béthune, a charming city with an attractive central square lined with restaurants and a centuries-old belfry, also UNESCO-designated. The square is lined by a variety of mostly Flemish Revival buildings, boasting a curious mix of Baroque and Art Deco design under ornate Flemish gabled roofs. The largest building has inscribed on the façade:

HOTEL DE VILLE BETHUNE

DETRUIT EN L’AN 1918

RECONSTRUIT EN 1928

It is in our face. Signs of the destruction in WWI and WWII and the reconstruction of northern France is everywhere you turn in this part of the country. We return to Arras and the TV news announces Russia’s latest bombardments of Ukraine. Our tourism has brought out sadness and anger. We ask, why? We ask, when and where will this end? We have faith that those who treasure their culture and their heritage and are witness to its wanton destruction will thrive. But, still, why?

The Canadian National Vimy Memorial is 11 kilometres from Arras. It commemorates the Canadian Army’s victory against the Germans at the Vimy Ridge escarpment in 1917. Two stark limestone columns, representing France and Canada, rise 27 metres above the names of 11,000 soldiers inscribed in stone, Canadian soldiers whose bodies were never recovered. Fifty-five thousand Canadians are buried in French cemeteries, 66,000 Canadian boys never came home. We cannot walk on the surrounding field – it still contains landmines. Sheep graze there to keep the grass trimmed. Sadness. Anger. Pride. So many emotions. In one place, at one time.

Arras, Cambrai, Béthune, Lens, Albert, Amiens, and so many other cities and towns in the Hauts-de-France, all suffered ruination in two World Wars and rebuilt to their previous greatness. We share the pride in their heritage, the need to know what happened and to live with the reminders, and the will to rebuild, and the hope for Ukraine, understanding, sadly, that hope is just often not enough.

Friday, September 30.

Fresh with anticipation of the rederie, we take a leisurely drive to Amiens, a mere 65 kilometres away, offering us the opportunity to stop at a few antique stores along the way. We are watching the weather forecast – there is a possibility of rain this weekend. No worry -- this year we are staying in a local hotel where we can return to warm up and dry up if need be.

The city centre is mostly modern, rebuilt after the massive damage suffered during the two world wars. However, Amiens’ thirteenth century Gothic Cathedral, the largest in France, still stands. The stained glass was removed for its protection during World War I. The Cathedral suffered little damage and was spared by the Germans during the Second World War to provide them a high observation point. Just a few blocks away from the centre is the St-Leu district, a picturesque area of old half-timbered houses with cafés, restaurants and galleries bordering the Somme River, which bisects the city.

Continuing upstream along the river a few more blocks, we reach the beginning of the hortillonages, an area of water gardens cut in the 12^th century from a marshy section of the River Somme. Market gardeners (hortillons) grew leeks, cabbages and carrots which they distributed at local markets by boat. Originally 10,000 hectares of little islands with dark and rich soil, most gave way to city growth, and only 300 hectares remain. Today, very few market gardeners are left here and the properties have turned over to private gardens and residences. We take a boat ride along the canals and the boatman relates the history of this unique garden area. It is a delightfully interesting story in a serene setting in the middle of the bustling city.

On Saturday, city workers have put up barriers to keep car traffic out of the centre. Rain is now a certainty, but we have umbrellas and rainwear. We retire early. The sounds of vendors arriving and setting up their tables awakens us at 4 AM Sunday. We decide to go for a walk. It is barely drizzling, and there are already other early-bird shoppers on the streets, flashlights or mobile phone lights in hand. We head back to the hotel for breakfast and then return to the growing bustle on the streets. The rain is intermittent and light, or sometimes just a drizzle; it is comfortable to walk the streets of the sale area.

One of the joys of French markets is the ability to engage one-on-one with so many locals. In the antique markets, every object has a story, and the vendors are eager to share their stories, perhaps in hope that context will add value to the item. Many are interested in Canadian life as well, and we have our own stories to share. We meet vendors whom we recognize from last year or who remember us. There is no rush, but, post-pandemic, there are more words than we seem to have time for. A concern among the average French person is the rise in price of baguettes, from 1€ to 1.50€. We try to reassure them that this is still a good deal, a Montreal baguette costs more than 2.50€ and has shrunk in length about 25% this year. We wish each other a good day and move on.

