Our riding is complete! We cycled a total of 1,238 kilometers with 8,574 meters of climbing over 24 rides from April 30th to May 23rd. You can see the details of each ride by clicking here.
Our friend Ben helped us plan the last route from Asperen to Amersfoort (his childhood home). We had planned to ride through Utrecht on the way to Amersfoort, but Ben said Utrecht has many highways and canals and is congested with bicycles.
He plotted a much more pleasant route for us that included a huge lock complex on the Rhine (it was a challenge for heights-averse Patti so she rewarded herself with the Belgian chocolate she’d purchased last week), forests with very elegant mansions and horse trails, lightly travelled roads on the tops of dikes alongside canals, and a very pretty windmill. Perfect.
The weather alternated between nice (sunny and windy) and nasty (rainy and cold and windy) for our final ride, but not ‘Ireland nasty’. Just a few short-lived cold showers and one quick hail storm while we were on a short ferry ride. (Sorry, no pictures of that, it was all we could do to keep from being blown off the ferry.) A little later, along with a half dozen other folks, we ended up taking refuge under that “very pretty windmill” during one of the rains.
In fact, it rained seven times on that 68 km ride but who’s counting??!!! It was the only “kind of horrible” weather we had during our whole cycling trip; we can’t complain.
We put the trikes into storage (thank you so much, Ben!!!) and gratefully accepted a ride from there – in a beautiful, warm, fully electric VW van (cool) from Landgoed de Salentein– to our hotel in Amersfoort.
Our room wasn’t ready so we warmed up with soup and a grilled cheese sandwich. Can we just take a moment and think about how comforting a hot bowl of soup can be on a cold, wet day?
Our hotel – Hotel Amrath Berghotel Amersfoort – has an interesting history: it has been around since 1880, owned by various families. During WWII, like many other buildings in occupied Europe, it was taken over by the Germans. They used the dining room as a court where they ‘tried’ Dutch resistance fighters and prisoners/interns of the nearby “Camp Amersfoort”, a concentration camp which was famous for its inhumane treatment of its inmates. Residents of Amersfoort talked about watching fearfully from behind the curtains in their homes as prisoners were marched from the train station to the Camp. There is a Canadian element to this story, details are at this link.
Once we were in our room, we purchased the train tickets for tomorrow’s day trip to Amsterdam to visit the RijksMuseum and the Anne Frank Huis.
Travellers’ tip: if you plan to visit either of those two places, you must purchase your tickets well in advance. Patti had bought these tickets in March on excellent advice from one of our other Dutch friends/coaches, Johan. Good thing too: Anne Frank Huis was completely sold out, the next day. There were a lot of disappointed people outside the house.
Comfortable in our dry room and in the knowledge that our bikes were safely stowed until we pick them up in September, we fell asleep! Normandy/Vimy/Belgium/Holland Cycling Trip Spring 2025: done.
(Stay tuned if you want to hear more about sightseeing in Amsterdam, Hamburg and Copenhagen. We fly home on Saturday May 31.)
We had a surprise when we fetched our trikes from the hotel’s basement in Ghent: Patti’s front right tire was flat. Ah well. Twenty minutes of patching and pumping and it was good to go. That was our first puncture since Ireland over two years ago when we had three flats in one rainy day, so we can’t complain.
The 55 kilometre ride to Antwerp was flat and mostly beside the rail line. (Trains!!!) John only used his electric assist battery for about a minute: to get out of the hotel parking garage! We pumped up our tires at the Ghent train station bike kiosk – super convenient – and marvelled at the hundreds of bikes that were locked into the station’s doubledecker rack. The staff attendant there told us to prepare to be amazed at the bike infrastructure in the Netherlands: unimaginable capacity for bike storage, and bike paths that are completely removed from car traffic everywhere. (Spoiler alert: when we got to the Netherlands we were blown away. Toronto’s meagre efforts are dark ages, compared to…)
Today – finally – the warmth and sunshine returned. The RideWithGPS route showed us crossing what we thought was a bridge over the Scheldt River into Antwerp, but – surprise!!! – the crossing was actually a 35m deep tunnel with spacious elevators and long escalators at both ends. Most cyclists propped their bikes safely onto the long escalators for the rides up and down, but our trikes needed the elevators. The 0.5 km long tunnel was easy, but damp and cold! (And free.) (Thank-you, Belgium!)
Upon checking in to our gorgeous hotel we were recommended to visit the newly reopened Royal Museum of Arts. After cleaning up we set out, but unfortunately Patti expertly guided us in the wrong direction to the Royal Academy of Arts. Oh well!!! On the way to the Academy (oops) we admired the Grote Markt, with its City Hall, fountain and Guildhalls.
After, we walked to Antwerp’s famous train station (wait ’til you see the photos!!!) then through the Diamond area (Antwerp is famous for its diamond trade, more about that, below), then wound our way back to the hotel. Later that night we had an exquisite meal at “RAS”, a restaurant that was just steps from where we had ascended after traversing the tunnel. Sweetbreads. Succulent asparagus. Incredible views of Antwerp’s fantastic shore. It was an exquisite (and expensive, chortle chortle chortle) meal.
We remembered a wonderful movie we had seen earlier this Spring, “The Forgotten Battle“, about the securing of the Scheldt River north of Antwerp. In September and October 1944 over 135,000 Allied soldiers, most of them Canadian, faced 90,000 battle-hardened Germans. The Allies had liberated Antwerp and its huge Scheldt River seaport, but the Germans controlled the mouth of the Scheldt. The Allies pushed the Germans back, but at a cost of 13,000 casualties, over half of them Canadians. We urge you to watch the movie.
When we were in Lisbon in the Spring and Fall of 2024 we had learned a lot about their famous 15th century explorer, Vasco da Gama. Little did we know that old Vasco was responsible for starting Antwerp’s huge diamond business. Antwerp was then one of the largest and busiest seaports (it still ranks number 5 in Europe), and Da Gama started bringing diamonds from India to Antwerp. The locals became world experts in cutting, polishing and marketing. Today, an astonishing 84% of the world’s rough diamonds pass through Antwerp, and $16 billion worth of polished diamonds are sold here. The Diamond Quarter is just north of the train station, with 380 workshops, 1500 companies and 3500 brokers, merchants and diamond cutters. (But we weren’t in the mood for shopping so…)
After Antwerp we needed two places to stay on the way to Amersfoort, with roughly 60 km rides between each. That put us into Breda and Asperen. We don’t have much to say about these towns. We were very pleasantly surprised by the large pedestrian-free shopping area in Breda. We wish that Toronto could somehow recreate these vibrant streetscapes that are so common now in Europe. Patti made a point of buying a bar of Belgian chocolate before we left Belgium (which she put to good use a couple of days later), and with no fuss we found ourselves in Holland on a quiet canal-side bike path. (There was a marker on the side of the path, and we had to change our cellular data provider, according to our phones.)
