Honfleur: "as cute as kittens in a basket"

Id start by stopping in Le Havre because (a) thats where the Portsmouth ferry arrives and (b) no-one else does. They all blast straight through. They think of Le Havre as Stalingrad and, at first sight, theyre right. Flattened during the war, the great port town was put back together by Auguste Perret, the poet of reinforced concrete. He favoured straight lines, blocks and a very great deal of concrete. The town hall would have suited Ceaucescu. But take a little time and the overall effect becomes mesmerising. The town is bathed in light and space - as are the apartments, where Perrets plans re-housed 80,000 homeless in tune with humane times.

Over the soaraway Pont de Normandie, Honfleur is, by contrast, as cute as kittens in a basket, all rickety streets, half-timbering and a storybook port with a corsair past. The Impressionists - Monet, Bazille, Boudin - were all here at one time or another, partly because Boudin lived here, partly for the light and partly because this was the start of a newly-fashionable coast. Thus they had a subject and, with all those rich Parisians toting parasols, also a market.

They met up in Deauville, purpose-built as a nobs holiday resort 150 years ago. It remains a protectorate of palace hotels, broad avenues and imprints of stars, a spot where youre never far from a Gucci outlet or a galloping horse. Spielberg, Clooney and Kidman have all been at the Normandie Barrire hotel during the towns US Film Festival (this year, Sept 5-14), which may explain the prices.

At hand-shaking distance across the Touques estuary, Trouville is much older and fishier. It has a grand beach and many fantasy villas - the beau monde came here before Deauville was built, enticed by a cracking ad campaign: For the slightest dizzy spell, doctors recommend a break in Trouville. But it also has roots, a fish market and restaurants along the estuary, and rubbish collection by horse and cart.

For the slightest dizzy spell, doctors recommend a break in Trouville

Now inland to the Pays-dAuge, along lanes as enticing as a dairymaids smile. They weave between high hedges, cider-apple orchards and pastures plump with cows and horses. Theres cider if you need it (you dont: its a kids drink in adult clothes) and, more to the point, calvados. The apple brandy has moved on a bit since, as a veteran friend of mine told me, invading squaddies used it in their stoves. To see how far, call in on Christian Drouhin at Coudray-Rabut, near Pont-lEvque, or Pierre Huet at Cambremer, by Lisieux. A single glass, incidentally, contains seven apples, so regular drinking keeps the doctor away indefinitely. You might also bob into Lisieux itself. I can never decide whether the gigantic basilica, celebrating Ste Thrse of that parish, is a Byzantine monster or massively uplifting. Perhaps youd let me know.

Most certainly, villages like Beuvron-en-Auge and Crvecoeur-en-Auge are as comely as anything in the Cotswolds, consisting mainly of flowers, timber-framed homes and restaurants which raise your cholesterol level even as you pass by. If a dish isnt covered in butter, cream, cheese and alcohol, then the proper Norman isnt eating.

The incurably active may assuage their guilt in Suisse Normande (Norman Switzerland), just to the south-east. The little region is no more like Switzerland than the Dales are like Bhutan but, around Clcy and Thury-Harcourt, it does rise to crags, rocky hills and the Orne gorges. There is a suitable amount of climbing, canoeing, hiking, riding and other ways of knocking oneself out in stirring surroundings (details: clecy.fr or otsuissenormande.e-monsite.com).

And so, via the Mmorial de Caen on the outskirts of Caen - by some way, the Frances finest World War II museum - to Bayeux, by some way the best base for a break embracing war and peace. The first town to be freed after the landings, it was captured largely intact: the German garrison hoofed it as the Allies approached. So the 11th-century cathedral still lords it over tight streets and half-timbered commerce. The wandering is lovely.

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Normandy, D-Day beaches and beyond