War and beauty co-exist along the Normandy Coast

The Normandy Coast was never this holiday's objective.  It's simply the half-way point between an eight-hour ferry crossing and another seven hours' drive to Gascony.  But it's also a rich place, culturally and historically, demanding some attention as long as we were in the area.

Mont Saint-Michel topped my wish list in this part of the world, but two other places demanding investigation lay between the abbey and our return ferry at Caen:  Bayeux and the Normandy Landing Beaches.

The top draw in Bayeux is its famous tapestry, of course, but it's a bigger and more diverse town than
I'd expected.  There's a beautiful cathedral, a Normandy Landings museum, picturesque shopping and dining areas and winding streets that remind you of Bordeaux on a much smaller scale.  A well-maintained and signposted tourist car park gives convenient access to the centre of town.  Note, however, that the Normandy Landings museum is a bit of a hike from the cathedral and the Tapestry Museum, something they don't point out when they sell you a double-attraction ticket as if they're side-by-side.  After one wrong turn and about 20 minutes of hiking, we ran out of time before we ever found it.  We needed much more time than the 90 minutes we had to make both tickets work.

The tapestry, however, was worth the price of both museums.

Unlike Mont Saint-Michel, you'll find masterful crowd management here.  Of course, we got lucky and walked right in, skipping the amusement park style queuing lanes in the large hall outside the tapestry that hint at how the numbers grow.  But even if those lanes had been full, once you get into the gallery you see that everything's beautifully managed to move big groups through smoothly.

The tapestry winds in a giant "U" shape around a large, darkened gallery.  It hangs in an illuminated, glass-fronted case just below adult eye level, with railings in front to both separate you from the artefact and give you something to lean on as you peer in for details.  Your ticket comes with an audio guide which tells you the whole story of what you're looking at, from the ailing Edward the Confessor choosing William as his heir, to Harold pledging allegiance to the Norman then breaking his word, to the Battle of Hastings and William's final triumph ... with plenty of adventure along the way.  This is, of course, a piece of Medieval PR created to elevate "the bastard" who became King of England, so the tale is understandably one-sided.

It's a magnificent piece of storytelling.  Essentially a cartoon strip, with the key plot lines delivered by the audio guide you're clearly able to see the drama unfold.  It's also an extraordinary work of art.  The details brought out by the embroidery, through clever uses of colour or intricate stitching, are impressive.  Nuances of armour, architecture, flora and fauna all spring to life, delivering the 11th century in vivid detail.  One of the most interesting bits is the border, filled with animals, mythological beasts, heraldic symbols and other decorative elements, each a little masterpiece on its own.

Unlike most audio guides, you can't put this one on pause.  The story teller gives you enough time to appreciate details, but not to dawdle.  And there's no photography allowed (I've plundered the internet for the pictures here).  As a result, you find yourself in a respectful, single file of viewers, all moving silently at the same pace.  This ensures a fine experience and keeps the crowd moving.  I suppose, since it wasn't particularly crowded that morning, we could have gone around again.  But with a ferry to turn up for by 2pm, our time was limited.

There are only about 30 miles between Bayeux and the ferry port at Ouistreham, and if you take the coast road you'll drive through the heart of the Normandy invasion.  These 19th century holiday resorts and sleepy salt marshes were once code named Gold, Juno and Sword, and today they're a pilgrimage point for many thousands who remember, or are simply interested in, the world's largest seaborne invasion and its place in history.

The most interesting viewpoint, to my eyes, is to be found on the cliffs rising to the west of the little town of Arromanches-Les-Bains.  At first glance on a sunny day, it's hard to conceive of this idyllic spot as a place of war.  The charming little holiday resort with a fun fair and beach promenade at its heart nestles in a shallow valley between low coastal cliffs.  The beach here is a broad, golden swathe ideal for paddling; at least 150 metres lay exposed between town and surf when we looked down on it.

The hills on either side are covered with grasses and wildflowers, a coastal path follows the clifftop and there are spectacular views of cliffs and surf to the horizons.  It looks almost exactly like the Devon coast.  Which is no surprise, since that's what it was once attached to.

But it doesn't take long to see the evidence of the war.  The concrete bulk of a German battery stood behind us on the coast path, placed incongruously next to a modern holiday home.  Out in the glistening blue waters, bulky concrete breakwaters lie in a massive curve out from the beach.  These are the remains of the artificial harbour, built by the allies to create a deep water port where one logically could not exist.

The drive from here to the ferry at Ouistreham (WW2 location of Sword Beach and Pegasus Bridge) takes about 30 minutes as it meanders through a string of similar resort towns, all showing off late 19th- or early 20th-century architecture.  Obviously, much of this must have been destroyed, but it was rebuilt to recapture what was here.  Every hamlet decorates its public spaces with tank or artillery guns and there are small museums every few miles to explore the specifics of what happened on that particular stretch of beach.  We stopped briefly at the Juno Beach centre, a beautifully designed facility built by the Canadian government and opened in 2003.  Tourists browsed the names of the dead on a striking, modern memorial while across the grass-covered dunes the local wind-surfing club rode the waves.

That's the sense of this place in a nutshell:  the tragedy and gravity of war memorials co-existing with the holiday making of a modern beach resort.  The record of sacrifice co-existing with all these people taking joy from their everyday lives is rather fitting, really.

Our short drive was enough for me, but the military historian within my other half could have
lingered far longer.  I suspect any future trip to this region will get a bit more time here.  And I suspect that the Southwest of France will indeed see us again someday.  It was a perfect holiday in an idyllic region, beautifully balancing R&R, culture and fine food.

But now, it's time to head back to England and the "real world" for a while.  I might even need to get a proper job soon.