Christmas in Lille

By Elizabeth Johnstone

I had only ever seen Lille out of the Eurostar window en route to Brussels but, in December 2017, we had a great overnight break at this unfairly neglected destination. My train into London runs into Kings Cross Station from where it is a few steps across the road to St Pancras International. The Eurostar train left on time at 10.58 and, less than an hour and a half later, we arrived at our destination.

Lille is the fourth largest urban conglomeration in France, with an ultra- modern Metro system. It operates the “Crit-air” scheme where your car requires a “clean air” sticker. Its charm for the visitor, however, lies in the historic old town. From the Lille Europe Station and the Euralille commercial centre opposite, it is only about 10 minutes walk to “Vieux Lille”. We stayed at the Ibis Styles Lille Grand Place, booking direct with Eurostar for rail tickets and then with Booking.com for accommodation (not forgetting to go in through Topcashback.com!)

The hotel was clean, cosy and convenient for the sights. Our plan was to meet up with a Belgian Mensan friend for whom Lille in France was nearer than Brussels in Belgium. We had a pleasant stroll round, as I took photos of shop displays and building façades. One negative was the number of homeless people and beggars, often with suspiciously drowsy small children lying with them. After a cup of tea, we parted ways and my husband and I braved the Christmas Market. It is enormous, with 80-odd stalls. I’d read mixed reviews online, but I found it cheerful and seasonal.

 We regrouped at the hotel then set out for pre-prandial refreshment and a bite to eat. The plan was to head for the rue de Gand which is effectively the restaurant street. Unfortunately, everyone else in Lille had the same idea. We fought our way into a lively local bar Au Gand'Brinus where the barman gave me advice about speciality brews. Note: do not talk about Belgian beers in Flanders. We then over-optimistically set off down the street for dinner, only to be told “désolé” time and again.

Eventually, our noses pressed against the windowpanes of the Estaminet de Gand, we saw two girls preparing to leave and we pounced. It was a typically small and crowded restaurant featuring local cuisine. My husband had the hearty beef casserole carbonnades flamandes and I had a “welsh” which is a variation of a Welsh rarebit made with industrial quantities of pungent local cheese. A chicory-flavoured crème brûlée rounded off my sweet-toothed husband’s meal. Perfectly pleasant, but next time I would definitely book a restaurant of my choice.

As we walked back to the hotel, it started to rain.  By the next morning,  rain had turned to snow, and it was not too pleasant walking to the station. We intended to spend time in the Euralille shopping centre before crossing the plaza to the Gare Lille Europe.

The jovial security guard at Carrefour was used to travellers like us walking round with half-empty suitcases and “locked” ours shut with a plastic tag which the checkout lady had to open with scissors. French hypermarkets are not normally open on Sundays, except for the month of December, something to bear in mind if your city break involves food shopping. And it must, if you go to France!

The Eurostar was 10 minutes late, but the real problems arose back in London where numerous trains in and out of Kings Cross were cancelled or delayed because of the heavy snow. We got off lightly compared to air travellers and motorists. As a matter of principle, I made a small “delay repay” claim. I hope all readers do so, too! 

Lille was a great destination. I look forward to my Flemish beer on a summer evening in the old town before heading off to my (reserved!) table in the rue de Gand.

First published in VISA 137 (February 2018)

Paris in the Wet

by Rachel Kruft Welton

In a fit of madness, we booked a trip to Paris. Whilst the destination in itself is not so unusual, we felt it to be a challenge as we were taking our 15 month old twins on the Eurostar. My husband Nick and I booked it, then looked at each other and said ‘Aargh! What have we done?’ In fact, the travelling itself was not a problem. 

The Eurostar was notable only for the impressively overpriced food they served. I queued 20 minutes for the tiniest box of wafer-thin ‘fries’ you can imagine. It worked out that each ‘fry’ cost 1 Franc (about 10p) and a box wouldn’t satisfy one, let alone two hungry toddlers!

