{"id":54651,"date":"2025-06-07T08:00:00","date_gmt":"2025-06-07T07:00:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/urbanmole.is\/?p=54651"},"modified":"2025-07-10T15:26:23","modified_gmt":"2025-07-10T14:26:23","slug":"from-currywurst-to-sorry-sauce-by-way-of-normandy-part-3","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/urbanmole.is\/?p=54651","title":{"rendered":"From Currywurst to Sorry Sauce by Way of Normandy (Part 3)"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
\"\"<\/a>
Abbaye aux Hommes<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n

Nothing says \u201cI love you\u201d like not being bitten(*).<\/p>\n\n\n\n

As we make our way along the river Orne, not a single winged proboscis lands on us. Perhaps we\u2019re too under-seasoned for French mosquitos.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We\u2019ve found a quiet stretch by the hippodrome: leafy, lovely, and lairy with dapple-dancing gnats. Runners pass us in various stages of lycra consumption. One catches our attention.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDid you see her?\u201d says The Mathematician, uncraning her neck.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I nod. \u201cAmazing. Great pace, great posture.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cShe must have been 60 at least! Strong.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Someone from the other end of the age spectrum staggers by, trainers straining. We stand aside to let her pass.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat a difference,\u201d The Mathematician murmurs.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAt least she\u2019s running,\u201d I say.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Which is more than can be said of the first guy in the series \u201cSingle Men Who Sit on Benches (Staring).\u201d Early 20s, suited, shiny shoes. He has his hands on his thighs and looks quietly ahead at the flowing river. Peaceful as a sculpture. I try not to stare.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDid you see him?\u201d I say, after we pass.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOf course.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI wonder what he\u2019s thinking.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhy don\u2019t you ask?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I\u2019m not sure if the answer\u2019s flippant or genuine, but I give it some thought.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThink that might be rude,\u201d I say, shaking my head.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou\u2019re not in England yet.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHm, true \u2026\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

As I’m considering, we reach Number Two. Tracksuit, trainers, bluetooth speaker. Banging reggae beats. He\u2019s leant forward, elbows on his knees, cigarette dangling from his mouth. The contrast with One is sublime.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He leans back and lifts a foot to the bench, nods to the music and puffs out smoke. (Just tobacco \u2014 you have to go to Leipzig for the funky, foxy, stink of weed.) I smile. I\u2019m enjoying this. I can\u2019t wait for the next bench.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It\u2019s empty.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAw \u2026\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The Mathematician clocks my gaze.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDo you want to sit down?\u201d she says.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo, no. I\u2019m fine.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I look underneath the bench, just in case. Nothing but weeds.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou\u2019re sure?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cReally, I\u2019m fine. I was just hoping for \u2026 a bit more track. Seems we\u2019re almost at the end.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cShall we walk back the same way? It\u2019s a nice stretch.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHow about going across that little bridge over there?\u201d I say. \u201cI\u2019m sure there\u2019s a road on the other side that\u2019ll lead to the hotel.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

There is. We don\u2019t take it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We notice a little old house on the other bank that\u2019s been sliced like a wedding cake.<\/p><\/blockquote><\/figure>\n\n\n\n

I blame the cake-slice house. As we cross the bridge, we notice a little old house on the other bank that\u2019s been sliced like a wedding cake, assuming the bride and groom were blindingly drunk. A line cuts through it diagonally; the other half seems to have vanished into a field.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat\u2019s weird,\u201d I say.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The Mathematician stops to look. \u201cAre those shoes up there on the window ledge?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYep. And boots.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSo people live here.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSeems so. Or at least their footwear.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The bridge ends where the house begins, and we follow its wall, peering over at the lovely flowers. As we near the road, I notice a path veering off to the right, squished between the wall and an overgrown hedge. It looks ever so inviting.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cShall we, uh, have a little look down here?\u201d I say.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The Mathematician regards the sun, low on the horizon, and smiles. \u201cSure.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It feels naughty, and looks naughty when we find a gate and peer in.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt\u2019s so dark inside,\u201d I say.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBut there\u2019s furniture inside, and curtains. And\u2014 is there a light on in that room?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I lean over to look.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo, I think we can just see through to the other side of the house.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We walk on and The Mathematician pricks an ear. There\u2019s birdsong all around us. I get out my phone and open the ID app.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThere\u2019s six,\u201d I say, surprised. I’d have guessed at most two. I list them off as we carry on down the path.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cEurasian Blackcap, Eurasian Nuthatch\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNuthatch?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNuthatch, Eurasian Jackdaw\u2014 Shall we walk once around this play park?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSounds good.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSong Thrush, European Robin \u2014 look at that couple on the pier. Cute, huh? Common Chiffchaff.” I gaze off westward. “Look. The river carries on around the bend.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWe\u2019re tired, remember? Plus it\u2019s getting dark.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It is, but the path looks sparkly good. The Mathematician takes my hand.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cLet\u2019s explore this way,\u201d she says.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That sounds fun too.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I slide my way to the bathroom.<\/p><\/blockquote><\/figure>\n\n\n\n

