Brittany, Easter 2010
Apr 18th, 2010, 03:35 PM
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Brittany, Easter 2010
My family have a house in the Finistere region of Brittany, a few miles from the Atlantic coast. A group of us spent a long weekend there over Easter this year, and on my return I decided to attempt a trip report. It’ll probably be posted in sections rather than a one-er – so please bear with me! (Pictures to follow later, when they’ve finally been sorted/uploaded).
Day 1: Good Friday, Outward journey.
The easiest way for me to get from my home in East Angular to the house in Finistere would have been a flight with one of the budget airlines from Stansted to Brest. Unfortunately, that particular route doesn’t open until later in the summer, so I was left with a choice of convoluted possibilities involving mostly ferries plus cars and or/hire cars. In the end (given the decrepid state of my own car and the cost of hire cars) I plumped for the train (Eurostar from London to Lille, TGV from Lille to Quimper). Cost £168 return. It would have been cheaper if I’d decided to go via Paris, rather than Lille - however, I much preferred the former, as it meant no change of station and no dragging luggage round the metro.
For the obsessive planners/worrying contingent:- I took a (borrowed) 20 inch rollercase, with 2 pairs of jeans, 2 pairs of smarter trousers and various assorted t-shirts and tops, plus a light mac. I opted for mini toiletries from Superdrug, e.g. baby Colgate toothpaste, apart from shampoo and conditioner, which I decanted from big bottles into Boots travel bottles – horrible mistake, too thick to pour, and I kept getting air-locks in the narrow neck of the travel bottles, causing volcano-like overflow – will just take the full sizes next time. Oh, and Lindt mini-eggs for Easter Sunday of course!!
This was my first Eurostar trip via St Pancras rather than Waterloo, and I thought the station looked very smart, with all its cleaned-up red-brick, and spendy glass-box shops. Not impressed with the marathon trek from the Victoria line tube exit it has to be said, though – if I’d had a weekend bag, rather than a wheeled case my arm probably would have dropped off long before check-in. (Didn’t see the champagne bar, unfortunately, but I doubt even I could have forced one down at 10:00am!)
Lovely journey – no delays, smooth and peaceful. Eurostar arrived on time, and at Lille, I had about an hour to grab some lunch from ‘Pains a la Ligne’, before my connecting train. On the TGV leg, I read ‘An Education’ which had some laugh-out-loud funny bits. (I’m desperate to catch the film somewhere now). Beside me, a guy spent the entire journey planning an ad-campaign for Vespa on his Macbook – so make sure you look out for ’Vespa - 60 ans!’. Noticed that the landscape started to get slightly hillier and prettier as we travelled further west across France. Every hill seemed to be circled by a small village, and was topped by either a church or mini chateau. We also crossed numerous fast-flowing rivers (or perhaps just one, meandering its way endlessly through the countryside).
Got into Quimper at around 9:00pm to be met by relatives for the short drive to our house in Cast. The house itself is fairly typically French - shutters, dark oak floors, fireplaces in every room, and a huge garden to the side (where we played boules later in the week). We had a ‘first night’ meal of home-made chicken soup, beef and red wine casserole, apple tart, and loads of cheap plonk. Then bed.
Day 1: Good Friday, Outward journey.
The easiest way for me to get from my home in East Angular to the house in Finistere would have been a flight with one of the budget airlines from Stansted to Brest. Unfortunately, that particular route doesn’t open until later in the summer, so I was left with a choice of convoluted possibilities involving mostly ferries plus cars and or/hire cars. In the end (given the decrepid state of my own car and the cost of hire cars) I plumped for the train (Eurostar from London to Lille, TGV from Lille to Quimper). Cost £168 return. It would have been cheaper if I’d decided to go via Paris, rather than Lille - however, I much preferred the former, as it meant no change of station and no dragging luggage round the metro.
For the obsessive planners/worrying contingent:- I took a (borrowed) 20 inch rollercase, with 2 pairs of jeans, 2 pairs of smarter trousers and various assorted t-shirts and tops, plus a light mac. I opted for mini toiletries from Superdrug, e.g. baby Colgate toothpaste, apart from shampoo and conditioner, which I decanted from big bottles into Boots travel bottles – horrible mistake, too thick to pour, and I kept getting air-locks in the narrow neck of the travel bottles, causing volcano-like overflow – will just take the full sizes next time. Oh, and Lindt mini-eggs for Easter Sunday of course!!
