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When we're through security at St Pancras, I realise that our train is going to Disneyland Paris. That explains the hyped-up kids and the hen party in Micky and Minnie mouse ears. However, the kids in our carriage are well behaved and I wonder if it's not kids that I dislike but parents, specifically London parents who live in flats and small houses and let their cooped up kids run wild when they take them out, and are more likely than non-Londoners to keep hold of their previous childfree lives by taking their kids to pubs (a bugbear of mine).
The first thing you see when you come out of Lille Europe station is a Westfield shopping centre. We might as well have stayed in Stratford! But once I've left the new(ish) buildings of Lillaeurope, and head towards the old town I realise I'm abroad! The fin de siecle buildings, the wide boulevards, the tiny strangenesses of different pedestrian crossings, street signs and car registration that tell you you're in a foreign country - even if it's entry-level abroad.
Our hotel is just off the Place de Theatre, near la Grand Place with a view of the post office tower. We wander around the old town, past la Bourse (now housing a second hand book fair, which would be amazing if any of the books were in Anglais), the Saint Maurice church with its stained glass, new and old, the Notre Dame cathedral (commenced in 1984 and finished in 1999, hence the mish-mash of styles), the hotel de ville with its Unesco-approved art deco belfry, and the Gare De Sauveurs, an old goods yard now a bar/arts centre with une bonne terasse pour une biere. I do like new buildings but I'm also always happy to see them recycled rather than knocked down. We also pass la Pharmarcie Camus, where you can presumably get a cure for la Peste.
There are plenty of domestic hen parties here (and even one stag party, all in red berets). I guess this is an import from England, but perhaps it is progress: when I lived in France, you'd never get groups of girls going out without men. Also everybody speaks English, perhaps because Lille is the first tourist stop on the way to Paris but perhaps also because we're in Flanders, where traditionally people spoke Flemish and English is an easier alternative to that language. I definitely hear other European tourists use English as a lingua franca - it's cheering considering the UK's current status as a European pariah. I thought there was no second language in France (apart from in Brittany and I suppose also verlan) but on the east edge people speak German and here official notices are translated into Flemish. I also notice that Easter doesn't seem to be a big thing, there are a few choccy eggs in supermarches but not the big window displays or adverts. Neither are there any billboards or political graffiti re: the upcoming election. I think Lille is just too bourgeois to get involved in tacky commerce or political machinations.
In the evening we eat at Itsy Bitsy, a very vegetarian vegetarian restaurant and have beers in Beer Market where they serve me an end of barrel which has a delicious taste of pipe cleaner fluid, so have to swap it for a new one.
*
It's Easter Sunday and I expect everything to be closed. When I lived in St Etienne in 1993/94, the only things open on Sunday were Auchan supermarket and McDonalds. But the Australian cafe we've chosen for breakfast (rather than eating at the hotel) is open, as are various other cafes. We take a Sunday morning stroll down to the market (where Stroopwaffels are purchased) and then the park and river, past the Zoo where monkeys do tightrope tricks for tourists.
We take the train out to Baisieux and then set off for le Carrefour de l'abre, which is nothing to do with the supermarket chain, or trees, really. When I first booked this trip for July 2020 (shortly before cancelling it), we were just going to go to Lille. Then David wanted to go on the same weekend as the Paris-Roubaix one day classic (cycle race). So I rebooked it for October 2020, shortly before cancelling it again (with a little bit of relief as the weather was cold and rainy in Flanders). Paris-Roubaix was considered for April 2021 but the thought of leaving the country before we'd left lockdown seemed like madness and by October, when it actually ran, Delta was in the ascendency. But here we are. Leaving the train station we just follow the other people, who set a punishing pace and we're soon dropped as there's a breakaway and we struggle to bridge across to the remains of the piedoton, trying to get on terms. We walk through the town but then take a left on a gravelly path through a field to the Carrefour (I consider taking a short cut through the field but don't want to start an international incident). It's hot and the land is flat and un-ending, just dirt-fields, a few trees and miles of gravel and cobble.
When we get to the Carrefour corner, Belgium has planted its flag to take the terrority and unfortunately someone has let the Italians choose the music. There are no UK flags, that would be even more embarrassing than Russian ones (we are handed two tiny Ukrainian flags to wave) but when it comes to watching it on TV later, our faces are obscured by the Finnish flags of the two Finns next to us. There is a party atmosphere: RVs, coolbags, sound-systems, picnics, beer, grown men doing a conga in the road, a carnevelo if you will, but what else are you going to do on a sunny Easter Sunday? Go to church?? We perch on a verge next to the cobbles, eat some lunch and get some genuine Paris-Roubaix tat from the caravan (an egg shaped stress-ball and a small Asterix comic). It's terrifying when the team cars go past at speed (the Ineos one has tinted windows so you can't peer in at Sir Dave Brailsford inside) and the cobbles are a mere 6 feet across,leaving me worried about cyclist crashes. I like Felippo Ganna as much as the next person but I don't want him tumbling on top of me.
When it comes to it though, when we see the dust rising on the other side of the field and the helicopters hovering, it's like a war: he noise and dust and confusion, helicopters and vehicles and huge grim-faced dusty men moving at speed through the countryside to cheers and roars of onlookers and the rush of adrenaline. Not a conflict in Flanders fields, but like an ancient Mediaeval campaign to rid France of invaders.
