Morning was a cacophony of cars, trucks, motorbikes. I’d forgotten St Malo is like this. We packed, had breakfast, then took a taxi to be at the ferry port by 9:45. Then the wait for the cars to board. Oddly, there was no baggage check. The bus came three times for the handful of foot passengers.

The people queuing are crazy. What is the point of rushing to be first on the bus when it means you’ll be last off it at the other end at the ferry? And they sit down! The entire trip is about three minutes but the mad scramble for the seats is like it’s three hours. As we waited for the bus, the waiting room (passenger lounge 2) had a line of people through it all queued and standing. Most of the rest of the room (with lots of chairs) remained unused. Mad.

There was the usual scramble on board the ferry with people heading straight for the Express Breakfast. We eventually found our reclining chairs – separated by an aisle – and reclined. The ferry left late.

A pretty uneventful trip back – we read most of the way. We found our taxi driver and were home in time for tea – Kelly had bathed the dogs and tidied the house and destroyed all evidence of unhealthy food.

We had a wonderful holiday and took full advantage of having the car. It meant we could see so much more. Next time we’re thinking of branching out into another region of France…though Brittany is wonderful and could prove difficult to escape…

The door handles at Château Guilguiffin are very odd. There are not two the same and they don’t work very well. It’s all particularly peculiar and nicely quirky.

Our final breakfast was populated with Australians, Kiwis and Canadians which was a bit odd after so many breakfasts struggling with French.

A political discussion from Monsieur ensued regarding the French not wanting to make any money rather they just want to “…live life“. This explains a lot. According to him, between 12 and 2 most men are with their girlfriends. He didn’t say where their wives were.

We paid and left just after 10. Our first stop, after about 20 minutes, was Locronan. It’s a village kept in the middle ages except that every building (apart from church) is either a souvenir shop or somewhere to eat. You park outside and walk through. It is another Brittany Small Town of Character like Becherel.

Locronan

Roman Polanski thought it looked enough like Thomas Hardy’s Wessex that he filmed Tess here. It’s used a lot for filming. Tourists are bussed in and out and the place is, frankly, too busy. The church is interesting and the guy with the horse and cart looks uncannily like Phil from Time Team but it’s all a bit Australiana Village for me. We had a coffee then drove on.

Our next stop was the Calvary at Playben, which was closed…the town, not the church, although the church shop WAS closed. And this is despite the fact that Playben is the geographic centre of the Finistere region of Brittany and the crossroads of the tourist circuit. At least that’s what the sign said. I think we were pretty much calvary-ed out by this stage and didn’t stay long.

We drove on, up through the mountains, through Bras Parts to Montagne St Michel – the second highest point in Brittany. Mirinda stayed by the car while I ran up and had a look at the summit. At the top was a small, cute church, views of a large reservoir and a big French family having a picnic in the cold wind with clothes, food and drink blowing everywhere. I ran back down and we once more drove off.

French family picnic atop mount St Michel

It was a LOOOOOONG stretch of driving along the motorway before we hit Lamballe. All we wanted was some fast food but, although signs said one thing, the actuality was different. There was nothing so we had to resort to going to a supermarket and buying a baguette, some crisps and a gooey cake thing. We didn’t have time for a proper lunch as we had a deadline to drop the car off.

We arrived at St Malo station in plenty of time, as it turned out. We unpacked, handed the keys over, then caught a cab and ended up, happily in our favourite St Malo Hotel, by about 5pm.

After a short rest we went for a walk and a coffee. St Malo was very crowded.

For dinner, Mirinda fancied Moroccan so we first tried the Couscous but the tagine has to be ordered a day ahead otherwise it looks like just couscous or pizza. We left – not just because of the lack of Moroccan food but because everyone stared at us like we were aliens. We ended up in the restaurant next to the Unicorn. We enjoyed a lovely dinner with a frightening rum saturated dessert, punctuated by a very weird exploding rubber thing just across the cobble stones. This apparently happens a lot because no-one seemed to notice it.