We continued to have good luck with “green doors”, a.k.a. discreet places to have a wee on the side of a bike path or country road, and even, occasionally, a random Johnny-on-the-Spot. I – Patti – mention this because weeing is an integral part of travel, especially if you’re biking or hiking. It’s easier for guys than for women, and I am grateful to my mum for having taught me some critical – essential – skills and attitudes around all of this.
John also continued to have good luck with his new-found “icecream at 4:30” habit in Breda which, as mentioned, was basically just a waypoint for us in our last push to get to Amersfoort where we were going to be storing the bikes.
(This is when I started kicking John in the shins every time he mentioned how little time we had left on the bikes.)
Our hotel in Breda was ridiculously expensive for what was offered so here’s a travellers’ tip: do not stay at Hotel Botanique in Breda. Lots of pretty, and zero substance. (Good breakfast, though…)
If you’re interested, you can read about the heinous crimes committed during WWII by the “Breda Four”. Disgusting. Horrifying.
Our ride to Asperen from Breda was just as flat. I (Patti) sprinkled more of my mum’s ashes in the warm Dutch sunshine on the top of a dike beside a canal. (These dikes and canals are brilliant, b.t.w.).
And our ride the next day – Asperen to Amersfoort – was going to be a doozy, so… early to bed.
We set out early from Ypres in order to be on time for our 2:15 tour slot at Ooidonk Castle, about 65 kms away. The final destination of the day – Ghent – was only 15 kms further. The route that RideWithGPS designed for us wasn’t “as the crow flies”; it took us quite a bit to the south. We soon knew why! For almost 50 kms of the ride we were on an exceptional bike path beside the Schipdonk Canal, built in the mid 1800s to carry goods to the North Sea. Still in use, the bridges over the canal are now being raised (at considerable expense to Belgium, I’m sure) to allow room for barges carrying containers that are stacked three-high.
The bike path had very few coffee-stops (read WCs) and when we finally saw something that looked open we stopped and peered through the window. We were welcomed in by a lovely couple who were just opening their home for their bi-annual art display day. Chantal Bossuwe is the artist, and her paintings and sculptures were inspiring. We were their first guests of the day, and they gave us a good coffee and we chatted for about twenty minutes. They had bought the building, an old flax mill, a few years before and brilliantly renovated it. (Patti here: I really appreciate the Belgian and Dutch approach to design. Clean lines. Functional. Open space. Breatheable.) They had cleaned up and stabilized a large smoke stack that invading WWII Germans had blown the top off of, and a few other remnants of the mill remained, all documented with photographs. The building is next to a canal lock where the mill’s old water wheel used to be. What a charming visit we had with this pair. (But… we were thwarted in our hunt for a WC: our original intent. The coffee was good, but it didn’t help.)
With a very flat and smooth asphalt path we covered the 65 kms with over an hour to spare. The friendly person at the castle gate immediately knew we were the Canadians who had made a reservation weeks ago, and told us we were lucky to have done so because the tours only run on Sundays, and this one had been sold out for a while. She sent us on a 15 minute walk up the road to the local bakery for a snack before the tour. (ALSO, thwarted in our hunt for a WC. We’ll talk about these challenges in a future blog because they are an integral part of – and challenge of – travelling, especially when you are on foot or cycling. Not insurmountable, you just have to be, well, confident….)
The Oindonk castle was built in the 16th century and has been the home of lords and dukes of Belgium. Today, the sixth count t’Kint de Roodenbeke and his family live there. Our elderly and erudite guide took about a dozen of us (mostly Belgian) through the rooms, conducted graciously and sometimes with effort in English as it had been, apparently for her, a few years since she had been required to do that. (!!!) It was cold and damp in the castle, but everything was elegant and in pristine condition. Inlaid-wood furniture, crystal and porcelain, paintings and portraits, beds and sofas – all perfect, and of the time. The castle was a real treat in that respect. As in: so often one tours a castle/mansion, but the original furnishings are long gone, what is in place isn’t original. All of these pieces were original, and in fantastic condition. It was astounding.
After the tour we jumped on our bikes quickly, mainly to warm up with some exercise. The last 15 kms into Ghent were through upper middle class suburbs – well kept homes and properties on narrow twisty roads. A perfect ride. We checked into an enormous hotel room for two nights in downtown Ghent. It was getting late in the day so we cleaned up, dressed warmly, and set out on foot to explore and get some dinner.
We got lost a few times in the twisty streets, confused by the canals, but finally settled on a restaurant that served us traditional local fare. Kaasballetjes (cheeseballs) (sublime) , Vispannetje (meat stew), and Vol-au-vent (chicken stew) with a healthy order of frites and mayo. Perfect meal for warming up on a cool evening and we savoured sitting on the terrace, people watching.
We walked back to the hotel to rest up after a full day of travel. We still hadn’t decided whether to spend the next day in Ghent, or take the half-hour train ride to Bruges.
We opted to spend the day in Ghent. First stop in the morning was the Industrial Museum, housed in an old textile factory. The top floor featured vintage machinery from the graphics arts industry – paper presses, printing presses, typesetters, and a few ‘newer’ computer-based typesetters. John enjoyed seeing the lead typesetting equipment. In the 1980s many of the printing plants he visited still melted the lead type every day for setting newspapers, books and directories. It is thanks to the work that Roy and then John did in the graphic arts industries that we are able to afford to travel today.
The floor below had a fantastic display of textile equipment. We take textiles for granted, but they are used in just about everything, not just fabrics. The technology for processing wool, cotton and flax has advanced dramatically over many centuries, and in the last hundred years plastics have entered the domain.
