Camping St. Claire at Neufchâtel-en-Bray

On Monday 15 September we motored north on autoroutes for the sake of time and ease of driving, paying dearly for the privilege. I had telephoned Camping St. Claire at Neufchâtel-en-Bray early in the day to secure a pitch at this prestigious and well-known campsite. The reviewers rave over the cleanness, neatness and altogether perfection of Camping St. Claire. They write how one simply must book ahead even in low season. This is our third day now and we leave tomorrow early, but the place wasn't and still isn't anywhere near full. However it has two classes of users: low countries and Britishers. We British are all moving towards or away from the channel crossings. There would be no other reason to be in Neufchâtel-en-Bray. You will learn why.

Chris has pointed out that if you're a tugger or a bicyclist the site and town are are good location from which to travel to ... where ever. Whereas I counter with, why not just go to those other places. It must be down to the cleanness and neatness etc. of the campsite that just draws certain people into its charms. It certainly is not the campsite's low-low prices as everything is extra and please to bring your own bog roll. The quality of the morning croissant and baguette was appalling; straight from Leclerc's which is next door. This evening we shall sample its restaurant.

Why not just go into town?

There are so many middle class English in their very clean outfits with memorable registration marks such as A4VAN. The place should be re-named Neufchâtel-en-Surbiton.
These lawns and ultra-slimline hornbeam hedges demand much up-keep. And they get it every afternoon. The 80db drone of engines prevents slumber in the sunshine as the 'gardener' clips and cuts his way round the site.

Chris got talking with a neighbour who has been hanging around waiting for a mate to arrive, and he can't think of where to go in his splendidly appointed ultra clean unit. The mate arrives and starts the tediously long process of steadies down, full awning rig Bristol fashion pegged down against a force 9 gale and larger than his Auto Sleeper Trident. They're not about to go off anyplace soon. They are all behaving like tuggers.

So we do go into town long a 'green lane' constructed by the municipality out of the old SNCF permanent way. It's very pleasant walking though boringly straight - it's a railway line. We did see, above, how French motorhomers and anyone else can keep their vans perfectly clean whilst touring about. There are huge vehicle cleaning joints with power washing and everything. I understand some even have gantries for cleaning the roofs of vans.

We walk through the site of the old railway station, the building having been converted into a pancake shop.

Once in town we spot the museum which boasts a gun from the revolution. However as also promised, it was shut.

Below is the restaurant at which we dined around midday. The speed of service was one of the slowest I've experienced in France, despite the patron's fussing about all the time. The food was below average, the price was not.

Looking round we noted that there were few old French-looking buildings in narrow winding streets. When we reached the war memorial garden I think we could work out why.

The town had been very heavily bombarded during the second house, and prolly by the Allies. This is a small town, so witness the long list of dead through the bombardments.
And above, this was the first time I had seen a town list at a public cenotaph of those resistants and deportees murdered by the Nazis. The Jewish names on the right a fairly obvious.

Whilst wandering round we were asked by one resident if we were lost, with a second telling us how dreadful it was that the post office was being closed. It wasn't exactly, it was being re-furbished, with a little bothy still open for trading, as a third correspondent explained. Chris bought two stamps.
Altogether a helpful kindly populace.

The roundabout on entering the town has lovely gardens all round to sit in and eat lunch, having bought yourself something with cheese. Note the cow sculpture.

However finding a cheese shop was a different matter. In fact we did not find one despite this town having its own 'famous' heart-shaped cheese. The place prolly suffers like so many other European towns from having a Leclerc, an Aldi and a Lidl all on the same street in a sort of off-off town centre industrial zone - easily accessible by car, van, bike, foot, scooter etc.