Maurice Godefridi

· 07 Dec 2021

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Heidense cathedral: Beauvais en Amiens

I'll just fall in the house with the door. We're lost in the interior of Normandy. We visited the Mont St Michel and found our mythical mistel oak at Isigny le Buat. So assignment accomplished, but we still have to go back to Flanders.

Thursday 5 March: A menhir and Haras du Pin
So turn the motorhome and North. Just like that from Mortain to Ducey, St Hilaire, Domfront (where we have a picnic on a nice car park under the chestnut trees and near the Navel Skin), through the foret des Andaines to Ferté-Macé, around Argentan to Aigle. Beyond Argetan, we dare to afford another fantasy, there is a menhir on our way when we drive into the Foret de Petite Gouffern For a moment. And yes there is a Pierre lévée, a rising stone like a giant hand, as a stop sign, like a hand of God. A little further in by driving, we accidentally arrive in Haras du Pin, France's horse stud, wealth omnipresent, driveways, castles. We'll visit a horse shop, as if we were famous jockeys. What different from the saints shops of abbeys, here just images, clothing and soaps of the noble horse, although the soaps were made of donkey milk.

Conches
A little further, we are seduced when driving into Conches, beautiful lindelans, a largest fountain and a beautiful church in the background and we can just park there. So spend the night here. We haven't often decided so quickly.

The town has seduced us, but in the center it's not much special. A gloomy shopping street with a church, of course and some Norman half-timbered houses. But we shouldn't judge too much, we don't stay long enough to be able to judge. In fact, we just come here to sleep. Unfortunately, it is also the place where early carpoolers leave for work at 6 am in the morning and keep their car engines warm for at least fifteen minutes. But still brave of them to want to work so early. For motorhomists. Don't be put off, on the other side of the fountain there is also plenty of space to store your driving house.

Friday 6 March: Richard Lionheart and Lyons-lefôret
So Conches and Ouche. Evreux with immense bypass, possibly easier than through the city but at least 10 km extra. We want the D 316 to Gaillon and especially to Les Andelys and the Seine Valley. In Andelys we park in front of the bridge over the Seine. On top of the white chalk cliffs, the remains of the castle of Richard Lionheart, the hero of my youth books, show off, and I want to visit them for a while. Once moving on quickly and firmly, I need now and how else are you supposed to conquer Richard Coeur de Lion's castle? The closing gate is closed, as with many monuments at this time of year. But there is plenty to see here and just now, in all solitude, these tourist attractions still have some authenticity. And the view of all those bends of the Seine is also special, although Richard won't have built a fortified castle here for the point de vue.

In the meantime, we flee with our steel steed towards Ecouis and especially to Lyons-le-Fôret, located in possibly the most beautiful beech forest in France. Would the name Coeur de Lion come from the heart, center of Lyon instead of the lion's brave heart?

Lyons
In any case, Lyons not Lyon, is a jewel of a town, clearly there have been no German bombing here. We only find Norman half-timbered houses here, all perfectly restored and in the square a nice covered marketplace on impressive wooden pillars. Scattered here and there, modest and original shops. In an alley, the mini studio of an ebenist instrument maker with kalimba's, thumb pianos of all sizes, guitars and a curious cello made from a trench ammunition box. Hope certainly does life. Or music softens the mores.

We have doubts to stay here but finally drive a little bit through the forest, first to Fleury la Fôret, where at the castle we find beautiful mistletoe trees and think for a moment that they are oak but on closer examination it turns out to be lime trees. Nothing against lindes, on the contrary, but we are already unconsciously looking for a second oak with mistletoe. A person is never satisfied for sure!

Another Fôret village further, Bézu, the last forest village and a enticing little car park make us decide to spend the night here. On the sale, there must also be a menhir on the edge of the forest, but we couldn't find it right now. But sleeping without menhir in the neighborhood will also work out.

Saturday, March 7th: cathedrals
We wake up with barking dogs, but also with hurtling birds. Even in a motorhome, a person can feel a bit of one with nature. We have breakfast and drive. First to Gourney and then to Beauvais. It's going to be a culture day. In Beauvais, we want to visit the highest Gothic cathedral first and then in Amiens the most beautiful. Two years ago, we visited the most mythical in Chartres and the lesser-known yet special in Bourges. They do not appeal to us so much for their Christian significance, but rather for the architectural and mythical. I would dare call it the government. Because what do labyrinths, carved zodiac signs, mythical beasts and lusty women have to do with crystendom?. Or would all those anonymous artists have gone their own way.? And what is the sense of those hundreds of figures that are invisible to human eyes high in those Gothic facades?

Beauvais
Beauvais, the cathedral of Saint-Pierre, it should have become the largest mankind could have imagined in its wildest dreams, a work of unprecedented daring. However, it has stayed with a dream. It is high, but never finished, like, of course, so many Gothic churches.
But in the unfinished, the imperfect shows itself the beauty. So for me, a sympathetic cathedral.
After the cathedral, we also take a look around the shopping street, visit a bookstore as usual and buy books there as usual. We are here at noon and eat a flat du jour 'Saumon béarnaise' in Le Zinc bleu with a view of the cathedral.

Amiens
And then on to Amiens about 50 km away. The landscape will be uglier depending on whether we get further north, much agriculture but also much more chaotic, and also much more real clutter in the homes and the small industries. The center of Amiens is worth while, we drive smoothly into the city and can park rather idyllically by a side arm of the Somme. We even get to spend the night here. But first, the cathedral, an overly but stylishly decorated façade, a façade like a comic strip with exciting and fantastic stories, here and there with founding intentions. Probably the intention was also to provide information to the illiterate person. The interior is gothically impressive. Amazing pillars rise up like oak in an ancient forest. Wouldn't we find stone mistletoe here? In any case, in the choir benches we find hundreds of wooden chiseled figures, a crowd certainly not only Christian but also mythical figures who all tell their own stories. The stone hairdresser's story? And then the labyrinth, happily open and exposed here in Amiens, not hiding under chairs or benches and thus to walk completely ritualistic. A pagan sacred structure of power!

Still further along the Somme
After that impressive large cathedral, we get back into our small metal house on wheels. We still want to find a somewhat quieter place to stay, pick up the bed of the Somme upstream. And zigzag from one village to another, into the valley, out of the valley. Lots of water, not only the Somme but also many ponds of old flooding areas of the river. Only it is hard to get to and it often looks rather spill. So from Daours to Corbie, then still further to Vaux, Bray and finally to the plateau, away from the Somme to a town with the strange name Albert. Albert 1, I thought, but it was Albert 1 km away. Here we find a large town square with plenty of flat places. A strange ugly town with a large neo town hall and an immense equally pompous basilica with a 'golden' female statue of liberty at the top. The bombast really couldn't handle. It's the beauty of ugliness here. But I do sleep here despite that, the best of all days.

In the morning, in a gloomy grey landscape, past dozens of drilled military cemeteries of killed British, Australians, Americans and Germans, now from the first World War, we drive back to our unmoving home in Belgium.