This was my first Eurostar trip via St Pancras rather than Waterloo, and I thought the station looked very smart, with all its cleaned-up red-brick, and spendy glass-box shops. Not impressed with the marathon trek from the Victoria line tube exit it has to be said, though – if I’d had a weekend bag, rather than a wheeled case my arm probably would have dropped off long before check-in. (Didn’t see the champagne bar, unfortunately, but I doubt even I could have forced one down at 10:00am!)
Lovely journey – no delays, smooth and peaceful. Eurostar arrived on time, and at Lille, I had about an hour to grab some lunch from ‘Pains a la Ligne’, before my connecting train. On the TGV leg, I read ‘An Education’ which had some laugh-out-loud funny bits. (I’m desperate to catch the film somewhere now). Beside me, a guy spent the entire journey planning an ad-campaign for Vespa on his Macbook – so make sure you look out for ’Vespa - 60 ans!’. Noticed that the landscape started to get slightly hillier and prettier as we travelled further west across France. Every hill seemed to be circled by a small village, and was topped by either a church or mini chateau. We also crossed numerous fast-flowing rivers (or perhaps just one, meandering its way endlessly through the countryside).
Got into Quimper at around 9:00pm to be met by relatives for the short drive to our house in Cast. The house itself is fairly typically French - shutters, dark oak floors, fireplaces in every room, and a huge garden to the side (where we played boules later in the week). We had a ‘first night’ meal of home-made chicken soup, beef and red wine casserole, apple tart, and loads of cheap plonk. Then bed.
Apr 18th, 2010, 05:04 PM
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Day 2. Easter Saturday.
After breakfast we made for Locronan – a pretty medieval town a few miles south-west of Cast. I didn’t realise it at the time, but Locronan is apparently a favourite film location for period dramas, and is considered one of the most beautiful and authentic small towns in France. (Well, I could have guessed the second bit having seen it, but not the filming pedigree, obviously!)
We parked just outside the town centre – free of charge, as so much of the parking in this region seemed to be. It was really only a matter of meters into the town centre proper, where the streets became heavily cobbled (priorite aux pietons!) and matched the grey granite of the buildings. It was raining quite hard, so both cobbles and buildings actually also matched the sky quite nicely!
We started off in the 15th century church of St Ronan (a saint/hermit of Irish origin). Gargoyles glared down from the ledge above the main door, dribbling rainwater onto my head from gaping mouths. Inside a number of pretty stained glass windows – some surprisingly new (circa 1920s), cartoonishly bright and colourful in contrast to the older windows – let through what little sunlight there was outside. Candles burned next to a stone effigy – perhaps St Ronan himself? Parish treasures, such as an intricate silver box, and a delicate silver shell dish were secured behind glass. We were the only people visiting, and it was deathly quiet.
Once outside again, we crossed the square to browse a number of small cellar-like shops, selling local specialities. In particular, endless varieties of biscuits, such as sables and galettes, many flavoured with salt-caramel. I later discovered that biscuits are a Breton speciality, and there are numerous biscuit factories in the region, some of which allow visitor tours. However much like the Brest flights, sadly, only during high season. (In the street I later spied a stray dog, which had managed to steal or blag a biscuit from one of the shops – he was guarding it very jealously from passers by!).
There were also many quirky-looking beers from small local breweries for sale, Breton cider, again from local ‘cidreries’ and unusual cooking ingredients, such as buckwheat flour for crepes, and stone jars of cider jam. The packaging was of course, beautiful – even on the bags of flour costing just pence.
We also found a verrier (glass-maker) on the outskirts of the town centre, but no demonstrations were taking place during our visit, sadly. Judging by the gift-shop, cockerals in glass seemed to be particularly popular, but I preferred the coloured tumblers set at the wooden table in the middle of the store – all slightly different sizes, hues and shapes, some not completely flat on the bottom and thus leaning over, Tower-of-Pisa-like.
By the time we’d finished browsing, the rain had finally stopped, and the sun was out. Suddenly, the whole valley (previously shrouded in mist) came into view. We could see virtually all the way to the coast. This improved weather motivated us to take an impromptu trip to the local beach at St Nic, though it was so blustery that only a brief walk along the sand was in order, before everyone rushed back to the cars with earache! The windsurfers were having a field day, though.
