We had pre-booked a hotel in Beauvais through the traveller’s essential friend, Logis de France, and true to form it was cheap and cheerful with friendly staff -— if a little down at heel.
Making our arrival felt, we had to call for help within five minutes of checking in, when yours truly got locked in the bathroom (compliments of an ancient lock).
Time was pushing on, and when I was eventually released we were under pressure to get to a restaurant before they all closed.
Beauvais was heavily bombed during the second world war, but rose from the ashes and is now a modern town. We didn’t expect much — plenty has already been written about why nobody would want to go there. Most people fly into its airport and hop on a bus without giving it a second glance.
Strolling through the wide streets, we had the chance to have a good look around and were actually surprised at how attractive and well laid-out it was. All the shops you could ever need were there, the pavements and walkway areas were peppered with floral displays and a lot of thought had gone into the street lighting and shopfronts.
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Okay, so it didn’t have the charm of a quaint rural village but, as modern towns go, it was worth a look.
The most impressive part of Beauvais is the Cathedral of St Pierre, which is a huge structure designed to be seen by travellers approaching from any direction. A former bishop’s palace, its size denoted the power of the bishop who commissioned it, and this man had no hang-ups about his self-esteem.
We found a cheerful- looking restaurant with a smattering of customers, and once seated, we began to go over all the elements of our trip, both good and bad, the latter far outweighing the former.
Of all the places we’d visited, Honfleur was the only one in which we’d be happy. But this involved a two-hour drive on top of time spent hanging around airports and the flight itself, all eating valuable chunks out of future weekend flits.
It was time to put our cards on the table. We’d done the Languedoc-Roussillon region; we’d done Provence in winter and spring; we’d done the Côte d’Azur in summer and bought a tin can (our mobile home, you may recall). We’d had a good look around the north, which hadn’t produced anything plausible either, so where could we go next? Practical being my beloved’s middle name, we had to restrict our search to within reasonable reach of a sizeable airport or a ferry port.
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It would be too risky to buy a home in a newly discovered jewel that has become popular because of the opening of a new air service. If they pull the plug because they’re not making money, you can kiss your investment goodbye.
Outside the tourist trap, rural properties stay on the market for ages and you could be stuck with it for a couple of years or more.
An idea was beginning to formulate at the back of my mind. Was the answer right under our noses? We wanted to be near an airport, it had to have easy access to a big town, it also had to be a feasible weekend break option — was Beauvais next on our hit list? It’s less than an hour from Paris if we want the bright lights, and we’d have the choice of two airports — yes, we might have cracked it.
I always said Picardy was a great spot, didn’t I?