Bridging day

Delft - Deauville

 From what I remember, the Belgians are the worst drivers in the world. And they are...  If they have an air of self importance - usually recognizable by an Audi or BMW - they can be quite obnoxious (besides the plain stupid). South of Calais the French motorway is deserted right upto L'Havre. No more Belgians and no more English white-van men. The madness starts again in Honfleur, where France congregates for a scenic Sunday.
But let's go back to Delft. At 7 o'clock it is still cold enough for a lot of moisture, but time for departure. My ride takes me over the 'Zeeland bridge', Colijnsplaat at its foot; the village my Aunty Netta was buried this week and whose funeral I couldn't attend. I decide to visit and enter the cemetery, drawing some attention from the cemetery's neighbours. Even eightish in the morning, there is no doubt; this is going to be a glorious day.

Zeeland bridge and Aunty Netta's resting place next to her sisters Sara & Tanny. 

It is quite incredible how the French manage to maintain their motorway network (Péage). I noticed this before; from Calais to L'Havre there is barely a soul on the road, so nobody's paying. In fact, while you barrel down the A29 towards L'Havre, nothing indicates you're nearing the second-largest port in France and former longest "cable-stayed bridge in the world" (1995) the 'Pont Normandie'. At the foot of the 215 meter high bridge is an old port town, turned into a major tourist attraction: Honfleur. And on a nice sunday like this, it's a cauldron; people, music, noise and cars.

Pont Normandy and the Port of Honfleur

Hotel Le Bellevue is a pleasant surprise; a 3 star hotel (all you need is there) but with an above average kitchen. The garden and the room's balcony have great sea view. Wonder why this place only seems to attract people well above 70?

"What are all these plates for?", "Aaah... Therefore!" and a rewarding view after diner.