Back home that evening we had a great meal of langoustines cooked in a court-bouillon. Followed by Pictionary, Articulate, and cards, and (being mainly a British contingent), naturally, copious amounts of cheap booze too!
After breakfast we made for Locronan – a pretty medieval town a few miles south-west of Cast. I didn’t realise it at the time, but Locronan is apparently a favourite film location for period dramas, and is considered one of the most beautiful and authentic small towns in France. (Well, I could have guessed the second bit having seen it, but not the filming pedigree, obviously!)
We parked just outside the town centre – free of charge, as so much of the parking in this region seemed to be. It was really only a matter of meters into the town centre proper, where the streets became heavily cobbled (priorite aux pietons!) and matched the grey granite of the buildings. It was raining quite hard, so both cobbles and buildings actually also matched the sky quite nicely!
We started off in the 15th century church of St Ronan (a saint/hermit of Irish origin). Gargoyles glared down from the ledge above the main door, dribbling rainwater onto my head from gaping mouths. Inside a number of pretty stained glass windows – some surprisingly new (circa 1920s), cartoonishly bright and colourful in contrast to the older windows – let through what little sunlight there was outside. Candles burned next to a stone effigy – perhaps St Ronan himself? Parish treasures, such as an intricate silver box, and a delicate silver shell dish were secured behind glass. We were the only people visiting, and it was deathly quiet.
Once outside again, we crossed the square to browse a number of small cellar-like shops, selling local specialities. In particular, endless varieties of biscuits, such as sables and galettes, many flavoured with salt-caramel. I later discovered that biscuits are a Breton speciality, and there are numerous biscuit factories in the region, some of which allow visitor tours. However much like the Brest flights, sadly, only during high season. (In the street I later spied a stray dog, which had managed to steal or blag a biscuit from one of the shops – he was guarding it very jealously from passers by!).
There were also many quirky-looking beers from small local breweries for sale, Breton cider, again from local ‘cidreries’ and unusual cooking ingredients, such as buckwheat flour for crepes, and stone jars of cider jam. The packaging was of course, beautiful – even on the bags of flour costing just pence.
We also found a verrier (glass-maker) on the outskirts of the town centre, but no demonstrations were taking place during our visit, sadly. Judging by the gift-shop, cockerals in glass seemed to be particularly popular, but I preferred the coloured tumblers set at the wooden table in the middle of the store – all slightly different sizes, hues and shapes, some not completely flat on the bottom and thus leaning over, Tower-of-Pisa-like.
By the time we’d finished browsing, the rain had finally stopped, and the sun was out. Suddenly, the whole valley (previously shrouded in mist) came into view. We could see virtually all the way to the coast. This improved weather motivated us to take an impromptu trip to the local beach at St Nic, though it was so blustery that only a brief walk along the sand was in order, before everyone rushed back to the cars with earache! The windsurfers were having a field day, though.
Back home that evening we had a great meal of langoustines cooked in a court-bouillon. Followed by Pictionary, Articulate, and cards, and (being mainly a British contingent), naturally, copious amounts of cheap booze too!
Apr 19th, 2010, 01:41 PM
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Day 3 : Easter Sunday.
The sun came out in earnest today, (and stayed out for the rest of the trip, as it happened). So we drove to the seaside town of Crozon, about 45 minutes north-west of our house in Cast, which took us along some amazing coastal roads. Round every bend we seemed to see yet another huge turquoise bay, glittering hundreds of feet below. We also passed the highest ‘mountain’ in Brittany – Roc’h Ruz - a gorse topped mound of just under 400m, very reminiscent of the moors in Devon and Cornwall.
Our first port of call in Crozon was an antiques fair held in a local gym. There was a lot of Baccarat glass, a couple of stalls of old French lace, chandeliers and deco era lamps, and some (rather less than accomplished!) oil paintings for sale, as well as the standard flea market staples of old books and costume jewellery.
My aunt and uncle bought two Bohemian glass vases after some prolonged haggling (my family have a particular interest in glass since my grandparents used to own a glassworks in East London. Our garden was always full of interesting rockery ‘stones’ which were failed experiments in testing the different coloured pigments. My mother, as a child, won a competition to design glassware for the coronation – little trifle bowls in the shape of crowns. I was also told - erroneously it now seems - that my family had invented the cats eye!).
