A gentle walk along the GR21 in Normandy between St Pierre-en-Port and Veulttes-sur-Mer; not overly exciting, but good if you like churches.

Date walked: 25th May 2018

Distance: about 11  miles

Map used: IGN 1809 “Fecamp”- a great large scale map

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Judging by the paucity of comment on my last gripping episode on the GR21, I conclude that some of you may consider this route to be a bit, well, dull. Either that or you are raging Francophobes. In either case you might want to stop reading this now as it will be marginally less interesting than the first instalment despite being longer. For those with nothing better to do, read on.

Having checked out of my hotel in Fecamp I drove to St Pierre in search of breakfast, parking up close to where, all being well, the No.60 bus would deposit me later on. The bar in the village was open but croissant-less. The boulangerie, though, had croissants a plenty and the friendly woman at the counter was happy for me to bring my own. My favourites are the almond paste-filled ones. Yum.

Unfortunately, the weather had not improved since yesterday, the village church, (resembling, it occurs to me now a spacecraft launching rig) was shrouded in mist.

Visibility was about 100 metres, which limits my sources of comment somewhat. My route may well have been called the cliff path…..

… but cliffs saw I none.

Not that I would have been allowed to approach them if I had.

Half a mile from St Pierre I passed a pond with some kind of shelter on the side of it.

Caged by the pond were several quiet ducks. On the water several more decoy cousins.

I thought this was a pretty unsporting set-up.

Fields of barley and wheat were all I had for entertainment for the next mile, bar the occasional path-side sign to reassure me that I had not gone astray…..

…. some dew-covered cobwebs….

…. and  pretty clumps of campion.

Approaching Les Grandes Dalles I put up a deer which bounded off far too quickly for me to snap. The path narrowed and entered a wood …

… before opening out to give me a view of sorts of the village.

As I carefully climbed the steep path down the valley side I met a couple climbing up – but only on “bonjour” terms.  Americans, it seemed but they were too far from me when I realised to extend the conversation.

Neither village nor beach had anything to detain me, so I climbed back up the valley heading for Les Petites Dalles….

… the view from higher up giving me at least a glimpse of the Alabaster Coast.

This Sentiers des Douaniers (trans: customers officer path) did intrigue, it having several metal posts with small cages near them. I am none the wiser.

Les Petites Dalles was very like Les Grandes Dalles, just slightly larger.

The GR21 shuns its main street in favour of a woodland walk, where I passed an elaborate house.

Un peu OTT?

This wooded path was very pleasant, though I know some of you find stretches a bit tedious.

I found myself noticing evidence of holly blight….

That dark splodge is a sign

.. and Ash dieback, which was slightly depressing.

The path headed south and inland to the village of Sassetot-le-Mauconduit….

… where a night at the Chateau de Sissi in a   “classique” rooms is to be had from around £90.

Sassetot is a proper village though, with  tourist information office, public toilets, a church (rather elegant both outside….

… and inside)….

…. shops and, and I have to admit to have been surprised by this, Pole Dancing classes.

From Sassetot the path enters the grounds of some fine estate…

Here I met a young man who was doing a massive walk along the French coast – several hundred miles – and was camping. 

The estate behind me, the path now took a proper road for a few miles, passing through the hamlet of Vinnemerville, which had a nice church ….

….and where I paused for a little snack and a selfie.

The French do not seem to have got the word about the wildlife benefit of roadside verges.

Those wind turbines were not on my map

Further along the road the air became tainted somewhat by the drift from the biggest crop spraying rig that I had seen.

There were some impressive properties in this backwater…

….though sticking a pot of plants on top of a 8 foot high pillar at the entrance of one struck me as somewhat absurd.

Vinnemerville was followed by Butot-Venesville; another fine church, another village with no obvious facility other than a place to pray.

Mind you, I did spot a few sheep, which will please at least one of my readers.

And for those that like cattle, there were some rather fetching ones.

Though no where near as lovely as Aubracs

After Butot, my path turned north again, heading for the coast. I noticed that several of the houses were thatched, their ridges planted with succulents and other neglect-happy plants.

Do we do this in the UK?

The path takes a wooded valley as it nears Veulettes-sur-Mer, and everywhere white spring flowers were in abundance.

Hawthornes were in full blossom…

…..littering the ground with a million specks of white and pink.

There was creamy Elderflower ….

… comfry….

…. and once again, away from the road, the path was lined by Cow Parsley.

The damp woodland banks were home to some super colonies of Hart’s Tongue and other ferns.

None of this was out of the ordinary, but it was no less enjoyable for that; this is the countryside at its best.

On the outskirts of the village there were, as I found yesterday, occasional abandoned hut/homes.

This seems to me to be a curious phenomenon; I would have thought such retreats would be highly prized. I went into one that contained an impressive fireplace for its modest size.

The village of  Veulettres-sur-Mer seemed a well-to-do place, one property having a splendid thatched and roof-planted wood store.

It was desperately quiet, though, as all the other places that I had passed through in the last couple of days had been, with hardly a soul to be seen.  Checking the time, an earlier bus than the one I had planned to get was due. As I reached the beach which was as quiet as everywhere else I decided that two hours here might just be a bit tedious.

I looked in vain for a bus stop and as I did the bus appeared. I hailed it and the driver indulged my request to stop. Well, what kind of sea-side resort is it where nary an ice cream was on offer?