The title of this piece is really only to steal the brilliant pun from the Supergrass album of the same name - the best way to get to Rouen from Paris is by train.

People have been flocking in this direction on pilgrimmages for over 800 years so we thought we'd follow suit to see what's what.

We were bowled over with indifference, arriving in thick fog to stumble blindly through the legendary cobbled streets past the exposed timber houses. But that's not why people come to Rouen. By peering closely for signs to The Catedral de Notre Dame (as the dedicated must have done for centuries before us) we eventually found the the mighty Tour De Buerre (as it is known for some inexplicable reason) disappearing into the clouds.

Inside the cathedral the incense was marginally thinner than the fog without and we were able to be truly impressed. The cathedral is staggeringly epic in proportions and it had the effect of stopping us in our tracks. We sat to rest and warm up and, as we did so, quickly discovered that we were not the only ones. It was early in the day and mercifully we weren't hemmed in with other stunned tourists but statues. Larger than life effigies which had once been secured to the exterior rooves and butresses but which took a bit of a battering in a particularly cruel outing of the Luftwaffe in 1944 line the walls inside the building. They still look a bit sheepish without a nose or an arm 54 years on. I hope there are plans to restore and replace them but there was no evidence of it.

Another surprising thing that shows little sign of being restored to its rightful resting place is the 'couer' of 'Richard Couer De Lion'! His mortal remains (minus that vital organ) are buried elsewhere but here in the cathedral in Rouen in an exposed tomb lies the Heart of the Lion itself. It's wierdly humbling to be in its presence and its best not to think too much about the logistics of the operation that led it to be there.

Which can also be said for Rouen's other great claim to fame - the burning of Joan d'Arc. Another much more modern church elsewhere in the town is shaped as a pyre with a mighty crucifix emerging from the flames. Again you feel impressed to be in such a legendary location but really there is nothing to see, feel and do. There is no T-shirt. Maybe we just missed the Joan of Arc Museum with its fridge-magnets and key-rings, in which case I'm grateful for the fog, but I have a suspicion it's down-played for other reason best known to les francais.