We all clubbed together to buy a charcoal drawing of the French coast as a ‘thank-you’ present for my aunt and uncle, who were hosting the trip. And both my brother’s girlfriend and I unexpectedly ended up with vintage ice tongs (the nifty grabbing mechanism ones) after being caught playing with them by the stall holder!
Making our way down to the seafront later that afternoon, we observed that Crozon looked like a fairly typical French fishing port, with pastel-coloured shops and houses lined up along the quay. However, on closer inspection, fishing boats were not really much in evidence, replaced largely by pleasure craft - small dinghies and Hobie Cats. The outer harbour wall was long, and very wide indeed, with a church, lighthouse, and strange-looking fortification all positioned at one end, so I do believe our original observation re the fishing port was probably correct at some point in time. There were a number of pleasingly rusty old boats, and fading advertising boards in the boatyard area, so plenty of photo opportunities presented themselves.
We then took a leisurely walk along the beach, although foolishly started at a point where the coast was quite shingly. As we walked toward the impressive curve of white sand in the distance, the shingle only got bigger and bigger, until it became fairly obvious that we were in the midst of some sort of man-made sea defence. Large, loose boulders littered the shore, many green and slippery with weed. It was fairly precarious walking – no real danger of any serious injury, because we were at no great elevation, but a twisted ankle seemed increasingly on the cards! Due to the height of the sea wall behind us at this point, there was no chance of climbing over, so we were forced to continue along the giant cobbles (god forbid anyone ever consider turning back!) but eventually came to the more welcoming flat sand.
Here and there, a few children were building sandcastles - one quite impressive one, with fully flooded moat and multiple towers - so we decided to look for an open shop to see if we could get a bucket and spade to join in. The sets we found were, however, quite expensive, due to comprising not just a pail and shovel, but what looked like the equivalent of cookie-cutters for the sand. So we passed on the castle building equipment and instead, my brother’s girlfriend bought some postcards to send to her family in the Czech Republic. The shopkeeper insisted on giving us too much change because he didn’t have the right money and wouldn’t see us out of pocket.
We didn’t eat a formal meal in Crozon, but were equipped with various left-overs from home and the Locronan biscuit shops, including vast torchettes – enormous flaky, spicy biscuits filled with dried fruit. My brother had insisted we get two huge packs of these (mistakenly thinking they were giant chocolate-chip cookies), so we had our work cut out to get through them all. I think the seagulls helped make a considerable dent in supplies, though.
On our way out of town that afternoon, we unexpectedly came across a large group of standing stones – not as statuesque as Stonehenge, but a very unexpected bonus. We'd been discussing visiting Carnac (with its 3000 standing stones) further down the coast at some point, so this was a bit of an erie coincidence. Furthermore, between the stones and the sea was an impressive derelict folly in the style of a small castle. Apparently this had been the home of a local poet – Paul Pierre Roux - but the poor man was either arrested by Nazis during the war for some unspecified crime, and died in prison, or died in hospital of a broken heart after fire ravaged the house and destroyed his manuscripts (depending which source you believe). Either way, leaving the house to fall into disrepair, such that only crumbling towers and glassless windows overlook a desolate but spectacular coastal panorama now.
Back at home that evening we had Coquilles St Jacques, more cheap plonk, and a boules championship in the garden - though I was a bit disappointed that our boules were Fisher-Price coloured plastic filled with water, rather than the shiny silver ones we’d seen locals using in the beach car park.
The sun came out in earnest today, (and stayed out for the rest of the trip, as it happened). So we drove to the seaside town of Crozon, about 45 minutes north-west of our house in Cast, which took us along some amazing coastal roads. Round every bend we seemed to see yet another huge turquoise bay, glittering hundreds of feet below. We also passed the highest ‘mountain’ in Brittany – Roc’h Ruz - a gorse topped mound of just under 400m, very reminiscent of the moors in Devon and Cornwall.
Our first port of call in Crozon was an antiques fair held in a local gym. There was a lot of Baccarat glass, a couple of stalls of old French lace, chandeliers and deco era lamps, and some (rather less than accomplished!) oil paintings for sale, as well as the standard flea market staples of old books and costume jewellery.
