The Normandy Chronicles: Day One Ends Well

To continue my story of a couple of bad girls traveling through Normandy, we had just escaped hovering helicopter photographers and Rouenistas carrying impressionist painting segments and death by car park, when we began to ascend the hills of Rouen to find the B&B Le Jardin en Douce.
The hills rise above Rouen with tiny streets at precarious angles. Which makes Mr. GPS (I don't know why we think it's a man, but we do) very confused. But we finally climbed a perpendicular hill to turn right on a tiny alleyway that led to the B&B. I got out to ring the bell at a white gate when it was opened by a smiling gray-haired man with glasses. Behind him lay one of the most beautiful gardens I've seen in a long time and from the upstairs window, his lovely wife smiled and waved.
I looked at Galadriel (as in Queen of the Elves - that's my travel companion's new fake name - we'll see how long it lasts), to see if she was thinking the same thing I was - that we had found our hotel for the night. She said, "If they have a room available..."
Marc Lafont guided us into the driveway and as we parked, I saw a pretty table ahead of us, in front of the house and under a climbing vine of pink roses, with a carafe of rosé wine, wet with condensation, and two little glasses. (The picture to the left was taken the next morning, so the wine is gone. Because we drank it all.)
Françoise, his wife, was tanned and elegant in a long gray gauze and lace top and gray and yellow floral slacks. I looked at her and wished I could age just as gracefully.
She led us on a tour, starting with the garden. The picture to the left is the view while standing in the driveway and looking down along the right side of the house into the back garden. It was bursting in blooms of all kinds. She told us that she and Marc do all of the work and that she's "a slave" to the garden, but it's obvious that it's a labor of love.
Next we toured the house, with its comfortable breakfast room, tasteful furniture and art and a cat who sleeps on the couch where he's not allowed (I guess other people are managed by their cats just like I used to be). Our room was upstairs, with a big window looking out at the garden below (I took the picture on the left from the window the next morning, when it was a little foggy and so was I) and a large private bathroom across the hall with a window overlooking the front garden. The cool air flowed through those windows, bringing the smell of roses and greenery with it.
After the tour, we sat with Françoise and Marc at the table I spied earlier and drank chilled rosé and nibbled on nuts and pretzel sticks as we discussed the probability of making the one-hour drive for our 9pm dinner reservation. Galadriel and I were both tired, but after our long day, we really wanted to taste the natural wines and organic foods at Le Garde Manger. But as we relaxed our muscles and our minds, listened to the birds getting ready for bed in the trees above us and enjoyed the conversation with Françoise and Marc, we knew we wouldn't make the drive. There would still be the possibility of going in the next few days, if we were good girls (meaning we would not get distracted by castles and gardens along the way) and visited all the dots on Galadriel's map, we could reward ourselves with a dinner at this delicious place.
So Marc and Françoise recommended a restaurant in Rouen called L'Espiguette, with a simple but tasty menu, where we could sit outside and enjoy the night air. We found our way back to town and parked without incident and walked through the narrow streets of the old town to a small square. On our way, we came across a few tables outside of a restaurant, situated across from the restaurant entrance and against Medieval walls. Just at that moment, a mournful sax player stepped out of the restaurant to serenade the guests.
At the next small square we found our restaurant with busy waiters running in and out to service at least 30 guests, but we were lucky to find a table just outside the entrance and next to lovely, scented trees. Here's a nice picture of Galadriel, contemplating the menu. I just wanted you to see how pretty it was in this old-town courtyard, on a cool summer night in Rouen. So, I had to disguise Galadriel (you can still see the tip of her iPhone which is actually what she was contemplating) to maintain her anonymity because as we all know, now that the press has terrorized us with the audacious communism of Facebook, is a lost cause. Since I already told everybody I used to be a hooker, I don't care. But Galadriel may not want everyone to know that she, er, knows me.
Anyhoo! The menu was simple - only 3-4 starters and 3-4 main courses, so I ordered the salmon tartare and Galadriel, after much Elvin deliberation, ordered steak tartare, which is pictured here, in all its lovely raw-meatiness. The salad was roquette with shaved parmesan and a really wonderful vinaigrette with pine nuts and tarragon.
My salmon tartare was fabulous, with chunks of creamy feta cheese and an accompaniment of what I think was red pepper coulis. Mmmmm.
Of course, we drank a lovely natural wine so that we could tackle the next day's hard work with gusto.
Stay tuned for the next installment, where I will reveal Normandy's most unfriendly town, a castle keeper who healed our wounds, a chateau where I left my mark, a chance to revive my title of Third Place Tramp and my most favorite place to stay of the whole trip.
(The Normandy Chronicles name was inspired by my friend Brian who wrote The Paris Chronicles - a hilarious and touching, day-by-day - or should I say blow by blow - tale of his family's trip to Paris - a must read.)