Weekend Hideaway: Boulogne-sur-Mer by Stephen Emms

We sit on steps at the back of the imposing Notre Dame Basilica in the fierce evening sun. It’s peak tourist season, but – other than a gull’s cry and the rattle of a woman’s laughter – eerily quiet. How could Boulogne-sur-Mer feel like such a secret?

It might not be most people’s prime destination for a birthday trip but, in honour of my impending 34th, my partner Russell decided to surprise me with a perfectly retro ferry-hop over the water – something we both hadn’t done since we were kids.

Standing on the deck of LD lines’ new fast ferry as the White Cliffs recede, staring at the hypnotic wash, we’re reminded how pleasant sea travel can be; even better, we pull into the industrial hulk of Boulogne’s harbour, the air fish-fresh, just an hour later.   

Dropping off our bags at our elegant 19th-century courtyard hotel, we begin with a walk around 13th-century ramparts, which encompass a square kilometre dominated by the attractive belfry (a UNESCO world heritage site), moated castle and basilica. Boulogne has been fortified since Emperor Claude conquered Britain in AD 43, and this original camp formed the foundations of the current old town, which crowns a steep hill. As the sun ducks behind pillowy clouds, I forget I’m just over the channel. Surely this is southern France? Tuscany, even?
   
Lunch is a disaster, and we’re reminded not to be again seduced by a pretty main artery – in this case Rue De Lille – lined with enticing brasseries, all in the midst of a ‘moules’ price war. But we take refuge in a quirky installation, the Ephemeral Garden on Place Godfrey De Bouillon, a surreal arrangement of 2CVs, Volkswagons and Renaults overgrown with plants, or plunged into the grass, their wing mirrors, car seats and exhaust pipes scattered about. Claiming grandly to explore the “relationship between short-lived life of consumer goods and timelessness of nature” it’s exuberant, for sure, but rather strange to be the conception of the Department of Parks and Gardens, rather than an artist.

More exciting is the cathedral’s 14th dank crypt (“the longest in France!” chirrups the sign), a truly gothic, 400-foot maze of chilly corridors and gloomy rooms teeming with gargoyles, one-armed angels, abandoned marble columns, Romanesque paintings, cavalry crosses and statues without faces.

After a lie-down and restorative local beer at tiny bar Vole Hole (52 Rue de Lille), we opt for dinner at Aux Pecheurs D’Etaples (31 Grande Rue), its interior garlanded by hanging boats, sails, and lifebuoys. The menu serves up three delicious courses with lots of fresh fish – a real find.   

A lively market is a must on a weekend break, and the next morning we stroll in bright sun from the twice weekly happening at Place Dalton, where stalls offer everything from single misshapen courgettes to cheap watches, to the harbourside fish market, where women chop flesh for customers in blood-stained aprons.

There’s just time for a visit to La Beuriere, the largely-bombed sailors’ quarter.  In 1900, around a quarter of Boulogne’s population – including shipowners, fish merchants, and captains – lived on its stepped streets, but the 2nd World War nearly wiped the entire community.

Rue De Machicoulis is the only semi-preserved example left, complete with thought-provoking gaps where houses were bombed. No. 16 is open to visitors. It’s a humbling experience of one-room, cupboard-bed living and so quiet that you can almost hear the clatter of the women’s mules on the stairway, selling mussels, or scrubbing steps.