Etretat & Saint Valery: Intensity Ley Lines

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Or Tales of Attraction, Obsession and Madness

After spending a couple of fairly rainy weeks in Paris during the last half of February, I was ready to get out of town for a bit. We had chosen to stay home during "vacances" and had pretty much exhausted our "things to do when it is rainy" stand bys. We went to museums. We went to Parc Disneyland. We even found a "Mickey" stage show that was at the Grand Rex. But after two weeks, everyone was getting a bit irritable. So, when Julien suggested a weekend away, everyone was up for it. Originally, we had planned to do a bit of a "castle tour" of the Loire valley, but re-thought that when we realized how long the kids would have to be in the car. At age 5, Lucas has a fairly high tolerance for this. Seb, however, is a terrible 2, and can become monstrously impatient about being contained for too long. So we nixed that idea. Then Julien came up with the idea of visiting Etretat. His description of Etretat was that it was a bit similar to Sormiou, which had beautiful white cliffs and a gorgeous, if cold, beach. The boys had really enjoyed throwing rocks at the beach, and I found the scenery breath taking. So we decided to spend the weekend at a "castle" here. OK, "the weekend" meant one night, but still.

I will detail the trip below but I wanted to start by saying that the couple days that we spent in the Etretat area was lovely, but had a strange surreal kind of "theme" to them. Maybe it was because I was having a bit of a health crisis at the time, and my perception was therefore skewed, but there seemed to be a sort of running current of intensity that ran beneath the surface of even everyday activities. Some of this made sense after reviewing the history of the area but then you get into the chicken / egg conundrum. Does a place feel odd because odd things happened there? Or do odd things happen there because the place is odd to begin with?

[b[Etretat: White Cliffs, White Birds and White Knuckles

The Attraction Part

Before heading off to Etretat, I did a little internet research, and what I found was intriguing . Apparently, It is famous for its beautiful white cliffs and natural arches, which have attracted all sorts of artistic types of the years. Some of those who have painted Etretat include Monet, Courbet, Boudin and Delecroix. Monet painted his various versions of Etretat's white cliffs in the grief stricken years following the death of his wife. Grief is a strange thing and effects people in unpredictable ways. It caused Monet to vow never to be "mired in poverty" again. Ironically, it was this attitude that caused him to produce some of his best, and most popular works. Courbet also painted Etretat with his own special style. This painting was done roughly 4 years after his extremely controversial painting "Origin of the World". That painting was so intense that it was not publicly exhibited until 1988. If you know the painting you will understand. This was clearly not a man who avoided the extreme. Eugene Delacroix was also inspired to paint Etretat. I am not sure if that is before or after "Liberty leading the people", but he was also a man drawn to extremes. While the Cliffs are beautiful and all, there are many things in the world that are beautiful. So why were the Romantic & Impressionists obsessed with this place. I could put forth an argument that it has to do with phallic symbols, but that seems so adolescent. Surely not. Apparently, according to Julien, painters were not the only ones inspired by these cliffs. There was also a novel written by Maurice Leblanc, called the Hollow Needle. In this mystery / thriller it is discovered that the interior of one of these natural arches is actually hollow, and has been being used as a hideout for a thief.

On the esoteric side, I found out that Etretat is also the last place that the biplane "the White Bird" was seen. For those who do not know this reference, the "The White Bird" was a plane manned by Two WWII war heroes , that had been attempting to make the first non-stop flight from Paris to New York in 1927. But instead, it disappeared somewhere over the Atlantic ocean. It is considered one of the great mysteries of aviation, with all sorts of theories abounding.

So, after gathering this information, I was game to go. The fact that is by the ocean appealed to Julien. And any beach appeals to the kids. So off we went. We even made reservations to stay at a "castle" hotel.

OK, first things first, the "castle" hotel was a bit of a disappointment in that it neither seemed like a "castle" or a "hotel". . It was made of new red brick...what more can I say. But it was functional in a "Homewood Suites" kind of way. There were two rooms, so the boys could stay in one and we had one to ourselves. So after unpacking all of our stuff, we headed out to Etretat.

We arrived at the beach just a couple of hours before sunset, and it was glorious. The famous "arch" really is amazing to see. People politely say it looks like a nose. It does not. But I won't go there. But I really did get a sense of what inspired all these artists. It is hard to put into words but I think it has something to do with the quality of light and a certain "throb" to the feel of the place. It was both welcoming, and a bit overwhelming...which is saying a lot coming from me. So, after being there for a few hours, I began to feel...I don't know...I guess over-stimulated is the best way I can describe it. Perhaps it had the same effect on the boys, as they were completely hyper. And the longer we stayed, the more hyper they got. So we ended this part of our excursion with them playing madly in a small play area just off the beach. We aborted our attempt at going to a restaurant, as they were just too wild, and went back to the hotel where I made some god awful pasta that the men were kind enough to reserve comment on.