We still had some time left in the morning and briefly re-considered that trip to Bruges, but the train station for that particular train was a twenty minute walk away and the train ride was agoing to be about 40 minutes, with a twenty minute walk to downtown Bruges at the end of the ride. We decided to stay put and explore more of Ghent. First – to the main square for a famous Belgian waffle, and it was good – with ice cream and chocolate sauce. (Capuccino for Patti, while the church bells rang!) The local waffle seems different to what we’re used to. It’s not just a pancake with geometry. The cake is lighter, and has a good crunch on the outside.
We walked through the two big churches downtown, (St. Bavo’s was spectacular) and then spied the popular tour boats on the main canal. Ghent is full of canals that run through the centre of town, originally built to transport goods in and out of what used to be one of Europe’s busiest early industrial age manufacturing centres. The 14th century Gravensteen castle is on the canal, and many 17th and 18th century industrial and shipping buildings. A couple of hundred years ago a larger canal was dug to accommodate increased shipping needs.
We found a very fun, small (even clandestine) courtyard restaurant – De Kunst – for dinner in the old windy-street Patershol district. The young, 40-year-old or so Dutch owner put on his father’s favourite music for us – Neil Young and Joni Mitchell. The father had taken his young family to Canada thirty years before to find Neil Young’s birthplace. Being only 8 years old at the time, our restaurant owner had fond but faint memories of Ontario. We had one of Patti’s favorite meals of the entire trip so far, it was exquisite: bean stew with pork belly. Rib eye steak for John.
Our next day, Ghent to Antwerp was going to be a fairly easy ride – 55 km – but… little did we know, we would start the day with a flat tire.
Although our ride from Lille to Ypres was a short one – 43 km – it involved a very important stop at the Tyne Cot Cemetery and Visitors’ Centre, at Passchendaele. This was the site of the famous “Third Battle of Ypres”, July to Novemer 1917. It is the largest Commonwealth War Graves Commission cemetery in the world and it seems appropriate, now, to talk about the role of that organization.
“In late 1914 a Red Cross unit led by Fabian Ware began to record the burial places of British Army soldiers. Its work was recognized by the military authorities and became the Directorate of Graves Registration and Enquiries. In May 1917, the Imperial War Graves Commission was founded. The organisation’s first responsibilities were to register the dead, build cemeteries and mark the graves of fallen soldiers, and construct memorials for those with no grave.
Its founding principles were that all should be treated equally regardless of rank or class.
Since 1960, it has been known as the “Commonwealth War Graves Commission”. (“CWGC”.) Today the CWGC is responsible for the commemoration of 1.7M men and women who lost their lives in service with Commonwealth forces during the two world wars. It cares for graves and memorials in 23,000 different places in more than 150 countries.”
As mentioned, “The Tyne Cot Cemetery (Passchendaele) is the largest CWGC in the world. There are almost 12,000 graves, and a memorial wall bears the names of 35,000 more soldiers who have no known grave. (They are also commemorated on the Menin Gate in Ypres. More on that later.) Most of those commemorated at Tyne Cot died during the Third Battle of Ypres, also known as ‘Passchendaele’.”
The cemetery itself was “laid out around five German bunkers that were part of the ‘Flanders Position’ of which two can still be clearly seen.” (See the photo.)
“Their name liveth for evermore.” Rudyard Kipling.
Understandably, we had a quiet ride into Ypres, dumped our gear in the hotel and walked into Ypres’ beautiful town square where we visited the “In Flanders Fields Museum”. It is in a beautiful old “Cloth Hall” building, the exhibits have been thoughtfully curated, and we learned a lot. For example: it was at Ypres on April 22, 1915 that the Germans first used chlorine gas as a weapon and in fact, the gas was referred to as “Yperite”. Although the use of gas had hadly any effect on the course of the war, it was used first and foremost – by both sides – as a means of terrorizing soldiers and “it marked thousands of veterans for the rest of their lives”.
The night before we arrived in Ypres we had read about a nightly occurrence that has happened there 365 days a year, continuously, since July 2, 1928, i.e. 33,601 times: the playing of The Last Post and Reveille at the Menin Gate. (The names of thousands of fallen soldiers who have no known graves are inscribed on the inside of the gate.)
At 7:45 we stood in a huge crowd (mostly men), silently, patiently, waiting. We happened to be within 5 feet of the “marshall” and he made sure everyone was where they should be when the buglers made their way through the crowd. You can see the order of service in the photos, above, and the expected behaviour. (“No applause.”) It was respectful. I think we both gasped out loud when a solo piper was joined by a full pipe band and drums. I don’t know if I will ever be as moved as I was by that ceremony, in Ypres.
After the crowd dispersed, we made our way to a Persian pizzeria (don’t ask, it was delicious), then back to the hotel, to call it a day. Our Passchendale/Ypres experience couldn’t have been more perfect.
*If a soldier’s remains were found after their name had been inscribed onto a CWGC monument, a marker would be placed beside their name – in this case, a small red metal poppy – to indicate to the observer that the soldier’s gravesite could be found in the CWGB’s records.
Our ride from Arras to Lille was basically 53 kilometres of unremarkable roads. We kept meeting up with the gang of British scooter riders (the riders were British) from our hotel in Lille. That group of twenty or so had toured Normandy last year, this year it was Vimy. Some of them bring their wives, some are on their own. They place wreaths with the banner of their ‘scooter club’ to place at the various monuments they visit. We both enjoyed talking to members of this club.
Vimy Ridge is a place, or a thing, or a feeling that all Canadians are aware of, but may not fully appreciate. For three days, April 9 to April 12, 1917, four divisions of the Canadian Army battled three divisions of the German 6th Army. The Canadians succeeded in securing the 7 km long German-held hill just west of the town of Vimy at a cost of 3,598 deaths and 7,004 wounded. The Germans lost over 20,000 men.
Much tunnelling was done by both sides all along the hill to prepare for the offensive. They criss-crossed the area, joining rear areas with front-line and observation trenches, and extended their tunnels under the enemy lines in order to load them with explosives. At 4:30 in the morning of April 9 thousands of Canadian soldiers were crammed into those tunnels, waiting for the word to attack.
Much has been written about the battles at Vimy. Reminders of the First World War are everywhere in this area of France, and one of the most dramatic is the Canadian National Vimy Memorial and its surrounding battlefield park (it’s huge) and beautifully designed visitors centre. It is said to be a defining symbol of our country’s achievement and sacrifice. Visitors can view preserved craters, trenches, and tunnels. Areas of the park are marked and cordoned off as still unsafe – i..e. “RedZone” due to unexploded ordnance and chemicals.