We spot Julien Cohen (from La Maison des Brocanteurs) among the crowd and introduce ourselves. We chat for several minutes, and then, as we part, he says goodbye, repeating both our full names. We are impressed that he remembered our names; surely, we are not the only ones who stop him wherever he goes.

As afternoon draws on, we have covered the entire sale area and the long day of walking starts to catch up with us. We have been immersed in many eras of European history and style through a multitude of objects. We have a few to take home to please us and our collector friends. The day was a success.

The trip has been a bit of a whirlwind. It is time to slow down the pace …

Monday, October 3.

… but first, a brief drive brings us into Normandy and historic Rouen, where we stay for three days. Rouen is best known, perhaps, as where Joan of Arc was burned at the stake or by the cathedral made famous in Claude Monet’s paintings. Besides its many other historic monuments, Rouen has been designated a UNESCO Creative city in the gastronomy category, the only French city to earn this honour. There is plenty to explore.

The Cathedral was built and rebuilt many times since its original incarnation at the end of the 4^th century A.D. The most recent restoration to its Renaissance glory took a half century following its near destruction in the second World War. In 1939, the stained glass was removed and many sculptures protected in anticipation of the war. A photo display in the Cathedral describes the tragic destruction and the painstaking restoration work undertaken. In the streets around the Cathedral, the destruction was extensive. Most buildings show scars of munitions damage to the first floor while the upper floors are built of smooth, newer stone showing restoration work. Fortunately, much of old Rouen escaped destruction and medieval half-timber townhouses still stand proudly throughout the city centre.

One exception is the Church of Saint Joan of Arc, built in 1979 in the old market square where she was executed. The modernistic design was controversial at the time for its departure from the historic architecture of its surroundings. Nevertheless, its sensitive use of materials and large-scale incorporation of 16^th century stained glass invoke awe for the martyred Joan, consumed by the flames burning, reflected in the roof line, reaching up in a sweeping curve into the old market square.

Our hotel is at the fringe of the Saint-Maclou district, vibrantly alive with restaurants and galleries in half-timbered houses on the narrow, old streets. It is difficult to choose a restaurant – so many offer menus that are attractive. We dine at Rotomagus, La Petite Auberge, L’Ardoise, Le Terre-Nuevas, all fine, and good value. Our favourite, behind the Eglise Saint-Macloi, is the Café Hamlet, one of Chef Gilles Tournadre’s restaurants. Tournadre returned his two Michelin stars after 36 years claiming he wanted to focus just on his art. Today, he operates upscale Restaurant Gill, the more casual Café Hamlet, a patisserie and a boulangerie. Café Hamlet offers affordable, fine French cuisine with innovative flavour combinations, hidden beside the medieval Saint-Maclou Atrium.

Thursday, October 6.

Trouville-sur-Mer is an old English Channel fishing village whose long, sandy beach led it to become a popular resort in the 19th century. Across the Toques River from Deauville, the more prestigious playground of the wealthy, Trouville is well endowed with restaurants, hotels, and a casino and was a popular destination for Impressionist painters and writers of that era. We have reserved an apartment in the old Trouville Palace, one of the beachside Belle Epoque hotels and the first to have an elevator and toilets in every room. Today, the Trouville Palace is a condominium building, and we have a fifth-floor apartment with large windows in the living room and the bedroom overlooking the beach and the Channel.

We are a mere 10 kilometres from Le Havre, France’s largest container port. A line of ships is constantly on the move, to and from Le Havre, Dunkirk, and other European ports, parading across our view. At night, these ships are lit up and provide a continuous, captivating light show. But the main show is the tide. The land is very flat at the shore, and the waters uncover a wide expanse of beach when the tide is going out, recovering it when coming in. Watching the water’s edge slow advance or retreat from our fifth floor window is mesmerizing, as if it is resynchronizing our body rhythm. At midpoint of the incoming tide, waves form on a small section of the beach in front of our apartment. The beach is usually quiet on these cool autumn days, but surfers in wetsuits appear from all corners to catch the waves, a phenomenon that lasts about 20 minutes every morning. Then the surfers disappear, and the beach is quiet again until afternoon, when the sun warms the air enough for sunbathing.