We had a lovely stroll back to the hotel.

Our final Breton night was disturbed by an extremely echoey St Malo. Some drunk English guy was moaning about how much he loved someone or other. We kept praying he’d stop but he’d go off then come back. If the object of his affections was within earshot, I’m sure his entreaties would not have been received gratefully.

At breakfast we were told that Pointe de Raz is not the best place to go but Pointe de Van is because no-one goes there! Sacre bleu!! And it was just around the corner from de Raz. Oh well, I guess there’s always somewhere to go next time.

Today we are going on a cruise up the Odet River so we left for Quimper. Of course we had to visit the faience place first and buy some new tiles for the house. You see, last time we visited, we bought these two lovely tiles (they actually had old calendars on the back) which I put either side of the front door. Since we will be moving very soon to a new house, we naturally needed new tiles.

After the usual scramble for a toilet for Mirinda, we did the usual wonder around. Mirinda liked the VERY expensive jug but I managed to distract her by showing her the somewhat cheaper tiles. We bought them and left, jugless and all the richer for it.

We walked into Quimper, remembering bits, noting some changes and had coffee in the same place as last time, overlooking the scaffold enshrined church. This was followed by a wander around the shops and I bought a stamp watch (after all) from an odd and wacky shop.

Crazy yellow fruity stamp watch from Quimper

Popping into the covered market we bought baguettes and cakes to have later.

We collected the car and drove to Benodet and bought tickets on the Vedette du Odet. I feel I need to say something about the parking at Benodet. The brochure for the boat trip claims they have plenty of parking and, to be fair, normally I’m sure they do, however, when the fair is in town, the car-park spaces are reduced by at least half. Rather than free and easy parking, the spaces are full of caravans, rides, coconut shies and freak show tents. Very, very annoying. We parked about eight miles away and walked back.

We ate our delicious lunch on deck as we waited to sail. Once underway we were treated to a lovely cruise and an amusing commentary.

A château along the Odet river

The boat started by doing a huge circle of the harbour, the guide telling us about the trees, the beach, the storm damage. Then we turned back into the river and went all the way up to Quimper. We picked up a load of passengers then pootled all the way back to Benodet. All over a great river ride. Highlights include

• The interesting English version. The French version would go on for ten minutes which, in English was translated as “the bird on the left is a gull“.
• A small girl in a pink skirt ran and walked the entire journey from the upper deck to the lower deck. Extraordinary distance. If you assume the river is about nine kilometres and we went up then down, that’s 18 kilometres she walked! If you took her by the hand and tried walking that far I swear you’d not get far. But, honestly, she didn’t stop.
• There were three dogs including one that seemed to be a quizzical temple dog. It had no idea what being carried was all about, constantly giving it’s owner strange looks.
• The Tall Coiff Theory behind the very high ones of the area is either symbolic of the great struggle of the peasants against the crown regarding a tax and the church steeple or it was determined by the length of the women’s skirts. The more daring girls looked like Marge Simpson wearing nothing but a narrow belt. I think I prefer the second theory.
• The lighthouse that looked like a rooster. No matter how you looked at it, it just looked like a lighthouse.
• Virgin Rock – apparently a maiden was chased to this rock by a big, nasty ogre who was intent on raping her. Rather than lose her virginity, she jumped into the roaring river. Mirinda reckons she was probably luring the ogre to the rock to push him off.
• Bishop’s Rock – it seems the churchmen of the area would sit upon this rock to have a good fish and discuss the juicier confessions they’d received during the week. It should also be noted that young girls would swim on the opposite side of the river.
• We have found out what happened to Little Orphan Annie. She was on our boat. It was amazing. Though it must be said that she does have pupils.
• There was an extremely smelly toilet which perturbed quite a few young girls who went in then quickly ran out again. It took quite a while to pluck up enough courage to use the facility. Little Orphan Annie used it without complaint.