My French friend Steffie collected us from the station and gave us the first of several unguided tours of every side street in the vicinity of the hotel. Often, we would see the hotel at the wrong end of a one-way street, only to pass it again some minutes later from a different direction, this time viewed down a pedestrian only access. We did get there eventually and the Hotel Campanile near the Bastille was friendly and quiet. They provided two cots at no extra cost and the room was en suite - an essential with mobile and inquisitive young children. Breakfast consisted of an extensive buffet, with two handy high chairs available.

We buggied for miles. The first stop was a delightful square called the Place des Vosges where the kids had a go on the slide and I enjoyed the fountains and fantastic architecture that is the trademark of Paris. I love the white stone buildings and the beautiful mix of balconies and shutters.

Next stop was the Notre Dame, which we passed without entering. The square was busy and the steps (with a double buggy) were daunting. Les jumeaux were the centre of attention wherever we went. They even had their photo taken by a Japanese tourist! Shortly after this, the twins fell asleep, so we raced off to the Louvre whilst things were quiet!

The Louvre is a large museum housing a wide collection of art of all types. Of course we had to see the famous Mona Lisa, but we didn’t stop. I was much more taken with the statues, and particularly smitten by the statue of the Three Graces, which has long been a favourite. The children (once again awake) also enjoyed the statues. My daughter liked a life-size one of a whippet, and my son liked squeezing into the small space between a plinth and the wall. They had a great time.

The onset of heavy rain meant that our walk up the Champs Elysees was more like a trudge up the Damp Elysees. Whilst Paris may be romantic in the spring, a sou’wester is recommended. We ended up at L’Arc de Triomphe, which is always impressive, though hardly accessible under the circumstances. The Tour Eiffel beckoned wetly in the distance with its head in the clouds, but we were all tired and decided to attempt the return to the Bastille by Metro.

The Parisian Metro, unlike the London Underground, has no barriers for letting large items like bicycles or buggies through. This means, in effect, that you have to give your active toddler to a complete stranger whilst you try to lift your folded buggy over the barrier. Believe me, it is neither easy nor fun and I suppose the locals just don’t use it when they have anything larger than a handbag to carry.

We decided on a small pizzeria for dinner. My son slept through the entire proceedings whilst my daughter flirted with the waiters and charmed them all. One thing that can be said for the French is that they love children. Taking toddlers into a restaurant in England usually leads to disapproving looks as the kids explore and experiment. Here they were the stars.

The following day we took a taxi to the Sacre Coeur, which was of course spectacular for both its white stone frescoes and also for the view over Paris. We did go inside to the cool quiet interior, with the majestic vaulted ceiling, and I was glad we had made the effort. Outside the church is an artist’s market where painters offer their creations for sale and sketchers try to persuade you to have your picture drawn. Only a handful of the pictures stood out and these were retailing from 650F, which, though reasonable, was outside our budget.

We took a long and enjoyable walk back to the Bastille, past the ornate buildings of the Gare de l’Est and the Gare du Nord, and around the Place de la Republique. Nick said they rebuilt the roads so wide after the Revolution because they wanted to make them too large to erect barricades. In a city designed before the car, where no-one has a garage, this has allowed Paris to remain relatively unspoilt by the exponential rise in car ownership. There is plenty of room for parking bays on both sides of the street. Parking and driving are still manic, though, and we did see one smash whilst we were there.

Outside our hotel, there was a Sunday morning street market which seemed to sell everything from fruit to clothes to saucepans. We took a wander down it and then on to the Bastille, where the Parisian marathon was underway. It was an inspiring sight, not just because people twice my age could run for four hours when I can’t run for the bus, but also for the devastation left behind in the wake of the marathon’s passing. The floor was littered with empty water bottles, gnawed oranges and half banana skins.

We were first class on the way back, which is to be recommended as there is much more room and free food. The waiter rashly gave my daughter plenty of chocolate cake and she ended up dancing on the tables. I think the over excitement took its toll on the kids and the train journey back home from London is in my top five worst ever. Still, we survived and I would do it again. We are better prepared for what we will need to organize when we go off to Canada later in the year.