Vimy and the Newfoundland Monuments are the only National Historic Sites of Canada located outside of the country. Both are ‘pilgrimage sites’ for Canadians, with just cause, and both are staffed by students from Canada who have been carefully chosen (only 17 out of the 800 applicants) and trained answer questions and lead tours.
As you ride into Vimy Park the red signs in the cordoned off forest on the left hand side of the road grab your attention. Only later do you put two and two together: this was the battlefield, and yes, there are still unexploded shells and corroding gas shells there. The French government has classified this area as “Red Zone”, as in, beyond salvaging. The trenches, the tunnels, the huge park and ‘war-contaminated forest’, and the majestic monument itself are sobering reminders of devastation and the price paid, by both sides. I was happy to have re-read Jane Urquhart’s The Stone Carvers, before we visited.
There were only a few visitors to the monument when we were there, and the weather was spectacular. Brilliant blue skies. It was hard to imagine the carnage of 1918. A friend of mine (PF) reminded me that “war isn’t about sides, it’s about people losing their lives”. The monument was for us, as it was for him, overwhelming.
We had an easy ride, and arrived in Lille around 3:30. Huge pedestrain malls, which we love. John needed a cable to facilitate downloading video from his Virb camera so we hit the Apple store and our genius had the most amazing fingernails I have ever seen. (See photos.) She was also extremely knowledgeable and I probably should have mentioned that first….Still, those nails!
And that was the day. Next day, Passchendale, and Ypres.
We left Rouen on a bright morning after enjoying a coffee and baguette at a local brasserie. We were looking forward to a relatively easy ride of 45 kms, with a climb from near sea-level to about 200m and only a few ups and downs. It was a warm sunny ride through farmers’ fields and Patti stopped to sprinkle some of her mum’s ashes on the poppies on the side of the road. We also managed to find a France postbox so mailed some postcards. (So old school.) There were some quiet cemeteries to pique our interest, and church bells.
The only pre-ordained point-of-interest on our route was a ruined castle at Blainville-Crevon, built in the 13th Century and destroyed during the revolution in 1798. The present restoration (excavation) was completed in 1967, and it is the site of an annual jazz festival, the Festival Archéo Jazz. While John walked the site, I chatted with a curious local octagenarian. He was anxious to let us know that we were in for a lot of hills and was happy to see that we had batteries. At least, I think that’s what he said. The whole conversation was in French.
Forges-les-Eaux began as a thermal spa town where people came from all over to ‘take the waters’. The thermal activity stopped in the 1990s but there is still a big casino.
We checked into our hotel, ‘Le Continental’, which was basic but was likely more grand in days gone by. In fact, it was used by the British in the First World War as a military hospital, and by the Germans to house their officers during their Second World War occupation. Our trikes were safe and sound and dry in the hotel’s tool shed for the night.
Our twenty minute walk into town was disheartening as the street appeared to be abandoned but turning a corner revealed a busy centre-ville. We were hungry, and the two or three boulangeries didn’t fit the bill. We ended with with a fantastic plate of kebobs from Mister Kebob. Perfect!!!! After that feast we couldn’t imagine having an appetite for dinner so we stopped, instead, to pick up take-out cheese, duck rillette, tomato salad and rice pudding. We visited the Resistance Museum, and marvelled again at the spirit of the French people during the second World War. “L’armee des ombres.”
“This exhibition has not been created with feelings of hate and revenge but rather with the aim of remembering and explaining what was a tragic period in history.
Do not leave here detesting Germany the country that produced honourable citizens such as Goethe, Schiller, Heine, R. Strauss as well as Beehoven, Bach, Schumann…
What we should detest are dictatorial regimes, especially Hitler’s Nazism, because they enslave man and suppress him.”
Mark Perrin. Member of the French Resistance. Deported to Buchenwald Concentration Camp. Identification tattoo #39457KLBO.
We saw some very poignant souvenirs. Children’s clothes made out of parachute fabric. One of the city’s Jewish residents had been deported to a concentration camp; he had had the tattoo of his number surgically removed. It is framed, and preserved in the museum as his cautionary note for the world to never let such a thing ever happen again. Out of respect, the family has asked for no photos. Of course, we acquiesced.
The sky began to look threatening, and as we arrived back at Le Continental the thunder began. There wasn’t much rain, but lots of noise. We blogged, watched some TV, and decided to walk across the street to check out the Grand Casino. The roulette wheel (invented by Frenchman Blaise Pascal, btw. He lived in Rouen 1940 – 1647) beckoned, but with a self-imposed 20 euro ceiling.
But – casinos have changed. Everything is digital. No dealers, nobody tossing dice, no one spinning the wheel. We refuse to place my bet on a digital screen and watch a ball spit out onto a sealed and fully automatic roulette wheel. James Bond must be rolling in his grave. It was depressing to see all the zoned-out people inserting their 10 euro bills into gaudy machines. We left with all monies intact, and called it a night.
After a decent Le Continental breakfast the next morning we embarked toward Amiens. When designing routes on our app, RideWithGPS, we use its internal map source to select the roads. After a few nasty impossible-to-ride experiences over two years ago in Wales, the app has reliably kept us safe and on passable surfaces. BUT – for this 75km ride we slipped up and had Google Maps pick the roads for us. Ouch. We had four or five instances of the app sending us up steep muddy overgrown trails, or turning into fences or uncleared fields. We had to regroup each time and find alternatives. We had to ride on a high-traffic ‘D’ road with many impatient semi-trailer trucks, and on very rough gravel roads causing big worries for flat tires. The last two or three kilometres into Amiens were sort of humourous, plowing through tall grass beside the rail line into town.
Amiens has the largest Gothic cathedral in France, with a big enough volume to contain two of Paris’ Notre-Dames. The ceiling is impossibly high. A favourite feature is the multi-panelled choir screen surrounding the entire choir area. Fantastically coloured carved scenes. I – Patti – especially loved the floor.
