BY MAKI SOMOSOT

In print | Published October 7, 2010

Vacationing during the weekend is a beloved — and often fiercely defended — right for the French. With its two-day-long promise of rest and relaxation, the weekend takes on almost mythic proportions in France. Indeed, a colloquial phrase has even been coined to capture this phenomenon: partir en weekend, which means to take the weekend off, in general, for a short holiday.
For city dwellers, la France profonde, the “deep France” of the countryside, is often the preferred destination. La France profonde is mythic in its own right, evoking archetypal scenes of unspoiled beaches, sprawling green pastures, quaint traditional villages and simple, rural lifestyles in the collective French consciousness. It is a perfect respite for city-bred Parisians needing to escape from the daily grind of the metropolis.
My friend and I were more than ready ourselves to hightail it out of Paris after a month of intensive French socio-political courses. We decided to hit up the beaches of Normandy, a region only two hours west of Paris by train, for our vacation.
Globally known for its beaches’ involvement in the Normandy landings of World War II, Normandy also boasts an impressive culinary heritage of seafood, apple cider and camembert cheese, alongside a magnificent landscape of cliffs, coastal beaches and villages. Due to its proximity to Paris, Normandy is a favorite getaway spot for native Parisians. Luckily for us students with small pockets, it also happens to be a budget-friendly location. In the real, lazy spirit of vacances, we decided to skip the D-Day monuments and instead settled on the northern coastal village of Etretat, acclaimed for its stunning beachfront cliffs facing the English Channel.
No matter how charming la France profonde seemed to be, we were wary of the stereotype that the country could be more difficult to navigate than the city. We had heard about the notorious inconveniences that befall travelers in the French countryside, such as nonsensical regional transportation, inexplicable time delays and the absence of the Internet, pedestrian sidewalks and clean toilets. La France profonde has been stereotyped as much as a hellish hassle as a dream holiday destination.
In terms of logistics, booking the train tickets from Paris to Trouville-Deauville in Normandy was straightforward enough. From there we had to catch two different regional buses to arrive at our final destination.
Upon arrival at Trouville-Deauville, we had no trouble making our first bus connection to Le Havre, a major city in northern Normandy. The next bus connection to Fecamp, a smaller town further north, was just as uneventful as the previous one. Contrary to our worst fears, it had been an efficient journey, with no massive nuisances. It was too good to be true for first-time travelers in the French countryside.
And indeed, it was. We had chosen a hotel located in between Fecamp and Etretat, thinking it would be possible to explore both towns on foot just like in Paris. In fact, without a car, we were forced to commune with la France profonde in the rain and the cold.
On an isolated dirt road off the main highway, we trampled past endless farmlands and grassy plains in search of our distant hotel. The only sign of civilization present was the occasional rundown trailer, a tent inhabited by campers or the field of ogling cows with hostile expressions.
“These are xenophobic cows,” my friend remarked about their change of demeanor. “Don’t make any sudden movements.”
We finally arrived at the charming little hotel in the middle of nowhere, a kilometer and a half away from the highway. There was wi-fi access, functional heating, excellent bathroom facilities and even cable TV. It was impeccably suited to modern standards. Only the quintessential boulangerie (bakery) was nowhere to be found in the surrounding village.
In France, the absence of a boulangerie that supplies bread indicates the most extreme countryside possible. We were at the heart of la France profonde, which apparently gave us access to the Internet and broadcast TV, but no bread. We expected to confront stereotypical hassles during our trip, but where was the damn bread? “It’s 20 minutes away by car,” the owner of the hotel informed us helpfully.
Dinner was not served on Sunday nights either. Hungry and gloomy, we decided to take a stroll along the cliffs, which were impressive to behold even on an empty stomach. Passing farmland after farmland, I seriously pondered stealing corn husks and kidnapping a cow for dinner.
The possibility of shame aside, the other option available was to beg for food from the other hotel lodgers. Thanks to the Samaritan kindness of two German tourists, we were able to eat leftover bread and cheese.
It was a less-than-ideal start to our long-idealized vacation. The village was beautiful, but a logistical impossibility without a car to move ourselves around. We left the charming hotel in the middle of nowhere the next day for the town of Etretat, our original destination.
Etretat was the idyllic bucolic escape that we had been seeking in the first place. We hiked the renowned cliffs, marveled at the breathtaking seascape, drank apple cider and watched too many American TV shows dubbed in French. Paris seemed too distant to register in our minds. The town had all the modern conveniences of wi-fi, cable TV, and most importantly, several boulangeries. With the presence of bread restored, our wandering souls could finally rest in peace.
Despite having spent one stereotypical night in the middle of nowhere, our holiday did not otherwise fulfill the common stereotypes about the French countryside. The basic infrastructure exists. The regional buses are cheap and reliable for the most part, albeit often populated by old French mesdames and their pets.
However, it will do wonders to plan and research for a trip well in advance before heading off into la France profonde. A French or Francophone companion will be a lifesaver, as will a car.
And stock up on bread just in case.
Maki is a junior. You can reach her at msomoso1@swarthmore.edu.

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