We arrive back at our hotel before dark, having followed a narrow road whose pavement played coy and sometimes just outright vanished. Some nice houses, though \u2014 old stone and quaint wooden shutters, fancy ironwork.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We take the lift up to our floor and I slide my way to the bathroom, slip past the kitchenette, and pitch into bed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThey should put up warning signs,\u201d I mumble, as The Mathematician squeaks barefoot across the frictionless surface.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWell, you\u2019re safe now,\u201d she says, pulling up the duvet. \u201cSweet dreams.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou too.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I find a frenchman who doesn\u2019t smile!<\/p><\/blockquote><\/figure>\n\n\n\n

We rise in good time \u2014 we\u2019ve exploring to do. Our ship sails at 16.30, giving us ample hours to act out our fl\u00e2neur\/fl\u00e2neuse fantasies. But first: breakfast.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Two words and an ampersand will see you right in Caen: Keys & co.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Decent coffee and chow im Bauch, we set out down the Orne, up the marina and \u2026 into another caf\u00e9. It\u2019s one we eyed up yesterday but, wanting sleep, walked past: Arbuste. Oh wow. They\u2019ve a roasting machine, great selection of beans, and a chocolate fountain! [Tap. It\u2019s a tap. Still cool though \u2014 Ed.] Two decent coffees in an hour \u2014 heaven. And we\u2019ve a view of the castle from out table! I\u2019m smitten.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cShall we then?\u201d says The Mathematician.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHuh?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cShall we carry on? You still want to look at the Men\u2019s Abbey, don\u2019t you?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I do. The Abbaye aux Hommes is a romanesque wonder and it definitely fits the William the Conqueror theme \u2014 he\u2019s buried there. (Burst there, actually \u2014 he was too big for his tomb and \u201cprodded\u201d.) It\u2019s just \u2026<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWe can come back here on the way to the ferry,\u201d says The Mathematician. \u201cThe bus stop\u2019s nearby.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Sometimes she says the sweetest things.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We make our way down streets lined with boulangeries, p\u00e2tisseries, book shops, bars \u2026 churches of all ages and elevations. The abbey is spectacular, and when we get inside, an organist is airing the pipes. It sounds haunting, and has the tourists whipping out their cameras to take pictures of \u2026 sound. We just stand and listen.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When the spell breaks, we make our way back, pop into Aux Normandises for olive bread, cakes, and crumbly things, then hop into a cr\u00eaperie for a fine goat\u2019s cheese galette. With an Arbuste vegan peanut shake to hand, we tinker with yet another travel app \u2014 this time, for the bus. (Twisto)<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I find a frenchman who doesn\u2019t smile! (Truly, it\u2019s been hard up to now \u2014 don\u2019t believe what others tell you.) We get on our Ouistrehan Express and, following the other passengers\u2019 lead, hold our phones above a terminal meant for travel cards.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cUm \u2026\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The driver sullenly nicks his head towards a nearby QR code. We validate like trannies in a chapel.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I\u2019d forgotten how good French cakes are.<\/p><\/blockquote><\/figure>\n\n\n\n

We reach the port in good time and make our way towards the sound of seagulls. The ship, unmissably large, sits moored and waiting. It\u2019s the Guillaume De Normandie.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We\u2019ve a good hour to spare after checking in, so we find a nice spot outside and have a browse in our baker\u2019s bag.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019d forgotten how good French cakes are,\u201d I mutter round the crumbs. The Mathematician\u2019s too absorbed to answer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A convoy of lorries leaves the port.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIs the ship still unloading?\u201d says The Mathematician, licking stray morsels from her lips.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI doubt it. Think they\u2019re already letting cars on. Maybe they were resupplying?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHm \u2026\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A quiet moment passes and I turn to see if there are any more words on the way. The Mathematician is peering into the bag.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDon\u2019t you want to save some for the boat?\u201d I say.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI suppose.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She rolls the bag shut and stows it. She looks at her phone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNearly time,\u201d she says. \u201cShall we go?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I nod. The sea breeze and sun are invigorating.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou excited?\u201d she says.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI am,\u201d I smile.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It\u2019s time to conquer the island.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2014
(*) YMMV. Masochists, your bite marks are beautiful. Don\u2019t let anyone tell you otherwise.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n\n\n\n

Next week: Just what does a boatload of Brits look like, anyway?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

The Orne, the organ, and the orchestra of birds. And who sliced that house in half? Our journey west continues, with coffee to spare.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":54650,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[213],"tags":[230,228,231,246,227,229],"class_list":{"0":"post-54651","1":"post","2":"type-post","3":"status-publish","4":"format-standard","5":"has-post-thumbnail","7":"category-cf","8":"tag-abbaye-aux-hommes","9":"tag-caen","10":"tag-coffee","11":"tag-gwasaga","12":"tag-travel","13":"tag-william-the-conqueror"},"aioseo_notices":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/urbanmole.is\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/54651","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/urbanmole.is\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/urbanmole.is\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/urbanmole.is\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/3"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/urbanmole.is\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=54651"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/urbanmole.is\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/54651\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":54681,"href":"https:\/\/urbanmole.is\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/54651\/revisions\/54681"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/urbanmole.is\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/54650"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/urbanmole.is\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=54651"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/urbanmole.is\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=54651"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/urbanmole.is\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=54651"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}