Amiens experienced two months of bombardment during the Battle of Amiens in 1918, bombing by the Germans in 1940, a bombing raid on its prison in February 1944, and liberation on August 31, 1944. The city was almost totally destroyed and needed to be rebuilt. The planners basically started fresh. The streets were widened and new construction materials and designs replaced most of the city’s old character. After spending a while admiring the Cathedral (sadly, its organ is being refurbished) (but their labyrinth- 2nd largest in France after Chartres’s – is available for traversing which John did, with some company – see the photo) we didn’t have much energy left in our old bones, so we boarded the kitschy TOUR TRAIN. It took us all around, narrated completely in French. Needless to say we missed a lot of facts, but enjoyed the ride. We appreciated seeing the beautiful Parc Saint-Pierre and the artsy Saint-Leu area, both full of narrow canals branching off the Somme River. The outdoor restaurant seats are full of people drinking and chatting, and no car noise. Blocks and blocks of car-free areas. It felt strangely like Venice! Saint-Leu is beautiful.
France is gearing up for Mothers’ Day at the end of the month so many stores are featuring beautiful examples of their chocolate delicacies. The French take their chocolat seriously.
We enjoyed a good traditional meal of Amiens’ famous Ficelle Picarde at Le Dos D’Âne, and made it back to our reasonably priced and functional B&B Hotel. They are a great chain, b.t.w.
We awoke the next morning to a cold and cloudy day. This was going to be a tough day because we planned to visit the Newfoundland memorial. “The Newfoundland Regiment (remember, this is WWI, well BEFORE Newfoundland’s 1949 Canadian provincehood) participated in the great Somme offensive where, on 1 July 1916. strategic and tactical miscalculations led to a terrible slaughter. Despite its horrific casualties, the Regiment fought until 1918.” For two years the front scarcely moved. This is the memorial park that features an enormous caribou surrounded by plants native to NFLD. “Three bronze tablets bear the name of Newfoundlanders buried elsewhere.” The trenches are right there, as are the shell craters, and No Man’s Land – the battlefield has intentionally been preserved – eerily close to the German front line. There was little to no support for these Newfoundlanders when they returned home.
A note about the staff: 800 young Canadian students or recent graduates (mostly History or Political Science) apply for positions to staff the Newfoundland Memorial or Vimy Ridge Memorial. There are only 17 positions available. The staff chosen are rigorously trained in Canadian history, fully bilingual. It’s an honour for them to take on these 5 month positions. We were both very impressed.
We continued on toward Arras but were shocked by the number of war cemeteries we continued to ride past, in a very short stretch of road. The carnage….
The ride from Amiens was 66.5 km. Arras is most famous for the underground network of tunnels that existed to quarry chalk for construction from the 12th to 16th centuries. The tunnels were abandoned and somewhat forgotten until … during WWI it occurred to the the Allied military (from readings they did in the city archives) that they could be used, with some modifications, to affect a surprise attack on the Germans, just outside the city.
John and I really enjoyed the tour of the section of those tunnels (“boves”) under the huge city square. The city was savagely bombarded during WWI but architect Pierre Paquet “undertook an identical reconstruction and restored the urban landscape”. Since 1945 it has been called the Place des Heros in tribute to the resistance fighters of Arras who were shot during WWII.
Of course Arras has a beautifully restored cathedral. And, of course, its organ is currently being refurbished. Insert gnashing of teeth here.
We walked around the city square, and Patti was VERY excited to see some Andouilettes Arras in a boucherie. Two hours later, we found a restaurant that featured it on their menu. And it was delicious. (I know. It looks revolting. But it is delicious. If you like that sort of thing …).
While walking to the restaurant we heard a very loud collection of horn noises. Turns out it came from about fifty large farm tractors driving through town honking. We assume it was a protest against the difficult economic conditions farmers face. And then, to bed. The next day we would visit Vimy and stay our last night in France.
Our rides to date. 13 trips, 607kms, 5450m of climbing. Halfway through.
The 60km ride from Caen to Honfleur was absolutely beautiful. Patti’s favorite ride so far. We followed the Orne River toward the Channel, crossing the Orne at the famous ‘Pegasus Bridge’. Originally named Pont Bénouville, it was renamed Pegasus in honour of the shoulder emblem of the British 1st Airborne Corps. Just after midnight on D-Day (June 6 1944) 181 men were delivered in silence near the bridge by six gliders. One of the gliders landed within fifty metres of the bridge!!! They completely surprised the defending Germans and secured the bridge in ten minutes. After the war, the original Pegasus bridge was replaced with a slightly larger higher capacity replica, and the original bridge resides behind the adjoining Pegasus Museum.
We spent an hour in the museum looking at the detailed displays, and went outside to walk on the original Pegasus bridge and peer into the sparse interior of a full-size model of a Horsa glider. No creature comforts in these aircraft! It felt like a wooden cigar tube.
Continuing on, we followed the Channel coast through several very picturesque seaside towns packed with weekend beach-goers. Roads were snarly with cars jockeying for the very few parking spaces, but we cyclists snuck through without problems. With the warm day, brilliant sunshine and great beaches one could mistake this area for the Mediterranean. It’s hard to believe we were on the English Channel.
And the houses!!! Three and four storey beauties with ornately carved and painted trim. I’d highly recommend this ride, and this area, to anyone who likes white sand beaches, good restaurants, interesting architecture. It was just so gosh darned pretty.
As we approached Honfleur we could see Le Havre across the bay with its massive seaport, and eventually the Pont du Normandie, a 2 km long suspension bridge spanning the mouth of the Seine River. We climbed a hill, cycling past some huge old manoirs, and then descended into the picturesque harbour area on Honfleur. We had a couple of false starts finding our hotel, but finally settled in with our trikes locked up outside in the hotel parking lot. (Saucy of Mercure Hotels to require us to pay for parking, I think that’s the first hotel that has done that.) We cleaned up, and walked to centre ville to take a few pictures and enjoy a great meal of oysters, moules frites and deep-fried seabass. Falling asleep later, we thought – with a certain element of excitement – about the next morning: crossing the beautiful Pont du Normandie.
UNTIL…
I – Patti – woke up around 3 a.m. concerned about a photo I had seen of a very narrow bicycle lane provision over the 2 km long span, to say nothing of the high winds that we might encounter. (And my crippling vertigo.) A little deep dive on the internet confirmed my worst fears: one YouTube cyclist even went as far as to call the bridge a “deathtrap” (and her video of huge trucks whistling past her on the bridge just a foot away confirmed my worst fears. I mean, even the Normandy tourism site recommends that cyclists don’t use the bridge, despite the existence of a cycling path. And cycling bloggers hate it.)
