Rather than mail-clad hordes heading for Hastings or GIs hitting the D-day beaches, this was an attack by armies of Parisians in pastel polo shirts and espadrilles flowing along the quays and alleys of the old port.
Honfleur is sufficiently charming to withstand even such an onslaught. The shimmering refection of its narrow merchants’ houses in the waters of the Vieux Bassin is one of Frances the classic sights. Behind the harbour, there’s a maze of cobbled streets lined with half-timbered shops filled with cider and calvados and weighty jars of tripes à la mode de Caen. Massive medieval warehouses, once filled with salt for the cod fisheries are now art galleries. Ancient churches show were the first settlers prayed before sailing to Canada, and museums highlight the work of the Impressionists attracted to the Norman coastline by the pearly Atlantic light a century . 
Faced with the holiday influx, the best way to appreciate all this is to make an early start. At eight in the morning, the streets are deserted apart from street cleaners, waiters setting up tables and vans dropping off crates of fruit and vegetables for the over 80 restaurants squeezed into this little town of 8,000.
Then you can stroll in the still chill air and imagine the three wooden boats of Samuel de Champlain bobbing in the harbour before they set sail in 1607 to found Quebec, or Monet and Boudin painting the wide, invariably cloud-filled skies, over the mouth of the Seine.
Of course, one time when it’s impossible to avoid the crowds is dinnertime. We were warned to get in early to find a table, but lingered too long playing baseball on on the broad sandy beach at Vasouy and found the town’s best known bistros overflowing by the time we arrived.
Getting a bit desperate, we sank with gratitude into the old lace and velvet comfort of the Auberge de Vieux Clocher when we saw a table free.
As we perused the menu, a handsome young English couple sinking down with similar sighs of relief after ending a lenthy quest for dinner. After the wispy blond, quietly ordered a fishy selection in halting French, her beau looked up hopefully and asked, “Vegetarian?”
“Ah non,” replied the outraged patronne, “pas ici.”
“Just a little salad, perhaps?”
“Les salades vous trouverez dans les cafés á côté des quais monsieur,” she spat back and all but chased the hapless anglais into the street.
The legumes, she explained in triumph to the roomful of somewhat shocked diners, are all needed for the dishes on the menu. To serve a lettuce leaf and half a tomato separately would bring the whole system crashing down.
This hardly seemed very sympa and was rather typical of the place, which although recommended in some prestigious guides, obviously feels it does not need to make an effort to bring in the customers. Our food was okay _ oysters, chicken in cider, cod in sauce bordelaise _ but it carried a rather tired, institutional air to it, and there really is no excuse for serving stale bread in France.
Thankfully, we’d fared better on our first night in Honfleur, thanks to a recommendation from the charming owners of our out-of-town gite.
The Germain family has run L’Ancrage in a 17th century house for three generations, but it still has a fresh modern feel, with jokey young waiters and a few pavement tables overlooking the Vieux Bassin.Dinner there was a pleasure from the aperitif of chilled glass of pomeau. There’s a daily menu updated with fresh catches – coquilles St. Jacques with linguini, lieu-noir (pollack) _ which is caught by line off the beaches north of Honfleur _ cod in cider. It came to €40 a head including a bottle of crisp Loire wine.
The great thing about staying in a gite, is that you always have the option of doing your cooking, eating al fresco with no worries about finding a table and taking full advantage of all the treasures available in the glorious French markets.
The Honfleuraise (http://www.honfleuraise.com) in the village of Equemauville, just inland from Honfleur, which was once home to the writer, Francoise Sagan, and how contains the famed Tartine et Macaron bakery, where we bought oven-fresh baguettes and buttery hot croissants for breakfast each morning.
Gites can be found all over France, usually in rural homes that are partly or wholly to rent. This one was a typical half-timbered Norman house, with an ancient cider press and a splendid garden shaded by cherry and apple trees which is shared by the Lefebvre family, the owners who live next door.
Taking our hosts’ tip, we headed early to the Honfleur market on Saturday morning to stock up. You can usually bet on French markets being a pleasure for the senses, but this one is really special. Surrounding the mighty église Sainte-Catherine _ France’s biggest wooden church which resembles an upturned man o’ war _ the variety and quality of the food on show was mind-boggling.
Dairy stalls are laden with pats of direct from the farm, the thickest, richest crème fraiche and the holy trinity of local cheeses _ Camembert, Livarot and Pont-l'Evêque. There are glistening piles of mussels and oysters, tables groaning with strawberries, thick andouille sausages and trays of jellied tripe in cider that will rend down to a think pungent stew when slowly heated. Farmhouse chicken and tender pink veal lay ready to be plunged into some of that cream and cider in classic recipes like poulet vallée d’Auge.
Naturally, you’ll need something to help all that down so its good that you buy calvados direct from any number of producers dotted around the countryside here. The Domaine Apreval (http://www.apreval.com/index.htm) is a just about the nearest to Honfleur, its orchards set in lush meadows on the slopes above the Seine estuary. After sampling a selection of vintages at the in a their thatched barn, the 10-year-old blend revealed itself to be an excellent choice at €39 a bottle.
Before you hit the calva, there are plenty of sights to drive out to around Honfleur. Deauville and Trouville are chic fin-du-siècle resorts.
Le Havre just across the Seine was that rebuilt after Second World War bombing in a concrete modernist style that was once reviled and is now granted world heritage status. A bit further up the coast are the majestic white cliffs of Etretat and a short ride inland is Rouen the capital of Normandy with its vast cathedral and memories of Flaubert and Monet. A little further afield is Bayeux with its tapestry and the extraordinary beauty of Mont-St. Michel.All well worth a visit, but if you want to avoid the crowds, it’s perhaps best to try a wet mid-week in November.