We ate at a restaurant by the dock. Although very expensive, dinner was lovely and ended with peppermint. Mirinda ordered a Tea Infusion then, thinking she’d like peppermint tea said ‘peppermint’. What she was given was a cup of green tea and a glass of lurid green stuff which was like syrup of peppermint with ice. It was also extremely alcoholic. I drank most of it. It was refreshing.

Mirinda at restaurant, Benodet

A lovely but long day.

Went down to breakfast to find the table full but for two chairs at opposite ends. We said we’d come back. The château must be full. When we finally returned we chatted to a Kiwi couple. A relative of hers was born in Quimper and went to New Zealand in the early 1800s and she was on a mission to seek out the street in which she was born. This wasn’t the only reason they’d travelled all the way to Europe! They were visiting relatives in the UK and her husband had a conference to attend in Sweden. The only reason I know all this is because the woman was explaining it to the guy who runs the place but he seemed to have switched off so Mirinda was doing the nice thing and taking up the conversation.

We set off for Loctudy to go on a boat ride. Loctudy is beyond Pont L’Abbe so we had to take on the maze of streets and beeping cars that seem to exist within every French town. We found the booth for the cruises, parked and found a creperie for lunch.

Main street of Loctudy leading down to the water

After a lovely lunch we strolled down to the quay to wait for the office to open. Now, it’s important to note that we were not alone in doing this. There were quite a few others at various times, peeking through the glass, trying to read the brochure (which was also in English). I say this in my defence because after a while (or three) Mirinda decided to throw caution to the wind and read the brochure herself. Apparently the cruises do not operate from Loctudy on a Tuesday.

And so, instead of a cruise, we went to the Manoir de Kerazan. This stands as one of the only French tourist sites that has the intelligence to operate a café.

The guide sheet claims that Kerazon Manor is “The art of living in 19th century Brittany” but it is one of the oldest estates in the region. The right hand wing of the house dates back to the 16th century, built originally by the Kerfloux family. It was sold to different people down the years and added to as these things are until 1847 when Alour Arnoult, a notary from Pont L’Abbe decided to turn it into a magnificent residence.

Kerazon Manor

Arnoult’s daughter married a soldier, Joseph Astor and they made all the changes seen today. Their son, Joseph-George, added the entire left wing and many of the out-buildings. The Astors are the people most noted in relation to the house.

The rooms are all decorated with artworks from around the region, much loved by Joseph Astor. Most of them show traditional Breton images of coifs, fisher folk and pardons. The house sits in a lovely park with open spaces, woodland and a small lake. Mirinda enjoyed the walled garden!

There’s a lovely old billiard table in the room where the men would retire after dinner and the ladies drawing room is very girlie. I was particularly keen on taking a few shots on the billiard table but a very clear French sign indicated this was not the thing to do.

In the small chapel – now a small white room – is a magnificent faience cello. It is life-sized and won the silver medal at the Universal Exhibition in Paris in 1878. Although a complete cello, it has never been played as it is very fragile. It also took six attempts for Alfred Beau to get it right.

Faience cello by Alfred Beau

It was in this chapel that Monsieur de Saint-Allouarn was married. This name may be unknown to most people, however he has an amazing link with Australia. He was the navigator and companion of Kerguelen who claimed Western Australia for the King of France. At least he thought he did. It was actually a group of islands which he named the Kerguelen Islands. He discovered them twice and returned to France to be locked away for being useless. I can find nothing out about Saint-Allouarn but assume he didn’t accompany his mate to jail.

It was nice to sit under the shady trees and sip a coffee while we waited an age for Mirinda’s lemon and sugar pancake. As per usual, Mirinda paid the tab (because it was a tearoom) and left a ridiculously high tip. No wonder the woman in charge was grinning when we left.

We then decided to drive all the way to Pointe de Raz to see France’s westernmost point. According to our (old) guidebook, visitor pressure has played havoc on the place and arriving you can see how they’ve tried to alleviate this. About 15 tourist shops line the carpark and there’s a free bus to take people to the headland. Madness! The whole place was packed with people. The bus was full – not that we intended to catch it – and the path was amassed with walking family groups.

