Growing up in London I always envied those living on the south coast; not least for their close proximity to exotic foreign lands. In my younger days I’d occasionally go over to France for day trips or weekends; usually on the busy Dover to Calais route. I discovered the Newhaven to Dieppe route three years ago, as an add-on to a night in Brighton. I wasn’t expecting a lot from Dieppe, as most people seem to drive straight off the ferry to more glamorous locations. I liked Dieppe immediately. As a bit of a foodie it satisfies with scores of restaurants, many concentrated around the attractive harbour.
On this occasion we we’d spent the night in the Brighton seaside suburb of Saltdean, so it was a quick fifteen-minute drive along the coast to Newhaven. It’s not my policy to drive in foreign countries, so, as before, I dumped the car on some wasteland next to the ferry port. There are no signs saying you can’t park there, so it I assume it’s a rare free above-board parking facility. It’s quiet on this crossing compared to Dover – Calais: no crowds or hassle. After the noise of Brighton we welcomed some peace and quiet. We found seats by the restaurant, making sure there were no hen parties, or kids that might join in with the shrieking when they get bored.
Box of Anxiety
After four hours we docked at Dieppe. Taxis are few and far between, so made the usual 30-minute walk to the far side of the quayside. I’m always anxious when I’ve booked an apartment. The first time we stayed in a flat in Brighton, and they neglected to tell us they’d changed the code to the key box before we arrived. I had to phone the owner, who was on holiday in Spain. Having issues with keys in a foreign country could be even more fraught, and so it proved to be today. I’d told Marjorie a couple of days previously what time we’d be arriving. The standard instructions are that if you arrive after 6pm you need a code for the key box. She knew we were arriving around 5pm, so I expected her to be there at her travel agency to hand over the apartment key. The shop was closed. Panic. There were six key boxes on the wall. I’d have to try and connect to the internet on my phone and see if she’d left a message on email (assuming I could get the internet and email: I couldn’t access the net at the ferry port even though I knew the password). Before I tried that, I phoned the number on a flyer in the window. I didn’t even know I could make phone calls abroad, so I was relieved to hear Marjorie answer. It seems she rents out various apartments, but she didn’t seem to know the codes to her key boxes. On the third box, success. We had the key and we walked five minutes around to the flat.
I’d booked the fabulous L’Anvers Vue Port De Plaisance. I’d dreamt of staying here since enjoying three nights here in 2023. We couldn’t get booked here last year, but it’ll always be my first choice in Dieppe. It’s nothing like the poky flats we’ve stayed in at Brighton. It’s bright, spacious, and has enormous character and style. It cost us about £400 for three nights.
Ball of Confusion
There’s a balcony overlooking the quayside, right in the middle of the action. The action is quieter than Brighton, but there was a holiday buzz on this day before bank holiday Monday. To the pub, naturellement. We had strong ale and burgers. There’s a confused identity to this bar (which I can never remember the name of). There’s a half-arsed Australian theme going on, plus a random confusion of weird and wonderful artefacts and pictures. Amongst the Australian flags, repro shark warning signs, and surfboards; huge effigies of the Blues Brothers guard the entrance. There’s an electric guitar hanging up. The label claims the guitar to have been played onstage by Jimi Hendrix at Woodstock in 1969. Highly unlikely: such a valuable guitar would not be on the wall of a Dieppe bar, and the guitar’s make wasn’t anything I’ve heard of. Music was blues and rock.
My arm was still hurting from Tennis Elbow. I’d stopped taking tablets, as I don’t want to be taking them for two years. I won’t be bowling for a while, and I’d avoid any invitations from a fisherman for an arm-wrestling contest. Talking of fishermen, I was wearing my blue and white striped top. I could be a Mod, or I could have just stepped off a trawler. The thing is, nearly everyone was wearing such a top, and they’re sold everywhere in coastal France and the Channel Islands.
Bank Holiday Monday
Walked around the town, but there was little open: mostly patisseries. It’s nice to see the stereotype image of someone with a French baguette under their arm is based on reality. It’s interesting to see patisseries, greengrocers, butchers and fishmongers in town; so unlike our identikit high streets.
I bought bottles of Chouffe Cherry and Casteel Rouge and we took them back to drink on the balcony before heading for lunch. We had pasta and pizza at an Italian-themed place we’d been to twice before. We also had 75c of white wine.
To the beach. There are no chairs available, so we had to spread our towels on the pebbles. It wasn’t very comfortable, but we got an hour in. The big pebbles hurt my feet to walk on, so I never made it to the sea.
An old age nap, then out to Le Café de Tribunaux. We’d had breakfasts here before, but never dinner. After the castle, it’s probably the most impressive building in Dieppe. A tourist trap for sure, but we like it. Its art deco splendour is rather spoilt by TV screens. It has had some negative reviews on Trip Advisor recently. I thought it was OK, but thinking about it later, service was a bit slack.
Tuesday
At 8am I took some photos on the deserted beach, then went to a patisserie to buy breakfast. A millefeuille and a pasta de Natta for me, and two croissants pour madame. I did it without speaking English, but I didn’t really speak French either. When we ate our food on the balcony. I threatened to send Mo out with some cash tomorrow just to see what she comes back with: a fish? A donkey?
We had a beer at our favourite bar, then decided on lunch at Le Palmier. At this small Moroccan restaurant, I had a lamb kebab and Mo had a tagine. The tagine should have been lamb rather than chicken, but we agreed it was probably nicer than anything we’ve had in Morocco. We shared a half bottle of Moroccan red. We’d definitely return.
Stop The Boats!
For £13 each we took a 45-minte boat trip along the coast. Unfortunately, the live commentary was in French, but it always feels like a proper holiday when you’re on a boat in the sunshine. Mo’s not great on boats, so naturally, I made jokes as we boarded. I wondered if we’d turn up on a deserted beach in Kent, pursued by the Royal Navy. I offered Mo a fiver to ask the captain “Ou sont les sharks de tigre?”
Deux Croissants et Deux Pain au Chocolat, S’il Vous Plait
I ordered our takeaway breakfast just like that. The lady in the patisserie understood perfectly, though that’s about the easiest French phrase anyone has ever used. It’s 9am now on our final day. The sun’s showing some energy, and I’m finishing writing this on the balcony. In an hour we’ll walk to the port for the noon ferry. So ends our third consecutive trip to Brighton and Dieppe. It’s been our best yet, helped by better weather this year. The Brighton itinerary needs tweaking, but we’ve got our favourite places in Dieppe, plus a couple of new ones. Next year? C’est Possible.