Saint Valery: Stories of Obsession and Madness

The next day, I suggested that we visit Saint-Valery-en-Caux, which has a meaning for both me and Julien, although we didn't know it until quite a while after we met.

The Obsession Part

The first time I heard of Saint Valery was a through a song written by the Battlefield Band. What made it more personal was that I sort of knew the band. Well, two of them better than the other two. The first was a man who I became completely obsessed with for roughly a year. I can't even say we had a "fling" without wincing a bit, as that would be giving it more credence than it deserves. On the other hand, I can't officially say it was a one night stand either....not even in the Clinton sense. It was more like an acquaintance with whom I had a "high school " make out session. And that should have been it. And it would have been, were in not for the fact that I was searching for a way out of another relationship at the time. So, like so many smart women before me, I found a way of "falling in love" with the first appropriately inappropriate man that I found. Which would give me a credible excuse for breaking up the other relationship....at least to myself. I should also point out that when I say "appropriately inappropriate" it has a definite and specific meaning. I needed to find a man who was "blank" enough for me to superimpose my definition of the perfect man on top of him. That is easy to do with a traveling musician. He is only around for a short period of time. You get to feel glamorous because he is an artist type. You get to go see a concert for free. And you can make up whatever you want to about him. There are no annoying real life intrusions to burst the romantic bubble. So, therefore, the less you know about him the better. Hell, the less he speaks, the better. The problem is that this is a bubble, and like all bubbles, (the dot com one and the real estate one come to mind) it is destined to burst all on its own....which it did. (Stay with me now, I am going here for a reason.)

The majority of said relationship bubble burst at a show that the Battlefield band had in Virginia, which I had gone to see. Unfortunately, for him at least, several of his other "woman" showed up as well. While one of them apparently had no clue as to what was going on, the other was not only extremely pretty but smart and savvy as well. And surprisingly, given the circumstances, she and I bonded very quickly. In fact, by the end of the night, we were singing "He's a Tramp" by Peggy Lee in the parking lot, to the general amusement of other members of the band. So, it was at this point that I realized that this guy pretty likely had a girl in every state. For me that was the end.....part 1. I couldn't allow myself to like this guy anymore, but damned if that hormonal thing isn't hard to get rid of. Somehow I just could not let go of the obsession. After a somewhat nasty phone international phone call (me in a hotel room in Richmond , him in a studio in Scotland) I remember sitting there and wondering why I was attracted to this guy. He had absolutely none of the traits that I usually find appealing in a man. He also had precious few of the traits that I look for in a friend. I remember actually thinking " I feel like I am bewitched". And on the tails of that thought came a smug sort of thought that was something like "I don't know anyone who would be capable of bewitching me....except maybe me". And that was when I had the light bulb over the head moment. You know, it really did feel stupidly like a light coming on in my brain. I had been bewitched by someone...and that someone was me. The person that I thought I was "in love" with had nothing to do with the person that I had just spoken to on the phone. Absolutely nothing. I would like to say that this immediately ended the obsession and I went on my merry way, but neurons and chemicals don't work like that. But from that point on, I knew what I was feeling was a self imposed drug. So I created a plan for getting over it...and I did. With time, any feelings of animosity faded and I can honestly say that I have no ill will against this guy. In fact, every couple of years I get a "hey how are you doing?" email from him, to which I happily respond. But that is about the extent of it, and that is just about right. ( I really am going to make a point here soon...I swear.)

What it is important for me to express is that in the long run more good came out of this situation than bad..at least for me. My relationship with the aforementioned guy was directly responsible for me meeting the aforementioned beautiful and savvy woman....who was to become a dear friend of mine (you know who you are Alisa 😉 ). Meeting him was also the reason that I came to know another man in the band, a man named Davy Steele. (Getting closer to the point ) Davy was a guitarist and singer for the Battlefield Band, as well as a gifted song writer. On top of all that he was also a truly lovely man. Pretty much every time he met me, I was clearly not at my best. But during some of these difficult moments, he exhibited a tremendous amount of patience and understanding. He provided the proverbial shoulder to cry on. He tried to explain to me, gently, why such a relationship was not meant to be....and yet he did so in a way that was not demeaning to me. He joked me out of bad moods. He even had the band perform "Happy Birthday" to me at their show in Chicago. I leaned on him a bit, but he never complained.