Heath on way to Pointe de Raz

We started walking down the long, heath-lined path towards the headland. It was a long, straight path towards a lighthouse. Once passing this, the track heads out towards the sea. The scenery is indeed dramatic if you ignore the hordes. A particularly ugly statue of the baby Jesus in Mary’s arms looks out to sea. We walked to the end of the path but other, more intrepid tourists, started crawling out across the pinnacles of the rocks leading out to sea. Insane!

We stood for a bit, admiring the view then headed back via the coast path, making a circle back to the car-park. The huge car-park has a charge to leave – €6 – which, one hopes, is used to repair the paths and natural landscape rather than to build more tourist shops. We’ve also discovered that this is, in fact, NOT the westernmost point of France. Just shows what you can do if you try hard enough.

There seems to be a lot of over confident small fluffy dogs in Brittany. So far we have seen three. Two of them trotting along the side of the road, obviously headed somewhere important and the other having a lovely snuffle of its bits in the middle of the inside lane of a roundabout at Crozon, as I reported earlier. None of them looked like strays. My theory is that it’s something to do with the fact that dogs are allowed anywhere in France and just take it all in their stride. The owners of these dogs probably said “Look, Fufu, I’m feeling a bit lazy today so how about you take yourself for a walk.” And off they go. Brilliant. I’m going to try teaching our poodles to do the same…yeah, right!

We drove back to the château before leaving for dinner in Landudec. We went to the same restaurant as yesterday, which was serving meals other than pizza. It was a great disappointment. I had scallops which were well overcooked and took about three days to arrive. Not particularly tasty, I have to say. The cider was very nice though.

I was awoken in the middle of the night by a very loud dog! There is a sign on the door into our wing of the château which gives a warning about the bizarre dog within. I think it was out hunting snarks. Anyway, it went off into the woods and the night soon returned to stillness and silence…apart from the owls.

Dog sign

Breakfast at the Château du Guilguiffin takes place a very long dining table in the very big farmhouse kitchen. The table seats 16. When we entered at 9.30 it was almost full. We took the last two seats. Lots of chatter, particularly between a young couple (there was a wedding at the château the previous day and they may have been the newlyweds) and the master of the house. They serve delicious coffee, I just feel compelled to say.

After breaky, Mirinda read while I wandered the grounds – well the woodland bit at the front and a few fields. One of the fields had an odd hydrangea hedge. Hidden in a small hollow there’s a small concrete pool (now unused) with a small niche before it. All very romantic.

Hydrangea hedge, Château Guilguiffin

We left at about 12 for Pont l’Abbe. (In the car I had a text from Dawn asking if the Gaz Help desk still operated in France. As usual I was unable to fix her PC problem. I blamed BT instead.) Naturally, seeing as it was between 12 and 2, Pont L’Abbe was closed and virtually deserted. I say virtually because the bars and tabacs held in their depths, crusty miserable old and young men of dishevelled and slightly threatening demeanour. Ok, I’m exaggerating but they didn’t look appealing at all.

We managed to find a café (actually a slightly better bar which had women sitting outside) which, oddly, had Breton translations for French on the back of the menu. After a drink we strolled over to the TiC to find it, also, was closed till 2. And so we wandered around some more, finding ourselves at the huge tourist shop near where we parked the car.

We were enticed in by the tins of biscuits and other lovely things. It was awful. We bought up big, transforming the Pont L’Abbe economy in one fell swoop. As well as biscuits, I bought a bottle of Breton single malt whiskey especially for Nicktor to try.

After buying out the shop, we wandered along the water channel which was slowly filling up and spotted the very poignant war memorial with the Breton women in traditional garb, crying over the loss of the men of the town in the two world wars.

War memorial Pont l'Abbe

From the memorial we found a church, the 14th century Notre Dame des Carmes, which holds a very odd St Sebastien. He had wavy hair and looked quite serene. Obviously a product of the time when he was made. Actually there has been a lot of St Sebastiens in the churches this trip. It seems he’s a bit of a Breton standard. Not sure why. Him and St Roch, the one with the little dog.

