Orbec is a small town in the Haut Pays of Auge. It sits next to a river and takes its name from the Scandinavian word for “river of trout”, having been previously colonised by the Vikings. It’s famous for its many wooden-beamed houses and manoirs.

Here are a few pictures I took as we walked around the town (obviously some from the evening, some from the next morning!)

When we were in Orbec, we stayed at the Manoir de l’Engagiste, a wonderful property that Aude’s mother recommended. It’s recently been transformed into a guesthouse by a lovely couple who we assume were Parisians escaping from the city. The property itself is in two halves – one dating from the fifteenth century and the other dating from the seventeenth century.

Manoir de l’Engagiste

Manoir de l’Engagiste

Guest room at the Manoir de l’Engagiste

Guest room at the Manoir de l’Engagiste

Guest room at the Manoir de l’Engagiste

The proprietor came to greet us in the morning. Detecting my accent, he told us a wonderful story about some previous American guests:

Some years ago, there was an important society wedding in Orbec. Guests from around the world had been invited, including a family from Houston. The Texan had called ahead to the Manoir and reserved rooms for himself, his wife and his two daughters. Several weeks later, they arrived in France and got in a cab, asking to be taken to the Manoir in Orbec.

There was a problem, of course. The taxi driver wasn’t familiar with Orbec and dropped them off at the only Manoir he knew – which happened to be the City Museum! You can imagine the surprise of the custodian when he was presented with four travel-weary Texans on one of the hottest days of the summer, laden with luggage in the way that only Americans can manage, demanding his room.

When it finally transpired what had happened, the Texans were pointed towards the right Manoir. There were no taxis to be found, so the family had no choice but to make the trek up the hill to the right Manoir. Dripping with sweat in the hot summer sun, they were greeted by our host and offered their rooms. Not speaking much English, he said to them “J’ai un ami avec une piscine” and made the universal “swimming” gesture.

The things that get lost in translation…

Ten minutes later, the entire family appeared in the lobby dressed in their bathing suits, sunglasses and towels underarm, ready for their swim. They’d misunderstood – the proprietor meant that he had a friend across town who had a pool where they could cool off – but the Texans assumed that the pool was at the Manoir itself.

When life gives you lemons… The proprietor decided to make the best of a bad situation. He got out the hose and spent twenty minutes hosing down the Texans in the courtyard!

Well, the weather didn’t cooperate, but otherwise we had a lovely weekend in Normandy visiting Aude’s grandfather.

Having narrowly avoided the Friday evening proposal-writing session at the office, I ended up spending several hours talking to my mother on the phone on Friday evening – and subsequently didn’t get to bed until nearly midnight. Which, with my early starts most mornings, qualifies as “late” these days.

We set off early on Saturday morning (too early, actually – I prefer my weekends to start after 6am!) and caught the 8am Eurotunnel to Calais. From Calais, we drove down to Montreuil sur Mer where the Wine Society has their European shop, and restocked our wine cellar. On the recommendation of the shopkeeper, we decided to try a local restaurant for lunch but changed our minds when we were put off by the proprietor.

She was the stereotypical arrogant, rude French person that every English-speaker fears – the stuff of whom legend is made. And Aude was right there beside me to witness it all – and agreed with my assessment. It’s people like this that are giving the French a bad name.

It was all our fault, you understand. We’d entered the restaurant at 11:50am. Aude had politely asked, in French, whether they were serving lunch yet or whether we were too early. “You’re too early,” came the reply. “Come back when we’re open!”

We asked what time they opened. “12 o’clock!” she said.

We should have recognised her displeasure at having arrived ten minutes before the designated serving time and left then and there. But since there wasn’t a full menu posted in the window, we asked if perhaps we couldn’t have a quick look at the menu. I’ve never seen such a roll of the eyes or heard such a sharp intake of breath. Who were these two idiots in her restaurant, so mal élevé?

We left the restaurant, wishing her a future of bankruptcy and food poisoning. We had a steak around the corner instead.

Lunch behind us, and with a boot full of booze, we headed down to Normandy to meet Aude’s grandfather. Luckily, we had a much warmer reception when we got to the Manoir where we were staying (more about that with photos to come later). We were greeted like long lost friends. The hotel and room were beautiful, with a warm log fire to greet us.

We spent the afternoon visiting with Aude’s grandfather and looking through some old family photographs. Jerome, if you’re reading this, I’ve seen the photographs of you in the pyjamas with bunny ears. God help you if you should ever decide to go into politics.

We had a lovely meal yesterday evening with Aude’s grandfather at a restaurant in the centre of town, then went back to his place this morning with a charcuterie and had lunch with him. We hit the road around 2pm with the best intentions of seeing some of the Norman coast, but it wasn’t to be. It poured with rain all afternoon.

Our plans thwarted, we headed straight for the tunnel and caught an early train home. Short of my mother calling, I should be in bed by 10pm tonight, ready for another week!

Aude picks an apple, the fruit that made Normandy famous…

Aude in front of the Manoir

Tired of having only one boyfriend, Aude chats up some of the alternative Frenchman. Her first effort isn’t terribly successful, landing her a boyfriend a lot like most of her ex’s.

Her second effort was more successful. She caught this good-looking fellow, but eventually rejected him because she found him a little two-dimensional.

Suddenly, every Frenchman in town heard that there was a young single girl on the market. Aude had no choice but to hide for cover.

Aude and her grandfather outside his house.

Matthew and Aude’s grandfather. For the record, he doesn’t hate me (despite the body language here). It’s just that Aude and auto-focus have an uneasy relationship, and this was the only shot that was even remotely in focus!!!

Aude and her grandfather in front of his house in Orbec.

Matthew and Aude’s grandfather. I haven’t farted. Honestly. Please see my previous comment about Aude’s auto-focus ability.

Aude’s grandfather as we had lunch together.