Trouville is highly walkable, with many shops and restaurants in a small tangle of streets behind the river and the Channel, all just a short distance from our apartment. The town still supports a small fishing industry. The Marché aux Poissons is situated on the docks, and six families offer fish and seafood in the market fresh from their boats. Signs abound “les Saint-Jacques sont arrivés” (scallops time). Restaurant menus reflect what is freshly available. In addition, each vendor in the fish market has tables and chairs set up for customer dining. They have grills and boilers to prepare the fish there and sell wine and butter as well. Customers have to bring their own bread -- the fishmongers are not equipped to keep bread, but there is a fine bakery across the street. One day we treat ourselves to a feast of grilled scallops with their roe, razor clams, whelks, carpaccio of dorade, and a bottle of French Chardonnay. The owner was pleased to have Canadian customers and offers us a glass of Pommeau (half apple juice, half Calvados) to cap off our meal. This is all before 1PM; it is good that the apartment is a short walk away.

Trouville is located in Calvados, a department of the Pays d’Auge, a farming area of Normandy renowned for apple and dairy production. We head into the countryside one morning and turn off outside the village of Cambremer onto a twisting one-lane road through hills and forest for the 5 kilometer drive to the Manoir de Grandouet, an old cidrerie and Calvados producer. The owner greets us – we are the only visitors at this time – and provides a tour of the premises and the equipment, some of which dates to the 15^th century and not used any longer. We learn that the apples used for cider making, many of them bruised during the handling, are not the same as apples for eating (which appear in supermarkets from Spain). The owner proudly shows the equipment and explains the steps of turning the apples into cider and then distilling the cider into Calvados, the famous apple brandy. And, of course, a tasting, including their own Pommeau. The Pays d'Auge has been granted “appellation contrôlée” status for its cider and calvados.

We continue to Livarot, where we visit a large cheese factory. Depending on the village where the milk is purchased and the variety of grasses that the cattle graze on there, they make Neuchâtel, Camembert, Livarot and Pont-l'Évêque, the four classic Normandy cheeses. We purchase some Livarot and Pont-l'Évêque. Back home, a baguette and some wine complete the light supper. The cheeses are delicious. We wrap what is left tightly in plastic wrap, but that does not prevent a foul, pungent smell filling the kitchen when opening the refrigerator door the next morning.

Another day, we return to Honfleur, where we stayed overnight in 2010, across the Seine estuary from Le Havre. Honfleur was Samuel de Champlain’s departure point for Canada and became a large port for the cod fishing expeditions off Newfoundland. The pretty inner harbour area, le Vieux Bassin, is lined with old townhouses and was a popular subject for impressionist painters. Today, it is teeming with tourists, presumably many from the cruise ships stopping at nearby Le Havre. Ground-floor restaurants and shops line the Vieux Bassin; they are busy, but there is still room for two more for a tasty lunch of crepes bretonnes and cider.

Trouville is hosting its first annual brocante on Sunday, on the dock behind the casino. We head out bright and early to the sale, a mere 300 metres from our apartment. It is cold in the morning before the sun has risen above the buildings, and we return to the apartment for an extra layer of clothing. Over 100 vendors have set up a wide variety of merchandise of every era and quality, yet another opportunity to experience the legacy of Norman lifestyle. We run into Djamel Bentenah, another celebrity antique dealer from the TV show “Affaire Conclue”, browsing at one of the stalls. He seems truly pleased that the show has reached Canadian viewers and is interested in our experience at the sale. The rising sun warms up the air to a comfortable level and the dock area is now teeming with buyers. A success all around, this will certainly be repeated annually.

Thursday, October 13.

Three weeks after we arrive in France, the fuel delivery strike is not resolved. It is worst at TotalEnergies, whose Total service stations are closing up, one by one, on a daily basis. There is still supply at other outlets – the Leclerc Hypermarché seem to have shortest wait time - and we are able at any point to keep our tank sufficiently filled to return to the Paris airport.

It is just before daylight, but we know the tide is starting to come in on Trouville beach. After a week, we feel it. The traffic to Paris is light. There are occasional slowdowns on the Autoroute as cars line up for fuel in service areas and back up into traffic lanes. Yet somehow, outside suburban Paris, we find a station where the wait is one car deep, and we top up one more time. We arrive at the airport rental car return and there is no lineup. We have plenty of time. No problem, as it should be, because our thoughts are full of the sadness of war, the pride in the courageous, the anger at destruction, and the joy in human resilience, the rebuilding. The rhythms of the tide. The flavours. We feel it all. That is the story.

It is high tide, the surfers have come and gone, it is time to board the plane.