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Reaching Samer |
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At last, the climbing came to an end and we were faced with the happy prospect of a mile-long descent which in turn encouraged speeds approaching 40 mph!
But the climb had taken its toll in one perhaps less expected way. It was now gone 1.30 pm and we had not found anywhere that might offer lunch. Thankfully, at the bottom of the valley lay Neufchatel-Hardelot, a seemingly large enough town to offer the chance of food (it was a Saturday, after all!). |
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Finally, the gain..... |
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Saturday at 1.30pm did not present the hive of activity expected, however. It seems that the locals place no importance on the weekend to suggest that the usual weekday lunchtime closure for two hours might be unnecessarily restrictive. A thorough search of the town revealed that only one establishment still had its doors open, the local tabac 'Le Trotteur'. Prospects looked good however. As we peered in through the window we could see a large plate of spaghetti bolognese, steaming provocatively. And there were a few customers present as well. |
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The immediate association that the name 'Trotteur' encourages with a particular English sit-com did not pass unnoticed. We entered, and went to the bar. Madame saw us eyeing the spaghetti and immediately came over. 'Deux bieres' s'il vous plait.' quickly followed by the French equivalent of 'Is it also possible to have something to eat?' Madame looked at us looking at the spaghetti, looked at the spaghetti herself, then looked back at us, paused a few seconds and then uttered the immortal reply: 'Non!'
You couldn't help but think back to those early days of Britain's entry into the Common Market (as it was then) and Charles de Gaulles's fondness for that word. Madame also must have had that period in mind. Beers delivered, she ushered us to a table, and then proceeded to consume, quite noisily, what was clearly her meal, and to be no one else's! Beers were finished hastily with appropriate sideways comments, following which we departed, stomachs rumbling even more now, thanks to the added presence of gassy alcohol. |
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'Le Trotteur' - source of food? |
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There was nothing for it. We had to attempt the struggle of 10 or so more kilometres to Samer and hope that when we arrived we might find some food there.
Amidst the despair, a shining light! The wind was suddenly behind us, and the road to Samer was not only flat, but graded more downhill than up. We breezed the distance in a shade over 15 minutes. Food prospects were also looking good. |
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At least that's how it first seemed. As we entered the town, there was a snack wagon, then another in the middle of town, plus at least three more restaurants.
We chose a bar-restaurant. Sorry, no food, but we could buy a sandwich at the Boulangerie and bring it back to eat at the bar. Possibly, but there were another two restaurants to test first.
The first turned out to be shut. The next answered our enquiry for food with a gallic shrug. |
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Samer and its night life |
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Nothing doing it seemed. There were still the two snack-wagons. The one in town had quietly pulled down its shutters while we were chasing between restaurants. We pedalled furiously towards the second, just in time to see the shutters coming down there as well. This was getting really bad, I mean REALLY bad.
It seemed that the Boulangerie was the only answer. We entered. Sorry, no bread left! Oh, come on...! There was an Epicerie (grocer) next door. They at least had cheese and ham. The lady owner was even more helpful. Another Boulangerie around the corner would definitely help with bread.
So somehow we managed to eat, but the prospect of a repeat run in the evening caused us to make the decision there and then to cycle 12 hilly kilometres to Devres, a place we knew had restaurants that would have food when needed. We still also had to find our chambre d'hote...!! |
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Advance to page 2 of 'Reaching Samer' |
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Return to Map page |
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