First published in VISA issue 41(summer 2001)

Conquering Normandy

by David Gourley

Previously we had dipped our toes into Normandy a couple of times. The first had been during a stay in Brittany when we’d visited Mont St Michel. This is so near to Brittany that some think it is in Brittany. It was very picturesque - and very, very crowded. The second time had been when I stayed overnight in Rouen. This trip featured in a Visa article though it was really a piece about Eurostar. It was the last time I travelled from Waterloo that way, before the opening of the hi-speed route from St Pancras.

We rather wanted to see more of Normandy. In particular we were keen to see the D-Day landing beaches and the Bayeux Tapestry. We found a trip that suited us in this respect, again travelling with Eurostar, upgrading ourselves to Leisure Select, and again based in Rouen, this time for four nights. Eurostar was not at the time riding high in public affection. When it is good, it is very, very good but when it is bad...
Not long before, there had been the disastrous breakdown when trains had been held up for many hours due to the intense cold on land and the inability to cope with the change of temperature in the Tunnel. It is easy of course to sit in a comfortable chair and criticize, but weren’t there people who were paid rather a lot of money to anticipate such problems? Compounding matters was the anything but professional response of Eurostar to the crisis, with train staff apparently locking themselves away from everyone. 

Nothing so dire happened on our trip. We made it to and from Paris on schedule. But travelling out, we waited ages for the complimentary drinks and meal, and no menu was produced. I cannot accept that staff are too busy to put a menu onto tables as they pass down the carriage. When we finally enquired, a charmless steward told us that they were short staffed and had to give priority to the people in Business Premier. That put us in our place. To be fair the lunch, when it finally arrived, was good, the main course being an unusual kind of cottage pie made with ham hock, and service on the way home was faultless. 

There was a surprise on the journey out. Our guide came round to introduce himself. It was Tony, the same chap that we’d had the previous year when we’d had a very pleasant stay, organized through the same tour company, in Sorrento. He had been a good guide so we were pleased. He didn’t, though, remember us. There were we, thinking we always stand out, in pleasing fashion, from the crowd. Clearly we don’t. 

Another surprise, again pleasant, awaited us at Gare du Nord. We were transferring to Rouen by coach and I’d assumed that we’d take the Périphérique out of Paris. Our driver, however, informed us that it was very busy and that we’d do better to drive through the centre of the city. So we had an interesting drive that took in some of the main sights and included a section of the Champs-Elysées. There were memories of Princess Diana. As we passed the Ritz Hotel, Tony pointed out the door where the last ever photographs of her were taken, before that fateful car journey. Then we drove through the very tunnel where the accident had happened. It felt just a bit strange.

We drove along a street in which there are statues, some distance apart, of both Churchill and de Gaulle. Tony was a mine of information but this time he got things a bit wrong, for he told us that the two couldn’t stand each other. That really wasn’t true. The relationship was more one of love-hate. The real loathing was between de Gaulle and Roosevelt, with Churchill sometimes finding himself uncomfortably in the middle. It was certainly true that de Gaulle was a haughty and in many ways difficult individual, who did not at all mind annoying the Anglo-Saxons. But he is deservedly remembered as one of the heroes of the twentieth century. He stood for freedom when the government of the day surrendered to the Nazi invaders. It is said that when he boarded his plane in Bordeaux in order to come to Britain and establish the Free French movement, he carried the honour of his country in his briefcase. On earlier visits to Paris we had been moved by the words of his first broadcast from London, reproduced beneath the Arc de Triomphe. There is a statue of him in London, located in Carlton Gardens, outside the building where the Free French were based.

