Dublin ahoy

The wind behaves itself today and between bouts of rain, sunshine breaks through. The coast road from Gorey to Dublin is great with little traffic. I have my lunch on the beach of Brittas Bay, with the sun deigning to shine for the 20 minutes I sit there. 

The Dublin suburbs, I mean sprawlburbs, reach into neighbouring counties and the final part through these kilometers is an insipid blur of hastily constructed dwellings lined up in attention. 

Approaching my house after a 1000km journey conjures up memories from my youth. I remember that I cycled as far as the end of the street, then to Bushy Park, then, in later years, regularly to a pool in Stillorgan and even as far as Bray! Throughout my life, as I have cycled further from my doorstep, my worldview has shifted. To this current extent that I feel that my bike connects not just to the outer reaches of my hometown, but to the whole world.

My fantasies of a warm bath over these past 12 days are realised on reaching my parents' house. The first leg is complete and now it's a waiting game until Mylene joins me in a few days.
The beautiful Mafalda comes to visist me in Dublin for a few days and I get to show her around town.

Gorey moment

The anticipated voyage across the sea from Cherbourg to Rosslare was not the high seas adventure it was expected to be. The James Joyce ferry is mundane and dull and the journey lasts 20 hours. 

Finally arriving on Irish soil, all set for my first bike tour in Ireland, a force northerly wind curtails my plans to make Gorey without breaking a sweat. Ireland warns me that, despite its diminutive stature, it will be no pushover.

Steven, a Methodist minister, greets me at his door and bids me to make myself at home while he pops out on some parish business. Soon he's back and I learn of his good works and generous spirit to those unfortunate. Without fuss or fanfare, he helps the needy families with nowhere else to turn. Hero cape required, but he probably wouldn't wear it. 

The next morning, there is a fundraising event for the church. It's a lively affair, with a large selection of items on sale as well as the delicious homemade cakes. Choosing a biscuit cake and sitting down to force-fed cup after cup of tea, is a grand way to spend a Saturday morning. 

Morsalines

Today I encounter the Atlantic - or as my host corrects me, the English Channel. Instead of feeling triumphant at this milestone, I think of how my nemesis, Mr North Westerly, will use this lack of shelter to throw the kitchen sink at me, water and all. And so it proves to be a long day battling the wind and rain, a last gasp effort to foil my plans to reach the coast in time for my ferry to Ireland. Luckily I have planned for such a devilish manoeuvre and I've plenty of time to reach Cherbourg. To quote the Bard, "come wind and rack, at least I'll die with devil on my back".

In less dramatic terms, I'm late for dinner at Greta's in Morsalines. Greta and Jean Baptiste have a magnificent wooden house near to the beach in Morsalines. They have a two-year old boy, Phileus. 

The coziness of the homestead warms me from within and the log fire warm me from without.

Jean Baptiste is a magician and mentalist and has some of the mannerisms of Derren Brown, as he performs his magic tricks and, even more impressively, his "mind reading" performance. 

Next day, the family shows me the beautiful coastline in lower Normandy and we even go out on the family boat for a jaunt around the islands.
 

Caen

This habit of late starts and procrastination mean that I reach Caen after 21:00. The wind has turned it's back on me and is now my daily enemy as I wish for hills to provide some shelter from its breath. There is the feeling of accomplishment in summating even the lowliest hill, but strong headwinds taunt continuously and the struggle has none of the same victorious feeling at the end if the day.

Jeremy and Clara are happy to receive me into their apartment in the centre of town, where talk turns swiftly into the left wing activism that is happening in numerous cities in France. They provide an intelligent insight into what's happening at these demonstrations and the brutality of the police to oppose this peaceful right to protest. 

Rouen

Couchsurfing with philosophy students is a deep experience. Guillaume has found his calling as a philosopher after serving years if training in the army and then a guitar making apprenticeship in England. This is the kind of varied background that provides plenty of subjects for conversation late into the evening and many points of common interest. We enjoy a few 'freshly saved' pizzas and other food to help with my carb deficit from the long bike ride. 

Being philosophy students, they weigh up the pros and cons of attending lessons the next day and decide against this wholly unnecessary participation in organised learning. After all they have 24 hours a week of lessons - positively unheard of by Irish philosophy students.

Cambrai

One of those fun "shortcuts"

Seems that I'm not that anxious to get on the road early these days. Usually having a long, lazy breakfast that extends into lunch before I drag myself away from my CS host and get on the road. This in spite of averaging ~120km per day. Guess when the wind is on your back, the days are long and the hills are gentle means that rolling up to the next destination in the evening, is the best way to maximise your time with your host.
However on reaching Cambrai, I panic when the street to which my GPS points only goes to number 10 and not the required number 44. I get that Harry Potter feeling when he first goes to Kings Cross station. My lovely host Aurelie saves the day by coming to meet me and escorting me by car a further 7km uphill to yet another "Rue du 4. Septembre".
 
The thing that stands out most about Aurelie is her obsession with Robert Downey Junior. She is just back from Paris, where she saw the premier of his latest movie and the next day will travel by bus to London to catch the same premiere there. She will queue up in London from 10am hoping to catch a glimpse of RDJ when he arrives in the late evening. There is an entire room bedecked with Ironman posters. I just hope that he's worth it. Since Chaplin his movies have all gone downhill in my opinion. 

Amiens

A late arrival in Amiens on a Saturday night does not deter Armauld from suggesting a night on the town. He shows me the main attractions - the cathedral is the biggest by area in all of France - and then we eat and have a beer in a trendy bar. He's an engineer, keen traveller and classically trained guitarist... he provides the soundtrack while in his apartment.