So… I began to research options. (John slumbered on, in peace. Lucky sod.) The next bridge along the Seine doesn’t allow cyclists at all. There’s a small ferry that runs fairly frequently BUT IT WAS A TWO HOUR CYCLE EVEN FURTHER EAST and then we would have to cycle back, to basically just get to where the bridge would have dumped us in the first place.
Could we brave the Normandy Bridge really early in the morning when there isn’t as much traffic? (And risk killing ourselves or someone else?)
Could we hire a van to carry us and our bikes across?
And John slumbered on.
I was glad when he finally awoke at 7 and I broke the bad news to him: we would have to cancel our visit to Etretat and just arrive in Rouen a day early, thus giving us two nights there.
Not exactly a horrible solution. And that is precisely what we did after confirming with Rouen that we could find accommodations for the early arrival, creating a new GPS route (76 km, a bit of a slog but do-able), and giving up the costs of our night’s accommodations in Etretat. That reservation couldn’t be refunded. Ah well. Better alive…
Luckily we had great weather for the long ride, it only began spitting a very little toward the end of our day. We took a brief holiday from the sun halfway through the day, enjoying a baguette sandwich in the shade of an empty market stand in “Routot”. (God it was good.) There was a very long descent into Rouen which helped with the leg fatigue. It was a treat, actually.
Our day early arrival to the city meant that I could (a) do some laundry, and (b) celebrate Mothers’ Day at “La Couronne”, a restaurant I had read about months ago. (Boeuf avec foie gras pour moi, turbot pour John, followed by a rhubarb tarte.) It’s purported to be the oldest restaurant in France, and it is where Julia Childe discovered her love of French cuisine. The rest is history. We had a gorgeous meal there in a beautiful room. The stairway is lined with photos of French and international celebrities who have eaten there. (See photos.)
Monday morning: the two week anniversary of our arrival in France!!! John visited a hardware store he found online because – shockingly – he was missing a tool in his arsenal. We walked across the river, found the store, and were back in no time. I should mention, our hotel was right on the river, we had a great view of the bridges and of the Viking Riverboat Cruise boats. Viking comes up from Paris (3 days’ cruise), their guests then take buses from Rouen to visit the Normandy Beaches and return in the evening, then 3 days of cruising back to Paris. That would be a nice trip.
To fill the day (because so many things are closed on Mondays) John created a 25 km route for us to explore the northeast end of Rouen. In other words, we had some exercise to wear off the excesses of the previous evening. We saw the viewpoint from which Claude Monet painted the first of his series of 30 very famous paintings of the Rouen cathedral.
When we arrived back into Rouen we bought a new pair of Oakley sunnies for John to replace his 20 year old Adidas frames. He looks tres chic, as you will see in tomorrow’s blog! We ditched the bikes at the hotel, cleaned up and then walked to the cathedral (so TALL) and the site of Joan of Arc’s execution (guilty of heresy in 1431: blasphemies such as wearing men’s clothes, acting upon visions that were demonic, and refusing to submit her words and deeds to the judgment of the church. She was nineteen years old when they burned her at the stake.)
I should mention the timber buildings of Rouen. They are charming. Crooked. Colourful. The streets downtown are very pretty but with grim reminders of the savage street fighting and punishing bombardments that happened in 1944. The walls of the Palais Justice are pockmarked with machine-gun and shrapnel scars and bear a plaque that reminds visitors of what happened during that time.
Which brings us to now: we’ve written this blog sitting at a table in the hotel restaurant, eating octopus and pasta. Tomorrow’s ride is a shorty: 44 km to Forge-les-Eaux. It’s back to the small villages for us!
Our guide Mathieu grew up in a village called Thaon, about halfway between Juno Beach and Caen, and to start the day he showed us his childhood home, his parents’ house, and later in the day, his grandparents’ home. The real reason for showing us his family home was to reveal to us the gratitude that the citizens of this entire area exhibit for the soldiers of Canada.
Canadian flags amd memorials are literally everywhere. Almost every intersection has a flag and several photos of soldiers and street scenes from June and July 1944. The Canadians suffered casualties on the beach, and advanced quickly towards Caen. Unfortunately they encountered fanatical Hitler Youth troops a couple of days later and became mired for six weeks, advancing and retreating, with heavy losses. The entire area was very badly damaged by bombardments and street fighting. Today, buildings that weren’t totally destroyed and subsequently replaced display bullet and shrapnel damage.
The people here have not forgotten, and they enthusiastically display their appreciation.
The dunes at Juno Beach are relatively flat compared to the cliffs at Omaha Beach. Suffering heavy losses, the Canadians silenced the gun batteries within the first two days, and began to advance inland. At the beach entry point at “Canada House”, wonderful photos show proud Canadians escorting lines of German prisoners. Otherwise, the entry point is very low key. There is a monument surrounded by flags of all the participating countries, and plaques on the various German bunkers. Canada House is maintained as a meeting point for visiting dignitaries.
The Canadian Normandy Cemetery demands sombre and subtle respect. The land on which it sits has been gifted by France to Canada*, and two perfect maple trees at the entrance and throughout the cemetery welcome visiting Canadians to help them feel ‘at home’. The graves are in neat rows, with flowers in abundance between the stones, chosen by the families and friends of the soldiers buried there. That is, a rose bush beside on gravestone, then perhaps poppies. It’s random, as are the placements of the neat rows; not as controlled or manicured as the American cemetery. Not better, just a different approach to building these memorials, as pointed about by Mathieu. Additionally, the Canadian and British governments’ approaches to burying their dead was to bury ”companies” together, close to where they had fallen, so soldiers from the came company are buried together. There are a number of Canadian and British cemeteries throughout France, near where soldiers had fallen in battle. The American approach was to bring soldiers from across France to the huge American cemetery; soldiers from the same company aren’t necessarily buried with their fellow soldiers. Again, “not better, just different”. Two entry buildings store the index registers, a monument at the centre pays tribute and a small chapel is available at the far end. The cemetery is at the top of a hill with a panoramic view of the Norman countryside. We both loved the ‘organic’, quietly respectful, very personal feel of this beautiful site. By the way, there are 9 sets of brothers buried in this cemetery. I cannot imagine the grief of their families.**
Caen was finally liberated in early August 1944 by Canadian and British forces.