Rouen is one of those cities that I would describe as a hidden gem. I don’t entirely understand why some places become tourist hotspots and others don’t. In Italy visitors rightly acclaim the beauty of Rome, Venice and Florence, and of some smaller cities such as Siena. But we have marvelled at the beauty of Mantua whilst, in Tuscany, Lucca, save for the fact that it doesn’t have a leaning tower, beats Pisa hands down. In the Czech Republic, Prague, again justifiably, is lauded but one hardly ever reads about Karlovy Vary. This is a beautiful city, still sometimes known by its old Habsburg name, Karlsbad, where the crowned heads of Europe once came to take the waters. We went there a few years after the Velvet Revolution and I was sure that before long western tourists would be flocking there. Likewise in France, provincial cities such as Lyon, Toulouse and Bordeaux take their bow and Lille was ‘discovered’ after Eurostar opened. But it is surprising that there is relatively little interest in Rouen.

Rouen is a beautiful city with an unspoilt medieval centre. That might not, it is true, be the first impression as one enters the city having taken the motorway from Paris. One is here travelling alongside the Seine, a target for bombing after the D-Day landings as it was vital that the Allies destroyed the bridges and thus blocked the path of counterattacking Nazi troops. The area was rebuilt after the war in unsympathetic fashion. But if one goes a couple or so blocks away from the river, one is in the medieval heart of the city. We saw this on a stroll from our hotel, located just outside the centre, and again on a walking tour the next morning.

Our tour took us along cobbled streets, stopping to go inside the magnificent Notre Dame Cathedral, where Claude Monet had put up his easel. Then it was along the main thoroughfare which is graced by, and indeed named after, the Gros-Horloge, the resplendent clock tower that bridges the street and boasts one of the largest clock faces anywhere. We finished in the Place du Vieux-Marché. It was here that Joan of Arc was burnt at the stake and a huge cross marks the spot where this happened. Close by is the church that is named from her; this is decidedly modern, but all around the buildings are medieval. 

On the way back, we saw that the Gros-Horloge could be entered free of charge as part of a Printemps au Normande promotion. That was the good news. The bad news was that there was a queue and it was getting on for lunch time. In France it is not unusual for attractions to close for fully two hours at lunchtime and they won’t let you in after 11.30 for fear you might not be out by twelve. The people at the end of the queue had been led to understand that they were the last who would be admitted before lunch. We chanced our arm, joined the queue and were admitted. As well as the fascinating museum and the views of the clock’s mechanisms from inside, there were fine vistas over the city, which is scenically located amidst low–lying hills, to be enjoyed from the terrace. 

In the afternoon we headed a few miles north to Fécamp. This is a pleasant resort but probably would get far fewer visitors if it didn’t have the magnificent Benedictine Palace. This is a delightfully eccentric building. To start with one might think one was in a stately home but then one comes to the distillery where the liqueur is produced. One ends the tour with a tasting. Tony had warned us that it tasted awful but I quite liked it and told him so. Only one other person in our rather large party had liked it, he told me. 

For dinner we pushed the boat out and dined at La Couronne, which is France’s oldest inn, dating back to 1345. So old in fact that it was there when Joan was burnt just outside in the Place du Vieux-Marché. It was very atmospheric and we enjoyed an excellent meal served by friendly and attentive staff. Over breakfast next morning, we wondered what the oldest inn back home is. We were sitting with just the couple who could tell us. They hailed from Nottingham and England’s oldest inn is Ye Olde Trip to Jerusalem, located in that city and dating back to 1189.

The next day we headed to Honfleur. This has some claim to be Normandy’s most beautiful town; I have even seen it included in the itineraries of coastal cruises around Britain, the deviation southwards clearly being thought worthwhile. Its charm derives from the fact that this is old Normandy, untouched by the fighting in World War II. Normandy, of course, was where the Allies launched, from the D-Day beaches, their drive across Europe that was to end in the defeat of Hitler (though Allied forces were, it should be remembered, already on the Continent, battling their way up the Italian peninsula: Rome was liberated on the same day as the landings). The people of Normandy are grateful to their liberators, but they paid the price of living in the first part of France to be freed, for the Nazis put up a stubborn resistance that led to many towns and villages, above all Caen, being virtually destroyed. Once this resistance was defeated, the Allies were able to advance with relative ease through the rest of France. Honfleur somehow managed to survive intact, as did the medieval centre of Rouen.

