Our summer holiday continued with a ferry crossing from Guernsey to the French port of St Malo. It’s a fifteen-minute walk from the port into the old city walls and Le Nautilus Hotel. Thankfully, I’d managed to access the hotel’s email while in Guernsey, and the code opened the hotel door. We had a quick turnaround in the small loft room on the fifth floor. It costs about £100 a night and is adequate for our needs. We always stay here on our visits to St Malo.
We didn’t fancy eating kebabs in our little room; certainly not after passing – and smelling – Le Penjab. It was 10pm and there were few other options. So, less than an hour after arriving in France we were eating curry, just yards from our hotel. A friendly Bangladeshi family welcomed us and took our order. I ordered a lamb vindaloo. The lady of the house warned me the vindaloo was spicy. Pah, give me your curry and I’ll run a mile afterwards.
In England, curries are generally categorised by degrees of heat. We sometimes have a mild, creamy, Korma. Jalfresi is a nice medium-strength offering. A Madras is usually hotter. This is my default curry. Sometimes I’ll have a Vindaloo, which in England – but not in India – is hotter still. Sometimes you’ll see a Phall on a menu. This is only really for show-offs and fire eaters.
Most Indian restaurants in England are geared towards white people, where the fire rating works well. However, things can be different at restaurants aimed at Asians. I often eat at Al Fairoz in Northampton. Here, the Madras is a bit heavy going, so I have a Jalfresi.
I’ve eaten at nice curry houses in Spain, Holland, Madeira, Prague, New York, Mexico City, Gambia, and at the top of the Jungfrau in the Swiss Alps. In countries where there’s little tradition of going for a curry I’ll often opt for the hottest offering on the menu. Figuring the French palate wouldn’t run to the extreme heat that we’re used to, I felt confident in my Vindaloo order. Despite the warning, it could’ve done with a bit more spice. It was a nice meal though, and with a drink each it was about £40.
Thursday
We met the new hotel owner: a Dutch guy who enthusiastically issued us with a map and circled his favourite places in the old town. We went for a perambulation, stopping for delicious Breton pastries at a kiosk with outside tables.
Zoo
We admired the views of the beach, then spent a happy half hour at the mini zoo built into the walls of the old city: mostly fish and reptiles.
The star of the show was the dwarf crocodile. Mo wasn’t keen, but I commented on how this fine creature might make a nice pet. Compact, at around two feet long, it’d probably only need a wee pond in the garden. I wonder if you could train it to fetch your slippers or bring a newspaper over? I mused on other uses for our prospective new pet.
Pour Utiliser Votre Crocodil
- Pen holder
- Book holder
- CD rack
- Foot massager
- Cheese grater
After the excitement with the crocodile I fancied a beer. Found St Patrick’s bar was open at about 11am. It’s billed as an Irish bar, that familiar go-to marketing ploy to suggest this is where the serious drinkers go. The gadgie who I took to be the owner was an eccentric Frenchman who sang along with the Doors (I’ve noticed the French always play decent music in their bars, no trendy pop rubbish). The only Irish thing about it was one or two Irish sports shirts among the display of mostly French football shirts. They sold Guinness, but that’s not unusual. It’s a nice, cosy old bar, and it does offer serious drinking. Plenty of strong ales on offer, including a fruit beer for madame, and cocktails at a reasonable nine euros.
Friday September 4
Our usual Breton pastry at a street table for breakfast. Some shopping, then a nice bar at 11am. Mo isn’t as approving of dogs in public places as I am. We’d seen two silly little woofers being carried in people’s bags, and in this bar, a few bigger dogs were misbehaving a bit. It didn’t worry me.
Found another bar familiar from years ago: La Belle Epoque. It’s a pretty serious beer bar, and has sand on the floor during the summer. I had an Exocet beer, Mo had a Bacchus, one of our favourite Belgian fruit beers. There were quite a few Americans in town. There was a middle-aged American couple at the bar. They lived in Paris, and talked enthusiastically with a family from Jersey. Rarely heard bar music included the Velvet Underground’s Femme Fatale, and Canned Heat’s On the Road Again.
I couldn’t really sleep afterwards, so went out for a drink on my own. It was drizzling and the bar was crowded. I sat with my Merlot and felt very French.
When I returned to the hotel, Mo was getting dressed for our final French meal. First, I had two cocktails at St Patricks.
Steak Meal, Guaranteed
We’ve been to Bistro de Jean a few times. It’s very popular. Mo had fish, while I had the only steak meal of the holiday. It was terrific. We had a bottle of wine. I felt myself glazing over from the outset. Remember, I’d had a glass of Merlot and two cocktails. Mo sensibly talked me out of going on to the Irish pub afterwards, so I made do with a coffee.
And that’s about it. We managed to get up at 6am the next day and we made the ferry back to Guernsey.