A bit east of Canada House and back from the shore is Juno Beach Centre, a museum dedicated to the Canadian contributions to the Normany battles. The museum opened in 2003 and is full of history, explanations, stories, artifacts and movies. There is nothing quite like it in the D-Day beaches area.
Mathieu was proud to show us his ‘secret’ church, an 11th century long-abandoned structure in the middle of a forest. A private home shares the valley setting, with a babbling brook meandering through. Cars can get to the house on a private road, but we wandered into the setting on a wooded path. It was a pretty special moment in what was to be a very sombre day, what with the cemeteries, and then the atrocity at Ardenne Abbey.
Mathieu then took us back towards Caen, and we stopped at the Abbey d’Ardenne, the site of the massacre of 20 North Nova Scotia and Sherbrooke soldiers by the German SS. As we were getting out of the car we were greeted with the sounds of a bagpiper, practicing in the parking lot. Despite the fact that he had the Nova Scotian tartan tied to his drone, as John found out he was French and appreciated being able honour Canada in that way, among other places where he goes to practice.
An outdoor memorial at the Abbey decribes the event. Unfortunately this wasn’t the only example of Nazi atrocities against Canadians in Normandy. It’s estimated that one out of every seven Canadians killed in Normandy from June 6th to 11th was not killed in combat but was executed as a POW (strictly against the Geneva Convention). Of course, we have to believe that the Germans were not the only ones defying that convention.
Mathieu took us back to Caen and gave us a quick walking tour of centre-ville. Caen was virtually destroyed and painstakingly rebuilt using photographs and records. The two big cathedrals and the castle were damaged but restored although the bullet and shrapnel marks remain on their walls. (An intentional choice.) Most of the city is fairly new construction, but manages to maintain its old character. Indeed, our second night in Caen was the celebration of the 1,000th birthday of the city. We ventured downtown about 8:30 and could not believe the crowds. We couldn’t get cose to the main square, but according to the news the next morning the parades and shows were fantastic.
We had a little bit of drama as we headed out to dinner. John couldn’t find his wallet. We looked everywhere. The last time John remembered using it was out front of the hotel, gathering together the cash for a tip for Mathieu. The wallet had to be sitting on one of the restaurant tables next door. A panicked dash down to the sidewalk revealed no wallet – but – the owner of the restaurant had noticed it and saved it behind his bar. OMG! Big hugs for him, and we quickly changed our dinner plans and ate at his establishment. To our delight, his food was delicious, and we continued to pour heaps of appreciation on him.
So lucky. Once again.
*This is a big deal, i.e. for France to have given the land for the cemetery to Canada. For example, France “allows” the US to use the land for their huge American cemetery but the people patrolling it are not American soldiers, they are French. It’s an American cemetery but it is on French soil. The Canadian cemetery is on gifted Canadian land. It’s an important distinction. As Mathieu pointed out, at this place the Canadian flag actually flies higher than the French flag. Not so at the American cemetery.
** The gravestones indicate the age of the soldier when he lost his life, his regiment and the date of his death (if known), and also, his ‘faith’. (Christian. Jewish. Or, if not specified or preferred not to say, that space is left blank.) The families were encouraged to add a line at the bottom if they wished. (e.g. “In memory of our beloved son Willie. At rest. Father and Mother.” or … “To live in hearts we leave behind is not to die. Wife and sons George and Max.”) It is always so very sad to read “A soldier of the 1939-1945 War. A Canadian Regiment. Known unto God” on the gravestone of an unknown soldier, but heartening to know that he was buried with his fellow fallen comrades.
Our guide, Mathieu, picked us up at 9:00 for our tour of Omaha Beach, the American landing areas (as opposed to the British and Canadian landing areas which we would see two days later). Mathieu took us first to the La Cambe German War Cemetery, containing the remains of over 21,200 German military personnel. His goal was to prepare us to feel the difference between this sombre site and what we would see later in the day at the Normandy American Cemetery and Memorial.
German casualties were hastily buried in thousands of sites across Normandy where German soldiers fell. Over the years their remains have been collected into six cemeteries, La Cambe being the largest. The sign at the entry reads “The German Cemetery at La Cambe: In the Same Soil of France.”
Until 1947, this was an American cemetery. The remains there were exhumed and shipped to the United States. This cemetery has been German since 1948. It is melancholy: it is a graveyard for soldiers not all of whom had chosen either the cause or the fight for which they died.
It was a truly moving site, with dark, small, flat gravestones flush to the ground, and a mass grave of the unidentified under a central mound and sombre sculpture.
We proceeded to the Pointe du Hoc, a small projection of the Normandy coast into the English Channel with a cliff twenty-five to thirty metres high. The elite Rangers of the US Army trained for months to scale these cliffs to neutralize the German observation post and gun batteries. From this point, the Germans could define targets and calculate and communicate artillery settings to the big guns well removed from the coast. It is sobering to see and feel the huge scale of the beach, the cliffs, the rough water, the wind and the defences, and to try to imagine what the early morning here on June 6, 1944 was like.
Pointe du Hoc is near the middle of Omaha Beach, with a commanding view of the 8km of sand and cliffs. The Americans suffered the worst losses of D-Day, and these losses were at Omaha Beach. ‘The Longest Day’ and ‘Saving Private Ryan’ are good movies to get quickly acquainted with their difficulties and accomplishments.
There are five access points, where cuts in the bluffs and cliffs allowed vehicles through to the beach. The Germans had heavily fortified these locations, with guns pointed parallel to the beach to affect the worst damage. We visited two or three of these points to get a feel for the challenges the Americans faced.
After the beach we visited the Normandy American Cemetery and Memorial, on a beautiful site overlooking Omaha Beach. The architecture and monuments are truly stunning, and the landscape maintenance is absolutely perfect everywhere. It was certainly a contrast to the German cemetery we visited earlier. Being early in the season we had no trouble parking and getting access, but Mathieu said that in the peak of summer it can take at least an hour to creep your car to a parking location.
After the cemetery we went to the Longues-sur-Mer Battery, on a 60m high cliff at the eastern end of Omaha Beach, between the Omaha and Gold Beach, one of the two British landing beaches. Four large concrete bunkers each contain a huge 15cm gun, now rusted, but still in place. One of the bunkers sustained a direct hit from a Royal Navy battleship and was severely damaged, with pieces of the cannon and superstructure scattered around. Bomb craters are everywhere and they are massive/ The wind and cold were fierce during our walk around. Perfect to experience what the hostile weather on June 6 was like!
