La roche qui pleurt — loop from Fécamp

Relaxed tour in and around Fecamp. Fun even when it rains!

You have to give the day a chance sometimes. So let's go. I leave Saint-Léonard early in the morning. The air is fresh, the sea lapping gently, as if it's not quite awake yet. My path leads directly to the foot of the cliffs, the pebble beach lying there as if freshly smoothed. I feel like a bystander between rock and water, tolerated by nature – but only temporarily. The mighty chalk walls tower above me, white and porous, as if they could sigh loudly and shake off a few tons of rock at any moment. But today they are merciful. The sea, in contrast, lappes like a well-behaved child. I trudge over gravel and seaweed, find a small rocky cave that looks as if the seagulls had set up a weekend home here. Fécamp appears; viewed from the sea, the town seems almost sophisticated. Boats rock in the harbor, the fish market steams, and the first buyers are already queuing up as if they were vying for the continent's last oysters. I stroll through the alleys, letting myself drift to the lighthouse. Back there, at the Feu de la Jetée Sud, it stands like a sentinel who hasn't been bothered by all this for decades. The seagulls, however, are. I've barely treated myself to an ice cream when this feather-light attack comes: One of the gulls attacks, a deadly dive – whoosh, the ice cream is gone. I curse quietly, but the sea mercifully rushes over it. The way back runs along the cliff edge. The tide has now demanded its due; there's no way through below. Up here, the world opens up. Fields, meadows, the view sweeps endlessly over the blue ribbon of the sea. The wind blows against me as if testing my strength. Finally, the first roofs of Saint-Léonard appear again. My legs are starting to ache, my cheeks are glowing, but my head is clear and light. A hiking day just the way I like it: sea, wind, a bit of adventure—and seagulls with criminal energy.