Musings on Rouen
Rouen, France, is so different from Scotland. In Scotland, we drove around all of the Highlands. Ruined and rebuilt medieval buildings dotted the landscape, rivaled only by the sheep in their numbers. The lands beyond town were the focus of so many days. We trekked to the edge of imposing cliffs and enjoyed the waterfalls hidden away in lightly forested valleys. We marveled at the rolling mists of Durness in one moment and gaped at wild orca in the next.
I will confess that I did not expect to be similarly moved by Rouen. It feels like I’ve spent more time in France than any other foreign country. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve visited Paris which, however gradually, has seemed to rob the place of much of its mystique. I have seen the grandeur of Notre Dame, walked to exhaustion in the Louvre, and bicycled around the palace of Versailles. How could Rouen, the “Diet Coke” of Paris in my mind, compare to that?
Well, as I sit writing this now, we have been in Rouen for almost a full week. I’ve been inspired to develop new habits, the most relevant of which has been a long post-dinner walk every evening. Each time, I’ve found myself wandering down new routes, finding new monuments and statues every time. My strides have taken me along the River Seine, where I’ve watched tiny boats float by, their sails lit in the golden glow of sunset. As I’ve stopped for breath at this or that bridge, I’ve wondered about the tall spires of cathedrals dotting the green hills in the distance. I want to go and look at each and every one. And I will.
Yet, even with that, I feel like I’m barely touching on what makes this place so remarkable. Rouen is such an intoxicating blend of old and new that it is hard to put into words. Cafes and bars huddle below houses and structures that seem almost to sag beneath the weight of their age, the wood warped and stone supports leaning to one side. People cheerfully bustle and drink under baroque clocks and next to elaborately sculpted scenes of alabaster figures acting out holy rites. Last night, I sat in the shadow of one of the most magnificent cathedrals I’ve ever laid eyes on, the stern and timeless gaze of marbled saints judging me for the absurdly large cup of hot chocolate in my hands.
Rouen has blown me away. Where Scotland’s power is in its seemingly untamed and rugged natural beauty, Rouen’s mastery is cultural and in how alive the city feels. The amount of activities and cute shops on offer are unmatched. The food, cheese, and chocolates are to die for. The weight of history in the area, from Joan of Arc to Richard the Lionheart, is powerful and deep. It certainly helps that, unlike the whirlwind tour of Scotland where we spent a few days here or there, our stay in Rouen will be about 12 days long by the end of it. If only we had the infinite time and wealth to have done the same in every Scottish town that I adore.
Upon reflection, I think we prefer this type of travel better than the other. The mobility of a rental car and flitting around Scotland was a blast of a time. But somehow I think that this stay in Rouen is going to feel more memorable and lasting to us. That does not make it better than Scotland, but which method of travel we are more attracted to is an important distinction worth remembering. We’ll have to keep this in mind as we proceed to other parts of Europe!