One of the things that is everywhere in Brittany (and which Nicole had when she lived in France) is the little breakfast bowls with names on them. Last time we managed to find a bowl for Mirinda which was spelled incorrectly. We found the correct spelling this time but I’d been searching for a ‘Kelly’. Pretty difficult! Then I asked a guy who was putting out his stock and he said “Sure! Of course! We have all names!” Actually he said something rapidly in French but it sounded like this. I should have asked for Nicktor as well!

I followed him into the store and waited while the girl he’d instructed vanished into the depths up the back – all the shops in Pont L’Abbe have very long depths to them. Just when I’d abandoned all hope and figured the press gangs would grab me, she returned holding a bowl with ‘Kelly’ written on it.

Something I hadn’t brought with me this trip (mainly because they’re in Dawn and Nicktor’s garage) are my thongs. Pretty annoying when you visit a lot of beaches, I can tell you. As we were wandering up to the TiC I spotted a shop with thongs in a display out the front. Grabbing my size I went inside and presented the girl with my money. Ah, comfort at last.

Meanwhile, Mirinda had managed to get lots of info about boat rides on the Odet all in French. Not the information but she managed to make herself understood and vice versa, the woman behind the counter.

We decided today was a drive along the coast day as there were no boats from here. We popped into the Four Seasons Creperie for lunch with Cider.

We eventually collected the car and drove to Penmarch which is about as desolate as you’d want to be. The tumbling tumbleweeds attest to that. Our guidebook promised a coiffe to rival Marg Simpson’s hair but the old woman who generally hangs out around the place is either dead or on holidays, because she wasn’t. This was very annoying because we’ve wanted to see her since 2002! Disgusted, we drove on to Eckmühl to see the lighthouse.

The temperature was almost 30° and the sun was mercilessly beating down. We walked around lighthouse – we could have climbed to the top but there was a long queue without shade and only 20 people at a time were permitted – took a cheeky photo of someone’s backyard with menhirs and dolmans rather than the usual gnomes and then dipped our toes in the water but the stench of some out of sight outflow pipe drove us back on shore. Actually, after this, my thongs constantly squeaked so I’m assuming some sort of connection. The place was starting to come alive with a market day atmosphere filled with tables and produce. Mirinda didn’t like the loo so we drove on.

Smelly bit of Eckmühl beach

We stopped at a very popular beach just outside St Guenole and right opposite the Prehistoric Museum. Our guidebook describes the museum as really, really bad, so we didn’t visit. Mirinda visited the loo instead and then we paddled the length of the beach. It’s a fantastic stretch of soft white sand with many French families enjoying themselves with buckets, spades, bats, balls, bits of driftwood, seaweed or just themselves. Very summery. It felt like Avoca at Christmas many, many years ago…without the French families though.

We then drove on to the Pointe de la Torche where huge signs order people not to swim.

Forbidden swimming sign, Pointe de la Torche

Unless you are young girls in white bikinis, of course. The point itself is very dangerous in bad weather but is bordered either side by amazingly long beaches of beautiful white sand. Again, there were lots of families enjoying the weather. One particular family was flying a kite that looked exactly like a seagull. It dipped and soared, then dipped and buried itself into a granny’s head. The day was so fantastically cheerful that she just smiled, wiped the blood from its beak and handed it back.

We walked to end of point. Along the sides are lots of amazing little cairns – Mirinda reckons they are made by lots of people after some initial inspiration by an artist. They look pretty odd but somehow in keeping with the natural rock formations. There seems to be a bit of a competition with the placement of the most precarious. Some defy gravity, sitting on the ragged edge of huge boulders.

Pointe de la Torche scultpure

After buying a giant bottle of water, we drove on to the Calvaire Notre Dame de Tronoën. This calvary was carved around 1450 and is showing a lot of weathering from its position near the sea. The smooth edged figures take on an ethereal quality. The figures are also liberally coated in lichen. It reminded me of a sandcastle slowly being reclaimed by the sea. Suffering from a different type of weathering, the big church has become a bookshop, the number of chairs diminished to accommodate the now tiny congregation.

