As I set off from the ferry on my first morning in Normandy (See Journal, Day 1) with no idea of where I would stay that night, I was awaiting some sort of sign, to dispel the bacd luck that had descended on my trip. And La Licorne appeared on the horizon, in the form of a text, trotting like some Sylvanian unicorn (that’s what the word licorne means, of course). I contacted the hotel from Rouen, but as I ploughed on through the afternoon, eventually diving into the wooded domain that surrounds the town of Lyons la Forêt, I didn’t really know what it would be like, nor whether it really existed at all. However, as I arrived in the tiny town of Lyons, there it was, right on the main square, overlooking the ancient covered market.
Hotel de la Licorne looks as though it is one of the former royal town’s original coaching inns. It has a run of half-timber walls in natural wood and pink render and blue window-frames and there is still an arch leading to its gardens, to enable its guests to dismount from their coaches without having to step down into the rain. This must have been the main street, though now it is by-passed; instead visitors stroll, browsing the galleries, wine shops and boutiques offering sexy bric-a-brac, while soaking up the atmosphere created by all those half-timber houses. Then they retreat to the gardens behind, where a handful of classic cars are parked, something both to tarry over and an encouragement to their visitors on a drive through France (there were quite a few, as I discovered at breakfast the next morning).
As it turned out, I could see at once that the hotel was really far too smart for me though, particularly in my current guise as sportsman with just one change of clothes (including slightly crinkly ‘sports’ trousers that can be zipped off in not one, but two places – turning them into shorts and Plus 4s). They and my shirt spent the day squashed into my seat-steam ‘sausage’ (I’ll have to describe this later, but basically it’s a bike-packing bag into which anything squashable gets stuffed). I look too crumpled for a visit to their gastronomic restaurant.
Because the Licorne Royale dinng room is plush and comfortable and hip, if a little artsy. It runs a riff of highly polished wood, scarlet and parallel lines - in its carpet, ceiling, lampshades and strategically positioned hussars’ helmets. The colour-scheme is repeated in at least one dish, the house-smoked salmon layered with black radish. Oh, and there’s a nod to the striped colombage of style normand in the black and white of the silken chair-backs.
And the effort in the design extended to my room, too. I approached from the archway, via a staircase that crept around itself, twisting almost into impossibility. Within, the room was muted and matt, a deep olive off-set by understated silvery grey, with exposed beams in darker grey. It was cool adn comfortable, self-conciously modern, with chrome fittings and a huge mirror angled against the wall. But there was a baroque shout - a flouncy upholstered chair and ornate chest of drawers. Chatter drifted up from the square, filtering through the open window, as I plugged in all my tech to recharge, read about the town and dozed momentarily (it happens after 125 km of pedalling, to me at any rate). Most importantly, the bed offered a good nights’ sleep.
At breakfast I was surrounded by the drivers, one couple regretfully headed back to Le Havre but two others at the start of their leisurely tour to the South of France. They were comparing notes on life, the Loire and everything - “Yes, that one’s my favourite. It’ll be the last to go… - when Corbyn gets in, I mean…”
For me at least, breakfast was a chocolate-fest – pains au chocolat, hot chocolate, even Nutella for my baguette - exactly the fortification you want when you have another long ride ahead. (Later, as I chatted to the hotel manager on departure, I could see her hopping from foot to foot, itching to tell me that I had chocolate daubed across my face like some pre-Columbian Mexican warrior.)
The drivers that weren’t spending the morning in the spa purred out of the arch and headed on their way, much as I did on my J.Laverack bicycle a few minutes later, heading for my first TE Lawrence castle, at Gisors (and breaking a couple of traffic rules on the way…).