My aunt and uncle bought two Bohemian glass vases after some prolonged haggling (my family have a particular interest in glass since my grandparents used to own a glassworks in East London. Our garden was always full of interesting rockery ‘stones’ which were failed experiments in testing the different coloured pigments. My mother, as a child, won a competition to design glassware for the coronation – little trifle bowls in the shape of crowns. I was also told - erroneously it now seems - that my family had invented the cats eye!).
We all clubbed together to buy a charcoal drawing of the French coast as a ‘thank-you’ present for my aunt and uncle, who were hosting the trip. And both my brother’s girlfriend and I unexpectedly ended up with vintage ice tongs (the nifty grabbing mechanism ones) after being caught playing with them by the stall holder!
Making our way down to the seafront later that afternoon, we observed that Crozon looked like a fairly typical French fishing port, with pastel-coloured shops and houses lined up along the quay. However, on closer inspection, fishing boats were not really much in evidence, replaced largely by pleasure craft - small dinghies and Hobie Cats. The outer harbour wall was long, and very wide indeed, with a church, lighthouse, and strange-looking fortification all positioned at one end, so I do believe our original observation re the fishing port was probably correct at some point in time. There were a number of pleasingly rusty old boats, and fading advertising boards in the boatyard area, so plenty of photo opportunities presented themselves.
We then took a leisurely walk along the beach, although foolishly started at a point where the coast was quite shingly. As we walked toward the impressive curve of white sand in the distance, the shingle only got bigger and bigger, until it became fairly obvious that we were in the midst of some sort of man-made sea defence. Large, loose boulders littered the shore, many green and slippery with weed. It was fairly precarious walking – no real danger of any serious injury, because we were at no great elevation, but a twisted ankle seemed increasingly on the cards! Due to the height of the sea wall behind us at this point, there was no chance of climbing over, so we were forced to continue along the giant cobbles (god forbid anyone ever consider turning back!) but eventually came to the more welcoming flat sand.
Here and there, a few children were building sandcastles - one quite impressive one, with fully flooded moat and multiple towers - so we decided to look for an open shop to see if we could get a bucket and spade to join in. The sets we found were, however, quite expensive, due to comprising not just a pail and shovel, but what looked like the equivalent of cookie-cutters for the sand. So we passed on the castle building equipment and instead, my brother’s girlfriend bought some postcards to send to her family in the Czech Republic. The shopkeeper insisted on giving us too much change because he didn’t have the right money and wouldn’t see us out of pocket.
We didn’t eat a formal meal in Crozon, but were equipped with various left-overs from home and the Locronan biscuit shops, including vast torchettes – enormous flaky, spicy biscuits filled with dried fruit. My brother had insisted we get two huge packs of these (mistakenly thinking they were giant chocolate-chip cookies), so we had our work cut out to get through them all. I think the seagulls helped make a considerable dent in supplies, though.
On our way out of town that afternoon, we unexpectedly came across a large group of standing stones – not as statuesque as Stonehenge, but a very unexpected bonus. We'd been discussing visiting Carnac (with its 3000 standing stones) further down the coast at some point, so this was a bit of an erie coincidence. Furthermore, between the stones and the sea was an impressive derelict folly in the style of a small castle. Apparently this had been the home of a local poet – Paul Pierre Roux - but the poor man was either arrested by Nazis during the war for some unspecified crime, and died in prison, or died in hospital of a broken heart after fire ravaged the house and destroyed his manuscripts (depending which source you believe). Either way, leaving the house to fall into disrepair, such that only crumbling towers and glassless windows overlook a desolate but spectacular coastal panorama now.
Back at home that evening we had Coquilles St Jacques, more cheap plonk, and a boules championship in the garden - though I was a bit disappointed that our boules were Fisher-Price coloured plastic filled with water, rather than the shiny silver ones we’d seen locals using in the beach car park.
Apr 20th, 2010, 12:51 PM
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Day 4. Easter Monday.
Today we visited Quimper with the aim of exploring the old town. It was a small, but very pretty area, again with cobbled streets (a la Locronan), but this time, most of the buildings housed up-market shoe shops, designer clothing and posh kitchenware, rather than tourist souvenirs or produce. (It was a good job that most of the shops were shut, actually, or my credit card would probably have taken a bit of a battering). Thankfully, only the macaroon-ary (made-up word) was ‘ouvert’.
