Window Shopping

This last weekend, we made a brief excursion into northern France, a region I love. Unlike most people, I have no real desire to make for the south despite the very clear attraction of sunnier climes. I have discovered that on a miserable day, everywhere looks drab - even the beautiful cities of the south west - but when the sun shines as it did for me, the north is lovely too. And it's still France with all those cultural attributes that I find so appealing about the country of my grandfather's birth: the colourful exuberance of the French language; the enticing smells of early morning bakeries; the long, relaxed lunch breaks; and the way whole families go out together even quite late in the evenings.

Our overnight stop was in Maubeuge, a town many might avoid as its architecture is predominantly fifties to seventies. I, however, like it immensely as here it has many features that are almost Art Nouveau, and having learnt to appreciate this era from my architect father, I am intrigued by the quirky disregard for standard proportions and perspective.

Banking by design

Lauding the Lord in concrete and glass

This aside, I was fascinated by the High Street shops. As quirky as the town itself, I spent some time peering into shop windows and wondering how such businesses keep afloat with their somewhat unusual stock. First up was a shop that seemed to trade in shoe repairs, keys and second hand buckles. The first two I could understand, but the buckles were something else. Everything in the window seemed a little old, in fact, but inviting all the same. Had it not been Easter, I would certainly have gone inside to have a sort through their shelves.

Buckling up in Maubeuge

Then there was the furniture shop with rather classical and ornate chairs at odds with the post war architecture. And the dress shop where the clothes on display did not seem suited to the trends favoured by the local populace.

Classical satin stripes

Modish Maubeuge

But the best shop window of all was the local patisserie, whose bakery was busy even on Easter Sunday morning.  I stood with my nose pressed to the window watching the (tasty) young baker mix dough and form rolls ready for the morning rush to buy petit dejeuner. The smell was divine and it all looked so wholesome. And so French.

The bakery at the patisserie in full swing
 on Easter Sunday

I am an unashamed Francophile, so this was food for my soul, but for all that, I did not miss out on a few of Maubeuge's more obviously charming nooks and crannies. The town is not most people's choice of a place to visit, but I'll leave you with this lovely arrangement of steps, walls and rooftops and the obligatory lock on the river Sambre. 

An appealing hidden stairway

The Sambre as it cuts through the town