A Weekend in Saintes in Poitou-Charentes on the French Atlantic Coast

Why visit Saintes

Once an important capital in Roman times, Saintes today is a modest little town which still feels great with its Romanesque pilgrimage churches.

Arriving in Saintes

We’d arrived late on Saturday night, searching the streets in the dark for the discreet sign that led us to our hotel.
“It’s called Les Saveurs de l’Abbaye – it must be near here,” I muttered, as we circled the Abbaye aux

In fact, this Logis hotel was right next door, our chic little room up under the eaves with a view across the abbey’s glorious Romanesque tower. Waking up to the clang of French church bells, calling the faithful to Sunday mass, was a fitting introduction to the city of Saintes, which astonishingly got its name long before it became an important medieval religious centre, a stop on the pilgrim route to Santiago de Compostela.

Roman Capital

The Romans first founded this city on the Charente River, in Poitou-Charente, a little way inland from France’s Atlantic coast, naming it Mediolanum Santonum. They made it capital of the region of Gaul-Aquitania which stretched from modern Poitiers down to Bordeaux. In those days, it was an important metropolis, albeit in a far-flung corner of the empire.
The road below our window, rue St-Pallais, is the last stretch of the Roman road which led right across France from Lyons to Saintes. Tucked into the hillside, on the far side of the town, are the impressive remains of an amphitheatre, once large enough to house the city’s entire population, and the last remaining fragments of the thermal baths.

Medieval Churches

It is from Santonum that Saintes takes its name, via a detour in Frankish times, when it was known as Xainctes. Happy accident or no, the name is fitting as most visitors now come here to visit the city’s three magnificent medieval churches.
The Abbaye aux Dames was founded by Geoffrey of Anjou in 1047 and enjoyed an illustrious line of royal patronage. It has become the city’s main heritage centre, its cloister now housing a hotel and one of the town’s finest gift and coffee shops (complete with its own blends of musically inspired teas infused with rose petals and violets). There is also a regular programme of concerts throughout the year. Sadly we weren’t there on the right day, but we walked into the soaring church just at the end of mass. Mark made a beeline for the organ and was invited to have a go, filling the gothic vaults with a cascade of notes as I soaked up the detail of the intricately carved bosses.

Sunday Market

There was a pretty decent crowd at church. There was a much bigger one in the market on av. Gambetta, obviously the place to be on a Sunday morning.
There are markets every day except Monday in Saintes, moving between three different sites, in place St Pierre (Wed and Sat), place du 11 Novembre (Tues and Fri) and av. Gambetta (Thurs and Sun). Between the posies of different varieties of radishes, the jars of honey and the stall selling nothing but charentais – similar to slip-on carpet slippers and mules – were great iron cooking pots filled with sizzling potato and sausage, paella, and gleaming seafood stalls piled high with lobsters, prawns and scallops, noix de St Jacques, their shells adopted as the official symbol of the Compostela pilgrimage. And just at the end of the market, one stall was selling nothing but cêpes, plump and brown and fresh from the forest, smelling of the earth and memories of the finest pasta.
I wish briefly, wandering around, that I had my own kitchen and wonder whether we should buy take-out but I have a list of restaurants that promise much. Later, I wish more fervently that I had listened to my inner voice – nothing on my list of restaurants was open on a Sunday.
We did eventually find somewhere to eat further down av. Gambetta, the Taverne de Maître Kanter, part of a nationwide chain specialising in food from Alsace – perfectly pleasant, if uninspired, just incredibly useful!

The Cathedral of and the Breath of God

We had to wait until next day for the real treat. We spent Monday morning exploring the city’s other two great churches. First came the Cathedral of St Pierre, in the heart of the old pedestrian quarter near the river, the oldest footprint of the three but much rebuilt after fires and religious wars, so that now it stands a gothic monument with baroque flourishes, such as its distinctive domed tower. Golden autumn leaves swirled and eddied in a perpetual twister beneath the sculpted canopy of the west front. I could only think, as we walked through, of Indiana Jones’ Breath of God and crossed my fingers, in a childish fashion, in case I might be smitten from on high.
On the hill further out, near the amphitheatre, past a roundabout with a splendidly confusing sign that offers options of turnings to Canterbury, Salisbury and Timbuctou amongst other holy places of the world, is the Church of St Eutrope. This is now a UNESCO World Heritage sight, not for its soaring Gothic church but for its crypt, the original Romanesque church, an atmospheric masterpiece of sturdy barrel vaults and twisting, enchanted carving, echoing with the footsteps of the pilgrims of centuries.
Souls replete, we went in search of food. With most restaurants still closed on Mondays, we now discovered the delightful Au Coin des Saveurs, down beside a river as peaceful and gentle as a Constable painting. A warm welcome, a laid-back atmosphere, reasonable prices promised much and delivered a delicate scallop brochette with ratatouille, John Dory with a deft balsamic sauce and perfectly sculpted carpaccio of pineapple with mango sorbet.
It left us ready for an afternoon strolling around the old town past the Roman Arc Germanicus, past the Archaeological Museum and the other museums which are all closed on Mondays. I didn’t mind too much, but made a mental note to choose a different day next time.