A Dutch peninsula, once, long ago

A few days at Île de Noirmoutier

Exhausted by all the excitement that Île d’Yeu had offered up, we made a leisurely crossing to Île de Noirmoutier, where we spent a pleasant night anchored in the bay a little to the south of Port de Morin. The next morning, to avoid incoming poor weather, we lifted anchor and left under sail with just light winds to carry us around the northern end of the island and into the harbour at L’Herbaudière. Being late in the season, we were perhaps the only live-aboards but the spot was pleasant enough as a base for a bit of wandering around on Île de Noirmoutier.

Cycling around mudflats

This wandering around was done on our trusty Bromptons. We first followed the coastal road east out of town and then along the coast through walled fields and hamlets. Spread out across the grey, brown mudflats on the eastern end of the island, scores of people could been seen, bent over and scraping away as they searched the wrack, sand and pebbles for shellfish.

Bowed down by their work, under a pressing grey sky, black and indistinct on the flat expanse, the pêcheurs à pied looked more like the peasants in one of van Gogh’s Drenthe landscapes than modern French citizens.

Churches, castles and wars

As our path turned inland, following the muddy line of a tidal creek, the church spire and castle keep in the town of Noirmoutier-en-Île rose, just slightly, above the flat horizon of the island. Dark, lowering skies, a dull sombre landscape and impending rain made it all feel like some kind of dreary and foreboding medieval vista.

And medieval it was, once we got there, with a nice castle and museum to explore. Here we learned about the slaughter during the post-Revolution Vendée war (1793 to 1796) between the Catholics and Royals on one side and the Republicans on the other. A bit earlier, in 1674, Admiral Cornelis Tromp conquered the peninsula, raised the Dutch flag from the castle, but departed after 21 days of plundering to take his loot (and a few hostages) back to the Netherlands.

Saltpans

Next door was a fine old church where, down in the crypt, a statue of Saint Something-Or-Other was lit up so as to make it appear that he was burning in hellfire next to his sarcophagus.

No doubt the Revolutionaries would have thought he deserved it. We also cycled around the artisanal salt works that are to be found all across the island. At this time of the year, they looked just like, well, ponds of water. I guess that is actually exactly what they are but…

A broken chain

The (uphill and upwind) ride home was a relaxed affair for dearest Frederieke. The dark clouds that had loitered around all day were delivering on their promise and it was raining heavily. Just outside town, Frederieke snapped a link on her bike chain. So much for trusty Bromptons. It wasn’t something we could fix there and then and so this meant that her beloved David (oh, knight in shining armour, or is that amor?) had to peddle the 10 or so km back to Yuma while Frederieke held onto his shoulder and freewheeled happily along. Nice for someone. One of us, however, stayed warm in the downpour while the other got just a bit cold.