A few years after all of this had passed, I moved to the UK. One day, while I was at work, I saw that he was on line and I sent him an IM. It was just a simple, "hello, how are you doing?". But the IM I got back was very uncharacteristic. It said something like " I don't have time for this now". As I had simply been sending an IM saying "hi", I remember being very offended and signing off in a snit. It's ironic that you are never as selfish or self absorbed as you are when you are throes of obsession over someone else or even when you are thinking about having been in the throes of obsession with someone else. At the time it didn't even occur to me to ask if there was something wrong. It turns out that there was. Davy had developed a brain tumor. It was this tumor that took his life a mere few months after that last message. I often say that I have few regrets, and that is true. But one regret I do have is not simply asking him what was wrong that day. In his passing , the world lost a very sweet person and I lost someone who could have been a friend.

The Madness Part

So here is the point that was a long time in coming. One thing that Davy left behind him was an amazing catalog of music. One of the pieces that he wrote and performed was called "The Beaches of Saint Valery" The song is in a narrative style from the perspective of a soldier who fought at Saint Valery. On stage Davy used to explain that it was a song written about the experiences of one of his relatives. It is partially about the battle between the Allies and the German's that occurred at Saint Valery en Caux. But mostly it about the sense of betrayal that was felt by the 51st Highland division, after being abandoned on the beach at Saint Valery by the English boats. I can't do justice to the song, so instead I will put a link to Davy's song used in a very nice video put together as a 70th anniversary tribute.

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For some reason this song always resonated with me, and often brought me to tears. I always felt a bit stupid about this because I had had no family members who fought in that battle. But as fate would have it, I would end up having relatives who fought there....by marriage.

After Julien and I got together, I found out that his grandfather had also fought at Saint Valery en Caux. He, too, had had a traumatic experience there which scarred him. Much like the narrator of the song above, he fought on the beaches at Saint Valery. And he also awaited the boats that were supposed to come and rescue the outnumbered Allies. However, when the boats did come, and he boarded one, he was ordered off at gunpoint by an English soldier.....because he was not English. As a result he was captured and taken to a Stalag where he spent several years. Before the end of the war, he managed to escape and make his way back to France and his love. But what really stuck with him, what he remembered and what he told his grandchildren, was that when he was a prisoner for the Germans they treated him with respect and dignity. (not saying I condone this view, just repeating it) The animosity he felt was for the English, whom he felt betrayed him at Saint Valery. Julien, very pragmatically, has pointed out that it is hard to condemn the actions of a soldier who was probably just terrified and trying to save his countrymen. True enough, when it comes to the French, but not so much when it comes to the Scottish. My take is that war makes angels and devils of us all, sometimes within the context of the very same action... when viewed with different lenses. War and madness are often dance partners. Nonetheless the pain and sadness were and are real, and the parallels between the two stories was almost eerie. So, when I found out that Saint Valery was very close to Etretat, I decided that we had to visit.

When we got to Saint Valery, we did a brief drive through a very charming looking village to the ocean, but that is sort of where the charm ended. While I have heard that Saint Valery en Caux is now supposedly a tourist destination that has a casino, a waterpark and the maximum four flowers on the "France in Bloom" placards, something still seems to cling to the beaches. Whether it is simply the ugliness of the cement on the sand or something less tangible, like a residual memory, I don't know. But there was something about the place that did not temp me to linger. Something dark has left its mark there. It may be invisible to some or even most, but despite the sunny weather, there was a sense of gloom here. So we took a couple of pictures, Lucas and Seb got a chance to eat their respective chocolate mousse's that we got them at McDonalds and we left. Which was probably a good thing, as Seb slept most of the way home, and Lucas got a chance to do a 2 hour monologue on Pokemon's from the backseat. I am glad that we went here, as it is the backdrop of some of our family's mythology, but I can't see myself pushing to go back.

Take away from the Break

It continues to amaze me that there seems to be a fine thread that knits together seemingly unrelated parts of one's life, and that these threads have colors. Some are red with passion and intensity, and they knit life experiences together in a way that creates a vibrant mosaic and a realized meaning. Others are grey and damp, and draw incidents together with a clingy sort of slime. These rarely result in insight, more often they simply accentuate old fears and dig into old scars. I think I felt both of types of threads during this trip. So, I would happily return to Etretat, with its air of intensity and intrigue. But I am unlikely to return to Saint Valery. The memories of war and madness still linger there.

In the end, and perhaps a bit ironically, for me this served as a reminder that life is too short to live in grief or remorse. Given the choice, I will go for passion every time.

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Photos

Wolf trap parking lot
scene of "He's a Tramp" review

Lexy and Alisa a few years later
playing "Alias"