The Normandy Chronicles: Day Four: White Cliffs of Étretat and an Architect Named Renard
We were late, as usual. I don't remember why, but I can almost guarantee it was because we got lost in the pleasure of something. Lunch. Wine. Sitting by the sea. (Lisa checks her pictures to remind herself of where she's been.) Oh yes, we had just finished eating a fabulous lunch at Le Garde Manger while Men In Boots tested out the floodatiousness of the fire hydrant five feet from our lunch table.
Then we wandered back to the enormous white seaside cliffs of Étretat, to see why Monet felt the need to paint them 125 years ago. Here's a picture I took of the cliffs and then enhanced in iPhoto so that I could be just like Monet. Ahem.
It was raining and the storm clouds over the sea were beautiful. That kind of somber light always makes the colors pop. I couldn't leave without taking some pictures of the boats upended on the beach.We drove up a winding road that gave us an amazing view of the cliffs below and green rolling hills above. Our destination was Les Charmettes, a classic 19th century villa that has been the home of four generations of a family named Renard (In English - Fox). Of course, I didn't know any of this before I got there. (Galadriel doesn't tell me anything. Of course, she'd be right if she said, "Lisa never asks me anything.") I also didn't know that we had to visit another bed and breakfast in Étretat and that we had not yet reserved a place to rest our weary little heads for the evening. Ignorance is bliss.
Monsieur and Madame Renard met us at the end of the lane leading up to their villa. They were taking advantage of the fresh, rain-soaked air to walk with their child in his stroller. That baby had great big fat cheeks and an addicting smile. In contrast, Monsieur Renard seemed as serious as the cloudy day. Uh-oh. When I meet men who don't smile, I immediately think I'm in trouble. But I was soon to learn that this was not the case.We parked at the base of the villa and walked up a hill and through the beautiful gardens to the front entrance. As we walked in, I encountered a smell from my childhood - graphite. My father was a mechanical designer and taught me to be a draftswoman. I worked for him in his office before computers took over the design field and his office always smelled like graphite, vellum and oak.
To the right, off the main entrance hallway at Les Charmettes (still paved in original tiles), was a typical architect's room, with an old-fashioned oak drafting table. The sliding straight edge was positioned towards the bottom of the drawing table and vellum was scattered on the desk and stored in flat files. Monsieur Renard is an architect, as was his father, grandfather and great grandfather.Madame Renard and her sweet child left us with her husband so we could tour the home. The guest rooms were comfortably furnished, but what captured my attention was the incredible art and sculpture that we encountered at every turn.
Monsieur Renard has a passion for art and in addition to his large collection, he's hosted several artists, such as Gail Hood, recently retired visual arts professor at Southeast Louisiana University. She gave the Renards this painting of the Etretat cliffs that she had made from their villa's porch. When I looked her up online, I found this interesting article and photo about a beautiful painting she just created, using some of the crude oil from the Gulf of Mexico oil spill.
Hidden at the top of the stairs was a powerful pastel drawing done by one of Monsieur Renard's relatives - I think it was his uncle - of a naked African man. He kept it upstairs in case he had guests who might take offense. But to me, it was beautiful. You can see that it's signed RENARD at the bottom left.
It was in the main dining room, with Monsieur Renard and his lovely wife and child, that we all relaxed while drinking sweet, hot tea and eating a special Moroccan cake that Madame Renard had made just for us. We were still full from our lunch, but we welcomed the tea and loved the cake. It was not only beautiful to look at, but it had a distinctive, delicious flavor - some combination of semolina (I think) and honey.
Monsieur Renard wasn't serious in a brooding way. Not like my father, who my mother used to call Chief Rain-In-The-Face when he would go silent and all of us would watch and wait to see when his storm would break and upon whose head the rain of anger would fall. No. Monsieur Renard was serious because he is passionate - about his family's history, about art, about sharing his home with others. If you ever travel to Étretat and are lucky enough to stay at Les Charmettes, be prepared to feast your eyes on truly wonderful contemporary art, sleep in comfortable rooms appointed with period furniture and share with Monsieur Renard, over a cup of tea, the history of the "Fox" family.
