No matter how many times you visit a place there’s always something new to discover. How we’ve managed to miss France’s Côte d’Albâtre for over a decade is a complete mystery.
Veulettes sur Mer offers a sleepy stopover enroute to Saint Valery en Caux. While there’s still a steady stream of local and international motorhomers, it’s clear that busy season is over – the further east we travel, the quieter the villages become. I prefer it that way – if I want bustle I’ll find a city.
Still, there’s a pebble beach walk and great architecture to enjoy, late belle epoque era if I’m not mistaken. The ceramic decorative accents and fretwork are the give away: it’s a pretty period.
The beach is lined with a long row of small white huts, teeny holiday cottages, right on the water.
We’re up close to the cliffs here. They’re layered on closer inspection. Ancient seas forged white chalk from compressed skeletal plates of microscopic algae, layering them with parallel horizontal flint bands, dark seams of hard silica nodules formed from the dissolved remains of silica rich organisms. You don’t want to get too close though, chalk is notoriously unstable and flint nodules are blindly hard. Signs warning of falling rocks are everywhere.
The following day, our slow place leads us through gorgeous greenery to to Saint Valery en Caux.
It’s another delight along this long stretch of the Alabaster Coast. Himself fearlessly navigates through a narrow blind curve to tuck us under a cliff for the day. Chalk cliffs his side, long drop into the harbour my side – you’ll forgive the occasional squeak of terror I emanate. There is no safety rail, not that one would stop 5 tonnes plummeting into the ocean. Over the years he’s truly earned the nickname Fearless. He is, in all matters driving, utterly fearless.
We’re perfectly placed to explore the harbour and village. That’s one thing about motorhome Aires in Europe, they’re always right in the villages. Motorhomers and the revenue streams they bring are very welcome.
I don’t know if it’s the impact of the chalk cliffs but the water here and along most of this coast is an impossible aquamarine.
Himself promptly sets about finding a place to lunch. Of course he does. How his weight rarely fluctuates is an ongoing injustice that demands through investigation.
We settle in a beflowered courtyard restaurant with a tiny menu. The rather fancy sounding Boullette de Boguignon, turns out to be delightfully humble beef meatballs in a boguignon sauce.
I have a calamari and prawn stew in a paprika/tomato/rice base, meltingly tender having been cooked for hours. Home cooking at its best.
We round the meal off with local cheeses accompanyied by crusty bread and pickled courgette, a change from an endless parade of desserts.
Feeling rather relaxed in this pretty setting…
Post lunch we explore a little further. Built in 1540, the mediaeval Maison Henri IV is the oldest house in the village. Henry IV, the only monarch to be crowned both King of England and France, stayed here during his visit to the town in 1593. Incredibly, the house escaped WWII bombings that reduced most of Saint Valery en Caux to rubble. Closed for restoration works, the house usually operates as a museum.
We’ve spotted the occasional vintage vehicle in our travels this year – there’s an event showcasing them somewhere along the coast. These two were rather fabulous but I don’t fancy their chances in the rain.
The cliffs are ever present, of course.
On our way out the following day, Himself encounters a truck coming the other way and has to reverse through most of that narrow, blind curve around the harbour. Much resultant terrified squeaking from Moi. He’s meanwhile unflappable – Fearless.