We get the train back to Lille and go for the Eurostar which leave an hour late (or annoyingly 50 mina so we can't claim compensation). This time last year we left London for the first time after lockdown and all the trains were messed up. We leave the country for the first time in over 2 years and the same thing.
The first thing you see when you come out of Lille Europe station is a Westfield shopping centre. We might as well have stayed in Stratford! But once I've left the new(ish) buildings of Lillaeurope, and head towards the old town I realise I'm abroad! The fin de siecle buildings, the wide boulevards, the tiny strangenesses of different pedestrian crossings, street signs and car registration that tell you you're in a foreign country - even if it's entry-level abroad.
Our hotel is just off the Place de Theatre, near la Grand Place with a view of the post office tower. We wander around the old town, past la Bourse (now housing a second hand book fair, which would be amazing if any of the books were in Anglais), the Saint Maurice church with its stained glass, new and old, the Notre Dame cathedral (commenced in 1984 and finished in 1999, hence the mish-mash of styles), the hotel de ville with its Unesco-approved art deco belfry, and the Gare De Sauveurs, an old goods yard now a bar/arts centre with une bonne terasse pour une biere. I do like new buildings but I'm also always happy to see them recycled rather than knocked down. We also pass la Pharmarcie Camus, where you can presumably get a cure for la Peste.
There are plenty of domestic hen parties here (and even one stag party, all in red berets). I guess this is an import from England, but perhaps it is progress: when I lived in France, you'd never get groups of girls going out without men. Also everybody speaks English, perhaps because Lille is the first tourist stop on the way to Paris but perhaps also because we're in Flanders, where traditionally people spoke Flemish and English is an easier alternative to that language. I definitely hear other European tourists use English as a lingua franca - it's cheering considering the UK's current status as a European pariah. I thought there was no second language in France (apart from in Brittany and I suppose also verlan) but on the east edge people speak German and here official notices are translated into Flemish. I also notice that Easter doesn't seem to be a big thing, there are a few choccy eggs in supermarches but not the big window displays or adverts. Neither are there any billboards or political graffiti re: the upcoming election. I think Lille is just too bourgeois to get involved in tacky commerce or political machinations.
In the evening we eat at Itsy Bitsy, a very vegetarian vegetarian restaurant and have beers in Beer Market where they serve me an end of barrel which has a delicious taste of pipe cleaner fluid, so have to swap it for a new one.
*
It's Easter Sunday and I expect everything to be closed. When I lived in St Etienne in 1993/94, the only things open on Sunday were Auchan supermarket and McDonalds. But the Australian cafe we've chosen for breakfast (rather than eating at the hotel) is open, as are various other cafes. We take a Sunday morning stroll down to the market (where Stroopwaffels are purchased) and then the park and river, past the Zoo where monkeys do tightrope tricks for tourists.
We take the train out to Baisieux and then set off for le Carrefour de l'abre, which is nothing to do with the supermarket chain, or trees, really. When I first booked this trip for July 2020 (shortly before cancelling it), we were just going to go to Lille. Then David wanted to go on the same weekend as the Paris-Roubaix one day classic (cycle race). So I rebooked it for October 2020, shortly before cancelling it again (with a little bit of relief as the weather was cold and rainy in Flanders). Paris-Roubaix was considered for April 2021 but the thought of leaving the country before we'd left lockdown seemed like madness and by October, when it actually ran, Delta was in the ascendency. But here we are. Leaving the train station we just follow the other people, who set a punishing pace and we're soon dropped as there's a breakaway and we struggle to bridge across to the remains of the piedoton, trying to get on terms. We walk through the town but then take a left on a gravelly path through a field to the Carrefour (I consider taking a short cut through the field but don't want to start an international incident). It's hot and the land is flat and un-ending, just dirt-fields, a few trees and miles of gravel and cobble.
When we get to the Carrefour corner, Belgium has planted its flag to take the terrority and unfortunately someone has let the Italians choose the music. There are no UK flags, that would be even more embarrassing than Russian ones (we are handed two tiny Ukrainian flags to wave) but when it comes to watching it on TV later, our faces are obscured by the Finnish flags of the two Finns next to us. There is a party atmosphere: RVs, coolbags, sound-systems, picnics, beer, grown men doing a conga in the road, a carnevelo if you will, but what else are you going to do on a sunny Easter Sunday? Go to church?? We perch on a verge next to the cobbles, eat some lunch and get some genuine Paris-Roubaix tat from the caravan (an egg shaped stress-ball and a small Asterix comic). It's terrifying when the team cars go past at speed (the Ineos one has tinted windows so you can't peer in at Sir Dave Brailsford inside) and the cobbles are a mere 6 feet across,leaving me worried about cyclist crashes. I like Felippo Ganna as much as the next person but I don't want him tumbling on top of me.
When it comes to it though, when we see the dust rising on the other side of the field and the helicopters hovering, it's like a war: he noise and dust and confusion, helicopters and vehicles and huge grim-faced dusty men moving at speed through the countryside to cheers and roars of onlookers and the rush of adrenaline. Not a conflict in Flanders fields, but like an ancient Mediaeval campaign to rid France of invaders.
We get the train back to Lille and go for the Eurostar which leave an hour late (or annoyingly 50 mina so we can't claim compensation). This time last year we left London for the first time after lockdown and all the trains were messed up. We leave the country for the first time in over 2 years and the same thing.