A colossal cathedral (Saint-Corentin) dominated the old-town, with the same intricate, knobbly, cut-out spires that seemed to feature in all the churches of this region. Sadly, it was shut, so we couldn’t go in, but at least there were plenty of gargoyles to admire on the outside. (I like gargoyles!).
In this same part of town, we also saw a rather strange-looking building whose exterior was clad almost entirely in painted plates. Apparently hand-painted ceramics are another regional speciality, though to my untrained eye, many of the designs looked more Flemish than French. In the plate quarter there was also a little train – I desperately wanted a ride but everyone else seemed to think it was for kids (as if that matters!!).
We carried on downhill to the lowest point in the town centre, and briefly admired the rather fast-running river cutting through the main street, before looking for somewhere to have lunch. Close by we found a creperie doing a set meal of savoury (ham, egg, cheese) followed by sweet (chocolate or honey) for around 6 euros ( I keep wanting to say ‘plat complet’ but I think that’s a meal in one dish, rather than two courses? Oh well, never mind!).
The café was fairly utilitarian inside – formica-topped tables, glazed ceramic bowls for cider, with the owners young daughter (aged about 8) running round collecting dirty plates and glasses. While waiting for our meal the proprieter bought us some French magazines and papers to read, making sure my brother and uncle got the supplement with Carla Bruni on the cover, and drawing their attention to her by tapping her picture and ‘mmmming’ appreciatively! Our walk back to the car park took us past a Rapunzelesque fairytale tower – Rumplestiltskin was apparently not home, though.
After lunch we drove south-west to Audierne – another beautiful beach - approached down narrow lanes, through sleepy sand dunes. White painted cottages were scattered throughout the dunes, all with stunning sea views. Again, I was put in mind of parts of Cornwall. Or possibly Norfolk. Or even Cape Cod.
The bay itself was an interesting mixture of browny coloured rocks at one end, pale golden sand at the other, and huge beds of washed-up seaweed in between. A number of small creeks tricked down from the dunes onto the sand. Here and there were some of the most impressive rock pools I’ve ever seen – many on multiple levels, in imposing rocky high-rise tiers, that necessitated climbing (and, unfortunately, quite a bit of slipping!) to see what was inside. Little ecosystems flourished in the crystal clear water – red anemones, starfish and hermit crabs. Many of the rocks were crusted with barnacles and a type of miniature blue mussel. A number of our party collected some sort of winkle in a bucket, helped by French people also looking for seafood - they sportingly advised us to go for the pointy-topped winkles which apparently taste better and are easier to get out of the shell.
Back home that evening we washed and cooked the pointy winkles, extracted them with pins, then ate them with vinegar. I say ‘we’ – it was a minority of the braver members of the group, since not everyone fancied trying unidentified shellfish. Alarmingly, a number of the winkles were found to contain tiny hermit crabs, happily most were saved from being boiled alive and housed in a bucket of seawater to be returned to the beach next day. We also polished off all the remaining cheese, bread, home-made apricot jam, eggs, sausages and anything else that might have to be thrown away, since it was the last day of the break (for most of us). Plus half a frozen limoncello cake (admittedly, not very French!), and the last of the wine. (This is beginning to sound a bit ‘Famous Five’ isn’t it?).
I packed my case that evening to save time in the morning (6:00am start) and said goodbye to the house, in particular my room with its seagull mobile, roses in bud vases, and windows overlooking the lush garden below with magnolias and camellias both in bloom.
Today we visited Quimper with the aim of exploring the old town. It was a small, but very pretty area, again with cobbled streets (a la Locronan), but this time, most of the buildings housed up-market shoe shops, designer clothing and posh kitchenware, rather than tourist souvenirs or produce. (It was a good job that most of the shops were shut, actually, or my credit card would probably have taken a bit of a battering). Thankfully, only the macaroon-ary (made-up word) was ‘ouvert’.
A colossal cathedral (Saint-Corentin) dominated the old-town, with the same intricate, knobbly, cut-out spires that seemed to feature in all the churches of this region. Sadly, it was shut, so we couldn’t go in, but at least there were plenty of gargoyles to admire on the outside. (I like gargoyles!).