On the way back we stopped at the Champion supermarket in St Jean Trolimon for dinner groceries. Firstly the checkout girl annoyed Mirinda because we hadn’t put a price sticker on the two apples and then she thought we were stealing the shopping basket! The problem stemmed from our not having a 10c piece for a trolley – this is the equivalent of around 7p! – and the store not supplying plastic bags. Naturally I was going to return the basket but when the girl came running after us, Mirinda saw it as a personal affront on our integrity.

We were eventually back at the Château by 7pm where we set up our little feast of ham, cheese, tomato and baguette at one of the picnic tables on the lawn and enjoyed the slowly setting sun.

I think I managed to get a bit of a tan today.

Woke up still asleep after the night time exertions in pit lane. Dragged our sorry selves downstairs for breakfast. There was no coffee for a bit but at least Mirinda managed a tea. I spotted cold galettes and decided instead on a baguette with ham and cheese on it, I’d go a bit original and have ham, cheese and an egg on a galette. Unfortunately the galette was a sweet one, sort of like a cold pancake. Eventually the coffee came. I had two cups of the foul, brewed to hell stuff. At least it lined my stomach with something and hopefully helped break up the splodgy galette.

We paid up (regretfully), packed the car and left the god forsaken place. Once we saw the sign saying we’d left Treboul it was rejoicing all round in the front seats of our little VW. It was still a bit hairy finding our way back to Plonevez-Porzay but we finally made it. Suddenly the day seemed brighter and all together more jolly.

One of the must-sees this trip was a traditional Breton pardon. These are religious festivals that happen every year in certain areas. The locals get dressed up in their traditional finery and have, basically, a big party with a Catholic service at the end where they parade around a few relics. They are very famous and Mirinda has wanted to see one for years. Unfortunately, finding information about them is not as simple as you’d think. The Internet tends to give you a rough guide to when they are and precious little else. I dare say if you read fluent French, you’d find a lot more.

Still, we had the name of a town and that’s where we started looking for the Pardon of St Anne le Palud. St Anne, for those that do not know (we didn’t) was Mary the virgin’s mum, Christ’s gran, Joseph’s mother-in-law. I wonder if they had stand up comedy then?

Statue of St Anne le Palud

It was market day in Plonevez-Porzay and everyone from about 300 miles around had decided to park in the main street. Naturally the car park was full of market stalls. We went first to the church, figuring this would be a good place to advertise a religious festival nearby. But, alas, no such advertising was to be found. Actually the church was closed. Somewhat odd, it being Sunday and all.

We then popped into the TiC to ask them. At least that’s what I thought we were doing but actually Mirinda just wanted to use their loo. After wandering around the market and trying to buy a 44€ hat for 4€, Mirinda bought some fruit and we returned to the car. We decided to drive down the road to the town of St Anne le Palud and see what was there. We knew that the procession was supposed to take place near the dunes.

As soon as we entered the tiny village we knew we were in the right place. A nice chap directed us to a field which was gradually filling with cars, to equal the field on the other side of the village. We parked and wandered down to the small main street which was lined with food stalls, gifts and funfair attractions. Up ahead we spotted the church and a huge crowd sitting on the hill beside it. Loudspeakers all around the village echoed the service being read and sung from the small sheltered area outside the church. It was an amazing sight.

A couple of Bretons dressed traditionally

We wandered into the church to find it full of people waiting for a service to begin while others milled around buying and lighting candles or studying the pardon related photographs on the walls. The church had three doors open and people were flowing all around. We went through to the other side and climbed the hill, finding a good vantage point. We sat down and listened and watched as the mass finished up. Then we saw our first coiffe!

Coiffes all round

A family of three women all with elaborately curled head pieces and gold embroidered dresses were quickly surrounded by hordes of energetic photographers snapping them either alone or with a random child, plucked from the crowd. I preferred to snap them largely unawares. There are lots of different sizes and shapes. I’ve created a collage of many of them which you can get to by clicking here.

