The Normandy Chronicles: Day Five: Seamen, Baggywinkles and Le Havre's Sensual Inlet

Based on my photos, Galadriel and I were good girls on the fifth day of our Normandy chateau inspection trip. On this day, I have no food or wine porn pics, which means we must have been very serious. Of course, that's probably because it was the last day, so we had to "catch up" on all the places we didn't get around to seeing because we took so much time taking food and wine porn pics at all the restaurants along the way.
Speaking of serious, do you see what I see in this picture? If so, you have a filthy mind, just like me. And Galadriel too, it seems. As she was chatting with the manager in the lobby of the first hotel we visited, Les Voiles, I was busy behind her, snapping pictures of the sexual bits of the Normandy coastline that were just hanging there, right on the wall, for all the world to see. Or maybe some people might just see it as an old map of Le Havre harbor. But they have no imagination (or, they've never done the mirror thing).
Galadriel, with a look on her face that said, "What are you doing NOW?" (this was day five, after all - she knows me now), nudged me as the hotel manager passed me by to lead us on the inspection tour.  I silently pointed to Le Havre's Secret Garden of Delight and only had to lift one eyebrow and she got it, right away. Perhaps I even whispered, "What does that look like to you?" I don't remember. But I just have to say that the entire day, as we made our way around the Vajayjay of Le Havre (We even crossed it! I extended a respectful salute to the clitoris on the left side of the bridge.), I couldn't cast off the feeling that I was going where too many sailors had gone before.
Hotel Les Voiles is on the northern thigh of Le Havre's, er, inlet, in a beach-side town called Sainte-Adresse. Other than the map, I didn't take any pictures of the hotel. It didn't float my little-man-in-the-boat. (Oh my. I just realized that I've now set the tone for this post and must come up with an endless amount of metaphors for female genitalia.) The hotel had a sort of contrived nautical decor, with portraits of old seamen, some baggywrinkles and of course, a whipstaff. (I'm making this part up.) Based on where it was situated (at the top of the hill, beginning of the town, overlooking the beach) and how it smelled (not terrible, but they may need to clean the bilge more often), it reminded me of the old Laguna Shores hotel (Laguna Beach, CA - here's an old post card), long before it was renovated.
The hotel manager was anxious that we also inspect his other hotel (Hotel des Phares), just a few blocks away, because it was in a more authentic historical building. He must have sensed our lack of enthusiasm with the faux seafarer's life. We were... thrilled to go see it. (Not.) But what the heck, it was pretty. Well, the historic building part of it was. The other buildings? Les Annexes? Not so much. Plus, the people the hotel manager called to ask if they could greet us and give us a tour, were just as thrilled to give us the tour as we were to be there. (Not.)
So, other than the fact that I had discovered an ancient, little-known sea passage into the Garden of Eden, I was underimpressed. But I have to say that neither hotel was terrible. Hotel Voiles had a restaurant and bar overlooking the ocean. I'm sure I could at least get drunk while watching the sun set. And if I wanted to have a room overlooking the sea to sleep off the grog, I could book the "Non-Commissioned Officer's Cabin" (if I'm lucky, he might not have deck watch that night) for only 150 Euros a night. (What? I should be able to sleep with the Captain for that price.) Or, I could stay here (our next stop on our trip) instead, for the same price. Hmmm. Decisions, decisions.