Around this time yesterday I was sitting beside the Seine, outside a restaurant in Caudebec-en-Caux, tucking in to a dish of excellent Moules de Bouchot. Now I am back in rainy Blighty, with work to do, and the dismal prospect of returning to the NigeCorp grind tomorrow... The lunch was a fittingly high note on which to end to a convivial weekend of walking, eating and drinking - and the river was not the Seine of Paris, but the mighty lower Seine, wide and deep, meandering across its vast plain on its way to the sea - a formidable river. It was a few miles downriver from Caudebec, at Villequier, that Victor Hugo's young daughter Leopoldine, just 19 years old and newly married, drowned with her husband in the Seine after their rowing boat capsized. On Friday we walked the chalk cliffs that line one side of this part of the valley, and tough going it was - precarious climbs and descents on dry dusty chalk, seeking out tree roots and protruding stones for foothold, and grasping at low-hanging branches to haul the weary body up or brake it on its way down. We were rewarded, as we gulped in great lungfuls of air, mopped the brow and waited for the heart to quieten down, by magnificent wide views from the clifftops across the river and its vast plain. Later, after lunch (in Grand Andelys), came another, shorter and far easier, climb - to Chateau Gaillard, the spectacular ruin of Richard the Lionheart's castle - though even that ruin was topped later in the weekend by breath-taking Jumieges abbey). Ah France - inexhaustible... But the butterflies Nige, I hear you cry - what of the butterflies? Well, I'm happy to report that there were still some late fliers enjoying the sun when it was shining - among them the unobtrusively lovely Wall butterfly, which I hadn't seen this year, and the Clouded Yellow (that's the one at the head of this post), which I had sighted only once in the UK - from Bryan's car, at a motorway service station, of all places. I don't suppose I'll be seeing many more butterflies this year, and I know I shan't be going away again. This feels like the end of summer - but, as it's now October, that is pretty good going. And this last French trip was pretty much the perfect finale.
Ah oui, inexhaustible France. The chatueax, the moules... shame about the toilettes. Welcome back, Nige, hope you haven't become too frenchified and fopped-up. Get some roast beef and warm beer in you pronto, there's a hard winter coming.
ReplyDeleteSounds SO lovely, Nige. Today I am going to see the movie "Paris," just so I can vicariously visit the city I most love....Plus, Fabrice Lucchini is in it, and he is my favorite FRENCH actor (you already know my favorite Brit, Mr. B.N.).
ReplyDeleteHope you're having a jolly day in Old Blighty!
its one of the most melancholy of things, a lone late butterfly, wings ragged, flitting quietly by to its certain demise.
ReplyDeleteA perfect weekend for the final act of our Indian summer, from what you say. France is so amazing. Where you were is closer even to me than Durham or points north yet so easy to overlook as folks head for Paris or the warm south. I'm with worm on the butterflies; I saw a rather tired Red Admiral on Saturday all on its lonesome.
ReplyDeleteIn the gardens of the Topkapi palace on Saturday I saw about ten large dark-coloured butterflies in an extraordinary whirling spiral. They seemed to be chasing each other quite purposefully in a shaft of sunlight filtering through the plane trees. Lovely and strange to watch.
ReplyDeleteNige, I am starting to feel more than a little indebted to you. I was planning to devote my seniority to studying God's nature, but now I think I just may do something more meaningful and satisfying and search for butterflies instead.
ReplyDeletePeter - you could not be better employed (and there's always winter to devote to other things).
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