The service over, we had three hours to kill before the procession up the hill started – the real reason most people were there. We wandered around a bit then bought some takeaway rubbish labelled as food and ate in the sunshine, outside the church. We watched as men roped off a corridor around the church and up the hill to keep the crowds back. Having eaten we decided to walk up the hill and see what was beyond.

Sand dunes is what was beyond. Sand dunes covered in plants and dotted with little family groups. From the top of the hill, the beach seems a very long way away. It’s nothing to do with perspective or tricks of the light, it actually IS a long way away.

Beach at St Anne le Palud

In the picture above, the blurry little dots are actually people. After the dunes the sand stretches a further couple of miles before the sea eventually trickles in. Ok, not a couple of miles but a fair way! We wandered down to the water for a paddle.

The water was very cold at first but very refreshing on hot feet. We walked up and down, Mirinda gave her feet a mud treatment and then we walked towards the oddly placed red danger flags off to one side. A channel suddenly appeared at the edge of the beach so we assumed the danger was a swimmer (walker) at high tide may not notice the 6 inch drop and the rocky base of the small stream.

Back at the church we staked out our place on the uphill stretch of the processional alley. And then something joyous happened. The loudspeakers that ring the whole hill burst into life drowning out the truly awful bagpipe version of Amazing Grace that had been playing loud and nauseously from a CD sales table all afternoon. Unfortunately Mirinda will now always remember Pardons as being accompanied by Amazing Grace.

After a few Psalms and prayers which Mirinda gleefully translated into a sort of English, the procession began. Scores of men and women in traditional Breton costumes, carrying the banners of their villages, marched up the hill. Some groups were big some small but they all marched with conviction and pride. Every now and then the procession would stop and the big banners were handed to someone else to carry. It was very poignant when a man and a woman with a bare simple cross passed, stopped and then continued without swapping it.

Mass at St Anne le Palud

The coiffes were certainly something to behold as were the dresses. The men’s clothes were a little more subdued though the pirate pants were certainly noticeable. After the parade had passed us by it was time to bid the small village adieu as the festivities continued. For us, it was a trip to Château Guilguiffin, but a short hop away.

The château is very big! It has taken 32 years of restoration to make Guilguiffin a spectacular place. The Big Storm of 1987 put plans back a bit when it ripped through, taking off bits of the newly repaired roof, uprooting trees, blowing down walls but eventually it was finished and now it looks brilliant. It sits, all French and noble in 520 hectares of parkland. After settling in I plonked myself on the little table and wrote the following:

I am sitting in the Chapel room overlooking a part of the garden to the side of the house. There is a large bed of yellow flowers cutting across the lawn. Hydrangeas line the trees on the right. It is very, very quiet. This is a wonderful place to sit and write.

View from the window at Château Guilguiffin

After a short stroll around the immediate grounds we went into Landudec for dinner. There are three (or two, since the third is impossible to find) restaurants in Landudec. We went into the Auberge as the menu looked very good. The doors (for there are two) seem to contain some sort of wormhole between the street and the dining area as each time you go through a sudden rush of air almost blows you off your feet and drags the door out of your hand. Creepy.

We stood waiting for the woman to notice us. The big, gruff chef, who was busy shoving pizzas into takeaway boxes looked at the woman, then at us and said, “Only pizzas“. We looked at each other, shrugged our shoulders and said we’d like non-smoking please.

They make really great pizza (which didn’t smoke) at the Auberge – I recommend it. We ate, drank some Breton cider and were back and in bed by 10. Silence and bliss coming through the windows. And a cooling breeze. Ah, sweet sleep.

For our final morning at Locquirec I went for a wander to post some cards and milk the ATM dry while Mirinda read by the sea. We once more bought lunch in the patisserie. I packed the car, paid the monstrous bill and we left about 12. Because we were leaving, the day was beautifully sunny and the skies very blue.

