Before we travel anywhere we do our research. What languages are spoken; the local customs and protocols, and a comprehensive history of the area to understand local issues and sensitivities.

Ok, that’s not true at all. We book, we go, we wing it. Just like everyone does. How hard can it be? People are people; ain’t they? There are some important exceptions; like going to really alien cultures, like Japan, or Ecuador, and in Newfoundland, where we learned if you call the people ‘Newfies’, they punch you. Worth knowing.

So we left Le Touquet having woken up to the first sunshine we’d seen in 3 days. And we drove 120 miles over to Deauville. On the Normandy coast. Driving here is wonderful. The roads are fast and pretty much empty, by normal UK standards. But they charge you. Not just because you’re English and they hate you, but they charge everybody. And you have to keep within the speed limits. The most painful thing of all. They fine you on the spot, and you get points on your UK license for getting a speeding ticket in France!!! They can’t stop 50 massive fucking dinghies from sailing out of Calais each week laden with illegal immigrants, but they can spot a solitary UK driving license at 20 miles on the road. We are a persecuted minority.

And we arrived in Deauville. And it is really, really, REALLY beautiful. Even more so than Le Touquet. More proper town, less seaside resort. But here’s the thing, as we found on a shortish walk. It’s not a town. It’s 2 towns. This photo is from the window of our little apartment, here in Deauville. All the cars and buildings on the right of the photo are across the river in Trouville. We strolled up the road, crossed the 50 metres of bridge over the river Touques and we’re in Trouville. Easy peasy. Like Buda and Pest being separated by the river and joining up.

Except, you get the idea that over here, these 2 places would NEVER join up.

We got a tourist map from the office in Trouville. It doesn’t show Deauville. Just mentions it as a blank space across the river. Similarly, the Deauville map offers no words, details or streets on the Trouville side. The other town simply does not exist on your side of the river. So now I’m interested. It’s so easy to hate the French (less so the women) but when they hate each other???

Turns out that these towns, known collectively as ‘the Riviera of the North’ as they’re only a 2 hour train ride from Paris, are simply from different ends of the social spectrum. Deauville is ‘aristocratic’ and, basically, poncey, full of equestrian events and French nobility and over-priced restaurants. Trouville has ‘working class roots’ and consequently is a bit more ‘pie & mash’ (moules frites, as they call it here), a bit more miner’s strike, some Gilets Jaunes, peutetre. A bit more scummy. Andy Burnham would love Trouville. David Cameron is totally Deauville. Kier Starmer would u-turn between the two until he ran out of petrol.

I’m so pleased that 250 years after la Revolution, the class war is still as live and thriving as it was in Les Mis.

Egalitee, Fraternitee, Libertee? You’re ‘avin a larf, mate.

Happy Saturday

A xxxx