As the world becomes increasingly mobile, the older ways of travel are slowly becoming coveted as luxury trips. An Uber ride replaces a nice walk, the underground replaces the black cab, and budget airlines replace ferries and trains. I learned on this trip to France that the old ways are often better than the new, even if they slow you down. But maybe that’s the point.
Last week, my mother and I decided to visit her friend in Caen, France. A historic old town just inland from Hermanville-sur-Mer and Ouistreham. To get there, there are plenty of options. A Ryanair flight from Gatwick then a train from Paris, the Eurostar train into Paris, and then out to Caen and so on. Or… the more scenic route, the train to Portsmouth and ferry over to Ouistreham. For us, there was no debate. What better way to travel than on the same route used for thousands of years?
The train from London
Now if you get carsick as I do, then you probably favour train rides as a nice alternative to nausea and the crazy traffic of London. But the train from London to the south of England holds more surprises than just a smooth ride. On the way, I was able to see villages and farms that I would’ve completely skipped over otherwise. I even saw a few castles!
Upon arrival, as we were boarding the ferry, I caught a glimpse of the naval base at Portsmouth. There were some of the largest ships and aircraft carriers I’ve ever seen. Which isn’t saying much since most of the time I am miles away from the ocean. Their immense presence in the harbour and sleek brutalist look caught my eye. Sometimes it’s easy to forget in my little bubble as an international student, that there are still realities of conflict that persist, and that I am not immune to them because I see them as morally incomprehensible. It was a humbling experience. You just can’t grasp the reality of such a threat until the weapons used to engage with it sit right before you, floating on a dock adorned with a flag.
That’s one thing, if you want to see how people live and operate in such circumstances, you can’t fly over them. You have to be at ground level. A large part of my most formative years were spent driving from place to place in the United States; stopping in towns to get a feel for the atmosphere and then continuing to the next little pit stop. I saw things I liked, things I disagreed with, and things that scared me. But I never would’ve seen any of it had I flown straight over. I’ve found the same principle applies to the trains in the UK. There’s no better way to see where you’re going than how to get there.
The Ferry to Ouistreham
The boat was by far my favourite part. I’m from a landlocked state (Colorado) and 1,000 miles from the ocean, so boat rides are a novelty I cherish more than anything. Now, it’s true I was born in Seattle, very close to the ocean and the Puget Sound. I spent close to 10 years there, exploring the area with my parents. But in the grand scheme of things, I’ve never taken a boat to get from one place to the other, not practically any way. There’s always a faster (or cheaper) option.
That’s a part of the issue, in my opinion. There’s always something faster. In a world that is so rushed, I find we forget to appreciate the movement of people through spaces on their way to something else. Anymore, we hop in a tube that transports us with ease through the air or underground. We miss out on that middle space. For me, it distorts distance in a way that I no longer appreciate how long things used to take, or how far they are from one another.
I also think it’s important to note that travelling by ferry is not for everyone. We enjoyed relatively calm seas but I can imagine during more impressive weather the trip is rather different for someone prone to travel sickness. Fear not, there is a bar and dining area, so anyone can make the journey with enough provisions.
Besides, had I gone for the plane, I would’ve missed out on the vibrant blue-green hue of the Channel on a cold February day. I would’ve missed the seagulls as they followed our boat across the water, and the cold maritime wind blowing in my face. Not to mention getting to see up close, the large tankers and ships that run through the Channel every day, or the pod of dolphins that swam briefly in our wake and then disappeared into the blue. And of course, the occasional military vessel that patrols the waters off in the distance, ever-present.
Caen, France
Caen being our final destination was the perfect choice. I’m not here to advertise the city, but I will vouch for how our friend lives and the way of life in that small city. For me, the village was a perfect mix of history and tradition with a youthful spirit. The town itself is 1,000 years old, but the large presence of university students there and the addition of trams and new-age architecture means you get the best of both worlds. I enjoyed seeing the various cafes that the local students frequent, and the war museums that all the older people talk about. Our friend is older, so she lives slowly, and carefully. She occasionally goes to the market for her meats and vegetables, but most of her produce is from friends. Her evenings are mostly spent cooking, a skill she picked up while running a Bed & Breakfast in the Alps. Her days move slowly, weighed down by the weight of a life well lived and a storied past.
The past
The region too, carries a heavy past, and no one can travel anywhere without seeing the effects that history has on this place. From the beaches of Normandy to the bombing of Caen, World War II still holds a great legacy here that occupies the memories and stories of older residents. Even though the younger generation seems to attribute that weight to history, for many it is still a close and lived experience. Every dinner conversation at one point or another drifts to the war. A memory or a story from a relative shared, not long ago, at a similar table. Some have been there so long they could show you pictures of how their childhood home has changed, or where their parents used to live before the house was reduced to rubble. It’s a crude reminder that our pasts are never far behind us, even if the currents seem to have changed.
For me, the history of the town and the families who have been there for generations carry more valuable lessons than I could ever sum up here. Living slower to take the scenic route is one of them. But just as important too, now more than ever, is the reverence they hold for the past. Yes, in travel, but also in the way of living carefully.
The mile markers
I think it’s fitting that Caen and Portsmouth are situated as they are. I left one side of the channel seeing sleek grey ships and aircraft carriers shining in the water, maintained efficiently and ready for a response. A response to what I don’t think anyone knows yet. I entered the other side, to a town largely reconstructed from the damage of similar instruments of war in a different decade. I stayed with people who have a direct connection to that history, the history we are still writing today.
What I think this trip taught me is, to pay attention to where you’re going and how you get there. Sometimes you have to be travelling through the checkpoints on the ground, or in the sea, to better understand what you’re seeing. It’s a good reminder that we are not immune to the tides of history, especially if we try to fly over the important stuff that alerts us when we are getting close to our destination. The mile markers if you will.
So in a world that tries to rush everything, and everything around you seems to change at the drop of a hat without reason, just know that it is not all that different. There are more commonalities between us and the past than we think, for better or for worse. We have to pay attention to where we’ve been to understand where we’re going. And now more than ever, it’s less a question of where we’re going, but how we get there.