In this same part of town, we also saw a rather strange-looking building whose exterior was clad almost entirely in painted plates. Apparently hand-painted ceramics are another regional speciality, though to my untrained eye, many of the designs looked more Flemish than French. In the plate quarter there was also a little train – I desperately wanted a ride but everyone else seemed to think it was for kids (as if that matters!!).
We carried on downhill to the lowest point in the town centre, and briefly admired the rather fast-running river cutting through the main street, before looking for somewhere to have lunch. Close by we found a creperie doing a set meal of savoury (ham, egg, cheese) followed by sweet (chocolate or honey) for around 6 euros ( I keep wanting to say ‘plat complet’ but I think that’s a meal in one dish, rather than two courses? Oh well, never mind!).
The café was fairly utilitarian inside – formica-topped tables, glazed ceramic bowls for cider, with the owners young daughter (aged about 8) running round collecting dirty plates and glasses. While waiting for our meal the proprieter bought us some French magazines and papers to read, making sure my brother and uncle got the supplement with Carla Bruni on the cover, and drawing their attention to her by tapping her picture and ‘mmmming’ appreciatively! Our walk back to the car park took us past a Rapunzelesque fairytale tower – Rumplestiltskin was apparently not home, though.
After lunch we drove south-west to Audierne – another beautiful beach - approached down narrow lanes, through sleepy sand dunes. White painted cottages were scattered throughout the dunes, all with stunning sea views. Again, I was put in mind of parts of Cornwall. Or possibly Norfolk. Or even Cape Cod.
The bay itself was an interesting mixture of browny coloured rocks at one end, pale golden sand at the other, and huge beds of washed-up seaweed in between. A number of small creeks tricked down from the dunes onto the sand. Here and there were some of the most impressive rock pools I’ve ever seen – many on multiple levels, in imposing rocky high-rise tiers, that necessitated climbing (and, unfortunately, quite a bit of slipping!) to see what was inside. Little ecosystems flourished in the crystal clear water – red anemones, starfish and hermit crabs. Many of the rocks were crusted with barnacles and a type of miniature blue mussel. A number of our party collected some sort of winkle in a bucket, helped by French people also looking for seafood - they sportingly advised us to go for the pointy-topped winkles which apparently taste better and are easier to get out of the shell.
Back home that evening we washed and cooked the pointy winkles, extracted them with pins, then ate them with vinegar. I say ‘we’ – it was a minority of the braver members of the group, since not everyone fancied trying unidentified shellfish. Alarmingly, a number of the winkles were found to contain tiny hermit crabs, happily most were saved from being boiled alive and housed in a bucket of seawater to be returned to the beach next day. We also polished off all the remaining cheese, bread, home-made apricot jam, eggs, sausages and anything else that might have to be thrown away, since it was the last day of the break (for most of us). Plus half a frozen limoncello cake (admittedly, not very French!), and the last of the wine. (This is beginning to sound a bit ‘Famous Five’ isn’t it?).
I packed my case that evening to save time in the morning (6:00am start) and said goodbye to the house, in particular my room with its seagull mobile, roses in bud vases, and windows overlooking the lush garden below with magnolias and camellias both in bloom.
Apr 20th, 2010, 01:23 PM
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And finally, some pictures.
(These were taken with a basic point-and-shoot, so won't be winning any Pulitzer prizes, but should give you some idea what it's like if you've never visited the reagion).
http://www.flickr.com/photos/49452305@N02/
(These were taken with a basic point-and-shoot, so won't be winning any Pulitzer prizes, but should give you some idea what it's like if you've never visited the reagion).
http://www.flickr.com/photos/49452305@N02/
Apr 20th, 2010, 02:12 PM
#15
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RM, your trip report brought back some wonderful memories of our time in Finistere. I found Locronan a delightful town and when there in September were treated to musicians performing just outside the gate. Their music was blending of celtic, Bretagne and French and the sound bouncing off the stone walls was beautifully haunting.
I would guess you do not share the same affection for the faience of Quimper as some of us or you would have surely bought some pottery while there
I enjoyed your ice tongs acquisition, I can just imagine how your remembered playfulness will add to their value.
thank you for taking the time to write your report. Deborah
I would guess you do not share the same affection for the faience of Quimper as some of us or you would have surely bought some pottery while there
I enjoyed your ice tongs acquisition, I can just imagine how your remembered playfulness will add to their value.
thank you for taking the time to write your report. Deborah
Apr 20th, 2010, 02:41 PM
#16
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Thank you Deborah - I loved Locronan too, despite the rain. I was quite surprised at the extensive celtic influence throughout the region - carvings and music everywhere - I suppose it makes sense, though, when you think about the name of the region, and the closer ties with Britain than other parts of France...