The drive to Honfleur was mainly along motorways but one part was interesting for we crossed the spectacular Pont de Normandie, which crosses the Seine near its estuary. From here Le Havre and its industry could be seen. We greatly enjoyed our time exploring Honfleur and there was also a bit of time for exploration when we got back to Rouen. We used this to have a look round the Joan of Arc Church and the rather upmarket market that is outside the church itself, but under its vast roof. The striking modernity of the church might be thought to be at odds with the medieval surrounds but somehow it works. Continuing with the Joan of Arc theme – she is the city’s revered daughter though she only went there to be executed – we went to the nearby museum that is dedicated to her life, a charming and well laid out place with earphones offering a commentary in inter alia English. We were reminded, of course, that it was the perfidious English who were responsible for Joan’s demise (with a bit of help from the Burgundians) but Rouen has, as they say, moved on and the English visitor will feel very welcome there.

The last of our full days was taken up with the longest of our tours which was really our raison d’être for coming to Normandy, though there are plenty of other good reasons to visit. This took us to Bayeux and the D-Day beaches. First stop was Bayeux. Sometimes a well-known attraction disappoints when one actually gets to see it but the Tapestry certainly doesn’t do that. It is thought that the Tapestry – an embroidery rather than a tapestry as such – was commissioned by Bishop Odo, half-brother of William the Conqueror. It depicts the Norman Conquest of England. Across the channel it inspired the splendid tapestry in the D-Day Museum in Southsea that depicts that momentous event in 1944.

The commentary in our earphones went at a cracking pace. At the end of it we wanted more time to admire the Tapestry so we went round again, sans earphones and at our own pace. There was plenty more to look at in the building that houses the Tapestry, including a model of an English village, East Meon in Hampshire, at the time of the Conquest. We could have spent all our time there but did not want to miss out on looking round the town of Bayeux, which is a place of great charm.

Like Honfleur, Bayeux was spared destruction in World War II. This was because it was the first city to be liberated after the D-Day landings and the surprise element enabled allied troops to take it without any fighting. As such it was the first to be visited by General de Gaulle, who arrived soon after. He was determined that his first step onto free French soil would not be on land liberated by the Anglo-Saxons. So Omaha and Utah Beaches (where the Americans had landed) were ruled out, as were Gold and Sword (ditto the British). It had to be Juno, liberated by the Canadians, including of course French-speaking Québecois. 

Soon after leaving Bayeux, we stopped on the outskirts of the town in order to visit the immaculately maintained British and Commonwealth War Cemetery, a moving experience which brought to mind our visit to El Alamein a few years earlier – without that victory in Egypt, there would have been no D-Day landings. It is the largest such World War II cemetery in France, containing 4,648 graves, some poignantly recording the death of an unknown soldier. Across the road is the Memorial to the Missing, which bears a Latin epitaph that translates as ‘We, once conquered by William, have set free the Conqueror’s land’. 

We continued to Arromanches. Parts of the famed Mulberry Harbour are still visible out at sea. This was the brainchild of Sir Winston Churchill. In 1942 Canadian forces had raided Dieppe. This was an abortive foray but a lesson learnt was that it would be virtually impossible to launch an invasion of the European mainland through an established port, as it was bound to be very heavily defended. A port would thus have to be created, hence the artificial harbour which was assembled in Britain and towed out to Arromanches, which was transformed overnight from a sleepy fishing village to the world’s busiest port.

