It was much like any usual day at office with the irritable Kakkar complaining that I do not work and only he does and Anirban trying to convince me that I might be sent back to Bangalore when he came to know that I wanted to download Calvin & Hobbes pdf out of the net and enjoy it in office hours. So there I was sans work because everything seemed to be working perfectly in the huge labyrinth of systems set up in the place I work. A very rare feat indeed and it gave me a chance to explore the full potentials of the unique lifesaver at times created by Sergey Brin and Larry Page called Google. Now most lazy bums at office would not care to find out the lesser known tourist attractions in Europe and would settle for the much obvious choices. But in a backpacker's heavan like Europe, this kind of an attrocity is a crime. And as I had already been convicted by the irritable Kakkar of shying away from work I headed to google and tried to find out a place on the coast of the English Channel with which I had fallen in love while crossing on a ferry from Calais to Dover, one fine trip that is best kept a secret.
A lot of googling on the site of the french tourism department and google photos with a frequent trip to the thalys website for finding out train links to places on the coast finally brought out Fecamp and Etretat as the natural choices. It was supposed to be beautiful, an awesome place on the coast with the cliffs of white rock rising from the waters of the Channel. Just a three paragraph writeup on the place on the Lonely Planet book for touring France did give me doubts about the place. A few French words thrown into the google translator and navigating through a completely french site got me the bus links to the station from far off Etretat. Google has its own potentials provided you know what to search rightly. So off we were on a Saturday early morning to Fecamp and Etretat. The explorers included me, Anirban and the workaholic Kakkar. The inclusion of Kakkar was the glorious idea of Mr. Anirban as he wanted to gel with his soon to be hommie. By the way did I spell that correctly? The Corail Intercity trains were quite a treat to be travelling on. The pleasant Bonjour from the ticket inspector made me compare her with the grumpy faced TTE on Indian trains. Indian TTEs never seem to smile, as if the code of conduct of TTEs as specified by the Indian Railways does not allow them to smile or wish somebody good day or a thank you. The Corail dropped us at Breaute Bruzeville and from there a small train got us to Fecamp. The coast of Fecamp was a pebble beach with cliffs lining both the edges of the beach. The conditions overcast and the weather windy, thanks to the English Channel had made it chilly and enjoyable all the more. There were people on the beach engrossed in their activity of fishing for nothing because for the half an hour I was nearby, one had not even managed to catch one fish from the channel. There was a lighthouse in the distance jutting out into the sea and high up above the cliffs were windmills whirling about at huge speeds (grand vitesse--could not resist showing off my French knowledge :-D ). After a meal of delightful kababs and posing with a lot of rusting anchors on the road, we set off to visit the Benedictine factory of Fecamp. Acutally more of a palace in nature, it houses the only place in the world where the alcoholic drink Benedictine is made at. The history of Benedictine dates back to the time when a Venetian monk Dom Bernardo created an elixir with 27 plants and spices. The commercial production was started in 1863 by Alexander Le Grande in Fecamp. The exhibition of the palace was magnificient with the tour taking us to the production area with its huge barrels for fermentation of the drink and it finally ended with us getting to savour a taste of Benedictine.
We left Fecamp in a bus headed towards the town of Etretat through lush fields gazing at huge cows having football sized udders on the route. The trip that lasts for 16 kilometers takes about half an hour on the Keolis bus. Etretat welcomes you with its very old structured appearance. There are hotels that have stood for ages and look rustic en route to the coast. On coast the beach still seems rocky but one is welcomed by the pleasant sight of the cliffs jutting out into the sea and look like white elephants with their trunks out in the sea. The weather in France changes much in the same way as Zaheera Sheikh's statements in the famous court case. At one instance it is as cloudy as if it would rain and within half an hour the weather would have changed drastically, with the sun blazing down on you. And much faster than the change of weather, the clothes on the coast change for most French guys. So with the conditions overcast and wind fast, there was no one on the beach who could be seen wearing swimsuits. A moment later with the sun out and blazing literally every one on the beach was wearing nothing else apart from swimsuits. No doubt it was a royal treat to the eyes, but we three looked kind of the most overdressed persons on the beach with our jeans and T-shirts. The trek to the top of the cliff was awesome. The whole town could be seen in the distance, and there was a golf course on the other side of the cliff, lush green in appearance and ever appealing for an 18 hole match. Considering my knowledge of the lovely game, even Tiger Woods would have felt ashamed to see me in any golf course around the world. The scene from the top of the cliff was quite awesome with the English Channel infront of us with its deep blue appearance. The stupid asses that I went with were too tired to trek up the other cliffs and hence we settled for the huge caves on the bottom of the cliffs. Incidentally these caves get completely submerged in a high tide situation. Cursing the worn out sole of my shoe and slipping along the algae mass on the way, we finally made it to the weired looking caves. The trip finally ended with a siesta on the rocky beach. While coming back to the station, the bus had a total of 3 souls for the journey of 20 kms, incidentally we were the only 3 on board. Ever criticising and cribbing Kakkar also was contended with the trip which is a big acheivement in itself. Its easy to please a Paris Hilton than a Dinesh Kakkar as I have realised in the last few months.
The pics are here:
No comments:
Post a Comment