Julie and Happy - I thought it was a lovely region. Great beaches, easy driving, locals very friendly. Probably would never have thought to visit if it weren't for the family connection, but really glad that I did.
Julie and Happy - I thought it was a lovely region. Great beaches, easy driving, locals very friendly. Probably would never have thought to visit if it weren't for the family connection, but really glad that I did.
Apr 20th, 2010, 03:53 PM
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RM67 wrote: "... the closer ties with Britain than other parts of France..."
Careful! The ties are not with Britain as most people nowadays think of it, but with the Celtic tradition that survives in Wales, and survived until near-modern times in Cornwall (part of southern Finistère is known as Cornouaille). The Bretons also see the Irish and the Scots as Celtic cousins, something of which I shamelessly take advantage.
Some Bretons might take exception to your mentioning "other parts of France", because they see France as another country. It's only a little over 500 years since Anne de Bretagne married Charles VII and Brittany and France became united; there are still Bretons who hold out against the idea.
A couple of additional notes: Locronan is indeed named after an Irish saint who, according to legend, sailed to Brittany in a stone boat. There is a large relief of that legend over a door near the church.
You were denied an interesting sight in Quimper because the cathedral was closed. It is bent.
Careful! The ties are not with Britain as most people nowadays think of it, but with the Celtic tradition that survives in Wales, and survived until near-modern times in Cornwall (part of southern Finistère is known as Cornouaille). The Bretons also see the Irish and the Scots as Celtic cousins, something of which I shamelessly take advantage.
Some Bretons might take exception to your mentioning "other parts of France", because they see France as another country. It's only a little over 500 years since Anne de Bretagne married Charles VII and Brittany and France became united; there are still Bretons who hold out against the idea.
A couple of additional notes: Locronan is indeed named after an Irish saint who, according to legend, sailed to Brittany in a stone boat. There is a large relief of that legend over a door near the church.
You were denied an interesting sight in Quimper because the cathedral was closed. It is bent.
Apr 20th, 2010, 07:43 PM
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We are a group of five of us seniors ! will be visiting Brittany, early June. we will travel by car from Liverpool & have reserved cabins on the overnight ferry to St Malo & will be based in Dinan for 3 nights before heading out to visit D Day Beaches (which 2 of us have done before) then on to Normandy to stay with friends who own self catering apartments in Berville-Sur -Mer. for 10 days. i w8uld appreciate any tips whilst we are in the Dinan area. . after reading your great report & pictures we shall certainly try to visit some of the areas you have described. Thank you.
Apr 21st, 2010, 01:28 AM
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Hi Farremog,
My camera is one of these:-
http://www.flickr.com/cameras/panasonic/dmc-fx100/
It's teeny weeny - not much bigger than a box of matches, which I was why I picked it - it'll go into a jacket or shirt pocket.
BTW, If you look to the right of any of the pictures whilst viewing them individually there is often the spec of the camera listed for the the more modern digital processor types - Flickr is dead clever and downloads it all automatically. You'll also be able to see other pictures taken with the same type of camera by different people - it's a brilliant way to do a bit of pre-purchase research.
Photobucket is dead - long live Flickr!
PS We also had a Canon EOS with us so I might be able to upload some pics from that eventually too.
Jean - I haven't been to Dinan, but will ask family who have for tips...
My camera is one of these:-
http://www.flickr.com/cameras/panasonic/dmc-fx100/
It's teeny weeny - not much bigger than a box of matches, which I was why I picked it - it'll go into a jacket or shirt pocket.
BTW, If you look to the right of any of the pictures whilst viewing them individually there is often the spec of the camera listed for the the more modern digital processor types - Flickr is dead clever and downloads it all automatically. You'll also be able to see other pictures taken with the same type of camera by different people - it's a brilliant way to do a bit of pre-purchase research.
Photobucket is dead - long live Flickr!
PS We also had a Canon EOS with us so I might be able to upload some pics from that eventually too.
Jean - I haven't been to Dinan, but will ask family who have for tips...