That finished our guided tour of the Omaha Beach area. The next day we cycled from Bayeux to Caen, with a stop at the British Normandy Memorial for the 80th Anniversary of Victory in Europe (VE) Day at 3:00.
Before leaving Bayeux we spent an hour or so at the Musée d’Art et d’Histoire Baron Gérard, a wonderfully curated collection of local artifacts, art, lace and porcelain.
Slightly less cold than the previous day, our 15km ride to the coast for the VE Day celebration (at the British Normandy Memorial was lovely. We stopped for a coffee and pastry at a cool cafe (‘Le Overlord’ … ?) on the way and the climbed the hill up to the recently opened British Normandy Monument. Luckily Pattti had done some research, reserved our entrance spaces and found out that ‘Standing With Giants‘ – a massively popular installation from 2024 (D-Day celebrations) would be installed again. Fantastic!!! 1,475 life-sized hand-made silhouettes of servicemen (and women) placed with heads bowed overlooking Gold Beach, the western of the two British landing zones. It was tremendously moving to read the incriptions on all of those plaques.
The British Normandy Memorial is beautiful. The names of the dead are inscribed on columns, enjoying a commanding view of the coastline. The VE Day ceremony was well attended under sunny skies, with speakers, singing of a hymn, the Last Post and Reveille. (Patti here: why was the American flag so much larger than the rest of the flags in that ceremony. It seemed inappropriate. But then, maybe I’m just touchy about that sort of thing right now.)
Then, a26km cycle to Caen with a very friendly tail wind. We checked into our small hotel and enjoyed a little Italian restaurant.
N.B. There are a lot of bikers here. We asked a group of three lads from Yorkshire why that was. (1) A lot of bikers are retired military and of course it would make sense that they would be visiting these sites in Normandy. (2) It’s beautiful countryside, great roads for riding. Mostly men, of course. Later in the week we met a British tour guide who organizes groups, his guests were from America, Britain and Uganda. They were visiting the Pegasus Bridge. More on that in a later blog!
Our host Chantal made us another perfect breakfast in Pontaubault and we set off on a very chilly Monday morning. Our headwind was strong out of the North, and the sky looked slightly threatening. On we go.
Lots of hill climbing, and a hand-numbing head wind encouraged us to stop at the halfway point in the old town of Villedieu-les-Poêles-Rouffigny. John purchased a 17mm wrench from one of the only stores open (most stores in France are closed Mondays) and we found a grotty but friendly bikers’ cafe for a noisy and very welcome hot coffee. Long jeans replaced riding shorts in the WC.
Villedieu-les-Poêles-Rouffigny is known for its small courtyards (des cours) that house many local artisans. We rode around town for a few minutes and could see ‘les cours’ down narrow alleys but the cold wind and threatening rain said ‘Move On!’.
The rain held off, and we had a good ride to our destination, a small B&B called ‘La Minotaire’ in Tessy-sur-Vire. Many hills and the low temperature took most of the charge out of our bike batteries. The local church had a small adjoining park with a memorial to the American Army for liberating the town in early August 1944. A photo display showed the devastation incurred during the battle, with the surviving church steeple standing amongst smashed buildings. The Americans had been held up for a few weeks in ‘Hedgerow Hell’ south of Bayeux, but were advancing quickly here. Many of the German soldiers had been diverted from this area to defend Caen which was being frustratingly attacked repeatedly by the Brits and Canucks.
Our host made us a fantastic homecooked meal of tarte fromage, poulet au cidre, and gateau de pomme, and treated us to a nice breakfast in the morning. John bought a jar of herhomemade raspberry jam. We retrieved the trikes out of the very convenient garage and headed out on another really chilly morning.
Halfway through the ride we noticed an odd looking rock pile just inside a small wooded area off to the left of the road. It was a pathway leading through fourteen such rock columns, each about two metres tall and a half-metre diameter. Each column had a small painting of a numbered station of the cross, with a plaque near the ground of a family name who, presumedly, had donated the money for that particular station. Nothing indicated when or why this curious collection existed but it was very pretty…
As we approached Bayeux the farms and houses became more affluent. Finally we could see the multiple spires of the Bayeux Cathedral off in the distance. Bayeux was liberated on June 7, or D-Day+1, by the British from Sword Beach, and, miraculously, avoided the devastation suffered by most towns and villages in the area.
We were too early to check in to our room, so we folded and stored the trikes in the parking lot and stowed our panniers with the front desk. A small cafe warmed us up with a bit of food and coffee, and we set off to view the Bayeux Tapestry, a 70 meters long embroidery illustrating the conquest of England by William, Duke of Normandy in 1066. Nobody knows the exact origin of the tapestry, but it is thought to have been created in Coventry, not long after the battles, possibly by nuns, possibly by monks. Almost 1,000 years old, it is displayed in a long, climate-controlled case. Visitors listen to a perfectly paced play-by-play of the story on an audio player as Harald and William crisscross the English Channel after King Edward’s death, and finally confront each other at the Battle of Hastings. (Hint: William wins, enabling a name change from William-the-Bastard to William-the-Conqueror.) It’s like a huge graphic novel and it tells a fascinating story. The lower border also shows scenes from Aesop’s Fables.
The display will close soon as the entire tapestry is being digitized and 3D modelled, and will reopen in a new building in a year or two.
We then visited the Cathedral, the Normandy War Museum, and the Reporters’ Monument. The latter honours all reporters killed while doing their job reporting the truth since 1944. Names are inscribed on pillars set on a beautiful path through a garden, each pillar dedicated to the years of casualties. It’s shocking – sobering – to see the thousands of names, with, eerily, the count of each year increasing.
“Se vouloir libre, c’est aussi vouloir les autres libres.” (One may only taste freedom when others around us are free.)
Simone de Beavoir.
We found dinner in a Norman/Italian restaurant, and were treated to Norman versions of pizza, and Caesar salad. Lots of meat, cream and cheese. (We liked “La Marsala” so much we went back there the next night!) But… we had a big day lined up for Wednesday and wanted to be well rested. On the agenda were: a 9-5 tour with private guide of Utah Beach; Pointe du hoc (where American National Rangers climbed a 100 foot cliff and captured a German gun battery); Omaha Beach (where 32K Americans landed); and the massive and very beautiful American cemetery and memorial. We were in for an incredible experience.
