The Anonymous Widower

Memories Of Deauville

With the G8 summit being in Deauville in the next few days, I’m reminded of a few stories from  the French seaside resort.

The first time, C and I went, we drove along the coast after taking her first red Lotus Elan over on the ferry. It actually was the only overseas trip we did in the car, before she replaced it with the one that I still own.

We did all of the usual touristy things, like seeing the Bayeau Tapestry, the Mont St. Michel and the port of Honfleur, but two things stand out.

When we went to the races, we parked the car next to a Ferrari Testarossa.  It was immediately surrounded by French kids, which I think says a bit for the pysche of the French, who tend to prefer the small and perfectly formed like Piaf and Sarkozy. 

We also were sitting in a cafe in the main street, enjoying a good lunch, when a guy drove up on the opposite side of the street in a BMW convertible and showed everybody how to park a car in a space that was a metre or so too short. He just shunted the cars in front and behind until the space was large enough. Everybody in the cafe enjoyed it and gave him a good Gallic cheer, when he locked his car and walked away. Unfortunately, we had virtually finished lunch and had to move on, so we never saw the end of the story.

We did go to Deauville a couple of years later in my Cessna 340A with our middle son and his friend, Andy, for a day at the races. We had a good day, but at the end of the day we were treated to one of the worst displays of bad manners I’ve ever seen.

When you want to leave a small airport, you fill in all the appropriate paperwork and then go to your aircraft, request permission to start your engines if required and then when that is complete, you request permission to taxi. Deauville was quite busy that day, with several aircraft wanting to leave. So as you do, we just formed an orderly queue until ATC gave us permission to enter the runway and takeoff.

But this wasn’t good enough for one American.  He just passed the queue in his private jet and to various cries of “Sacre Bleu!” and “You don’t have permission!”, he just lined up and took off. What an idiot!

When the man died a few years ago, I actually felt relieved that such a rude man had gone.  It is very rare that I do that!

Sadly there are many more rich, famous and very rude these days.

May 26, 2011 - Posted by AnonW | Business, Sport, Transport/Travel, World | Cars, Driving, Flying, France, Horse Racing, Lotus Elan