We had some spare time in which to wander around Arromanches and also to have lunch in the June 6th restaurant, named from D-Day. I had a good Normandy-style meal of pork cooked in cider, washed down with a glass of cider. We then reassembled as a party for our visit to the museum that commemorates the D-Day landings, the Musée du Débarquement. It would have been good if it had been a bit less crowded. Nevertheless it was an enjoyable and thought-provoking visit that included the Admiralty film of ‘Port Winston’. There is an exhibition commemorating the various nationalities that took part in the Landing. One might, if asked to say who these were, reply that they were the British, Americans, Canadians and, last but certainly not least, the Free French. But there are others who are remembered: the Belgians, at the start of a long march that would take them back to their homeland; the Danes, Norwegians, Dutch and even Luxembourgeois; and the gallant fighters whose own countries would remain unfree until the very end of the eighties, the Czechs and the Poles.

We headed eastwards, paralleling the landing beaches. A bit disappointingly, there were not many glimpses of the beaches themselves and at one point there was an annoying diversion inland. But finally we stopped at Sword. For our first two full days we had had glorious weather. It was still dry on this day, but the temperature had dipped considerably. We were dressed for the earlier period and an extra layer or two would have been sensible. The fact that it was freezing cold was not, of course, going to stop us going onto the beach, but I confess that we didn’t linger. We reflected as we reboarded our warm coach that the brave soldiers who’d landed on that beach 66 years previously were completely at the mercy of whatever the elements threw at them. 

We now turned inland and headed back for our last night in Rouen. A final recollection of the momentous events in 1944 came as we passed though the village that had once been known simply as Colleville. It is now Colleville-Montgomery. There is a statue of the great man. Apparently there was much debate about which direction it should face. One option was for it to look towards the sea and thus at the beaches where his troops had landed. It was decided, however, that it should look inland, towards the rest of the country which he had played such a vital part in liberating.

First published in VISA 93 (Oct 2010)

Day Trip to France

by Elizabeth Johnstone

I shop a lot at Tesco and end up with fistfuls of their loyalty coupons. Since my family is long past the Legoland stage, I use the coupons for Eurotunnel. They have been worth four times their face value. Yes, that’s right. I haven’t paid anything for my Eurotunnel crossings for years now. The day return ticket for my last trip cost £63, but by using four £15 Tesco coupons, I paid a mere £3 for it. Sadly, Tesco have wised up to the fact that this is a fantastic deal and, from December onwards, the tokens will be for three times the face value of the Tesco vouchers. Never mind. It won’t stop me. We generally set off about 7 am, get the 9.50 crossing, arriving 35 minutes later, do a big hypermarket shopping, then go for a four-course lunch at one of our favourite restaurants. The Toques d’Opale is a group of restaurants in and around Calais where you will get a three/four course meal for 20 to 30 euros. We have been to several and have never been disappointed. 

 As for the actual crossing in the train, it is pretty dull but perfectly bearable for 35 minutes. You could easily spend as long as that on the London Underground. You sit in your car (armed with crossword, I-Pod etc) and if necessary you can stretch your legs or go to the toilet. I have loyalty cards for Carrefour in the Cité d’Europe and Auchan which is slightly out of town but more accessible for parking. Some French groceries such as confit de canard and cassoulet are hard to get hold of in England other than at overpriced food fairs so we stock up on those. Obviously, we also get a couple of cases of wine. When will the English realise that a dry fruity rosé is the perfect all-round food wine? 

We are usually booked on to a crossing about 4.30 pm but, if we arrive earlier, they can often move you up to an earlier crossing. The drive home takes about an hour and a half, so we are back home in the early evening, having had a gourmet lunch and shopping experience. It’s not a booze cruise, or really any sort of money-saving activity, although it is well worth going with an empty tank to fill up at £1 a litre or less, even with a poor rate of exchange. It is an opportunity to have a delicious lunch and, if you are me, to discuss each course with the waiter who is invariably astonished that an English person (a) speaks French and (b) (even more surprising than (a)) appreciates good food.

I should be on commission from Tesco, considering how often I have told people about this. However, I’m not going to tell you too much about my favourite Calais restaurant. You’ll have to find your own. Bon appétit!

First published in VISA 95 (Feb 2011)