Dem Wind zum Trotz
Publikováno: 11.09.2018
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Despite our not very amusing but nevertheless successful start to our vacation, we change location and mood in a proper nomadic manner.
Through green tunnels, narrow streets lined with hydrangeas in pretty (but unfortunately very deserted-looking) villages, past escaped cows, the road leads us towards Cherbourg. I can't get enough of the little villages with their narrow streets. The sight is so unfamiliar to our eyes and so wonderfully typical of this area. My husband at the wheel currently cannot share my enthusiasm. The narrow passages may have been acceptable for horse-drawn carriages and even during the time of the Citroen 2CV, but a 2.30m wide motorhome should definitely not encounter oncoming traffic. I ignore that, ignore the sweat on his forehead, and for once I'm happy to be a passenger. 
On a beautiful beach, we have a solitary pitch in the front row and let the sound of the waves lull us to sleep. Here we find the peace that we loved so much in Scotland and that is very welcome now. 
We don't have great beach weather today, so we saddle up our bikes (Lars and I on racing bikes, the grandparents on electric machines) and take a joint trip along the coast. Bad idea!! The gusts from the sea are strong, and we quickly and unanimously abandon the original plan to ride along the coast to the lighthouse.
Companyyyyyy hoooome! Off to the countryside, where tall hedges and makeshift walls protect us from the wind. Somehow Lars and I were under the impression that Normandy was flat, which may be true, but it's definitely not flat here. Motivated by Ida's calls, we pedal up the hills - and yes, even those with motors have to pedal hard. After about ten kilometers together, we say goodbye and (now a bit more sporty) continue on the coastal road to Cherbourg. 12 km against the wind - that's a lot of fun. But we wanted to do some sports. The view of the sea is worth it, the city itself is definitely not. There is a huge ferry port, great bike paths, and a great bakery (probably like in every French town). Unfortunately, there isn't much else positive to say. So we don't need to stay here for long. Lars quickly looks for another route for the journey home so that it doesn't get boring. Specifically, we drove along the Road of Torment, turned onto the Path of Pain, over the Mountain of Hate, and through the Valley of Tears. I know, I'm doing this voluntarily, but here I reached my limits despite the tailwind. After every curve, it feels even steeper uphill (so much for 'flat') and I have to seriously push. The surroundings make up for it and the torment is quickly forgotten. Especially since a little Dachshund with flapping ears runs ahead of us for a good part. I wasn't aware that these little animals can zip along so fast on their dew claws. Regardless of the cloudy sky, as a reward for the day's efforts, we frolic in the waves with Ida and quickly use up the last reserves of energy before heading to the (cold!!!) shower. The gas is empty (which of course cannot happen in a tent :-)). For dinner, the sun finally comes out again, and we witness a very curious and, according to my parents, French phenomenon. The older people in the area come to bid the sea goodnight. Whether that's really the purpose of this strange endeavor, we don't know, but it seems almost like it. They come in rickety Citroen vans, briefly park with a view of the sea, and then leave again after a few minutes without even opening the door.
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