We stopped off at the Abbey at Landevennec. This is the remains of several monasteries built one on top of the other. The first stone one was built in the 9th century but a previous wooden building was probably erected in 818 when St Gwenole and chums landed on the spot and decided to establish their church there.

Well in the centre of Landevennec Abbey

The monastery was rebuilt in the 13th, 15th and 17th centuries. After this the French Revolution reduced it to ruins so they built no more. What we have now is the remains of the four buildings with archaeological notes and guesses scattered around the site. The dig took place some time prior to 1985 when the current restoration work began. This was completed in 1988.

Obviously I loved every minute of it but the one thing that really stood out was the way some areas of the church have been used to create small gardens. Some with big pumpkins growing in them, some with banana trees. Big plants with big colourful flowers. Fantastic.

Market garden inside Landevennec Abbey

Rumour has it that King Gradlon (we met him way back on our previous trip to Brittany when we visited Quimper) was buried in the sacristy of the church. Naturally we said hello.

After the abbey we drove out along the Crozon Peninsular towards Camaret-sur-Mer to see the sea and the fabulous coastline. After managing to find a way through Crozon itself, we drove up to a large car-park, baking in the sun. There was no shade, just walkways, rocks and people. We strolled over to the edge of one of the paths and Mirinda spotted the only bit of shade anywhere. It was against a huge rock, just near the edge. Tentatively we climbed down to this tussocky vantage point – the grass was all soft like a sofa – unpacked our food and had a very picturesque lunch.

View at Camaret sur Mer

The views around this point are pretty amazing, though I have to say they are not as dramatic as the Great Ocean Road in Victoria! Still, they are gloriously dramatic in a Breton way. And very popular. Although there is nothing there but a car park and some vantage points, a lot of people seem to visit anyway. Naturally there are also the few insane people who like to risk life and limb by clambering over rocks that have no right to be clambered over but generally people just go there for the views.

Retracing our tracks, we came across an odd sight on a roundabout on the Crozon bypass. This is not a back street, or an unused road. The traffic was pretty constant and this roundabout is the main thoroughfare back off the peninsular but there, as we swung around, in the middle of the road, was a big dog licking himself. Mirinda tooted him but he paid no heed, just kept right on licking. Maybe he owned the roundabout.

Having recovered, we drove towards Douarnenez via Plonevez-Porzay, the small town we are going to visit tomorrow. It hopefully has a pardon on. Then on to Treboul, a place I shall long remember when I grow weary of pleasant thoughts.

We managed to find Treboul after a lot of argy bargy on the road. The signage in Brittany could be a bit better. Sometimes you are lucky enough to get a sign that actually appears BEFORE a turning but quite often, there is no sign and by the time you’re on a roundabout, you’ve missed it anyway so you end up halfway up some strange road. Happens all the time. You’d think someone would figure out it’s not a system that works very well. Still, I guess that’s all part of the fun of driving in Brittany.

Anyway, after an age of avoiding turn offs we didn’t think we wanted, we ended up in the marina. Actually not IN the marina but beside it. Mirinda parked and I went searching for where the hotel was supposed to be. Obviously it wasn’t there but I did find a map which showed it just over the hill, right by a beach. I snapped a photo of it then hurried, joyously back to the car.

Pointless map of Treboul

I needn’t have bothered with the joy. Up the hill was the most evil network of tiny, squeezy roads, one-way streets and nasty turns I have ever in my life been stupid enough to enter. The one-way system is actually diabolical and should be one of Dante’s levels of Hell.

Eventually I had Mirinda park the car and I went off on foot. Actually, after a bit of swearing she told me to go off on foot and find it.

The temperature was topping 50 and there was no shelter from it. My runners were melting into the tarmac as I went up and down the lanes, towards my quarry. Suddenly I came across a pathway with sand on it. This had to signify something so I followed the grains until I found a big, very crowded beach. This was where the hotel was supposed to be near. I trudged past the happy, chirpy, beachwear clad, French sun-seekers stunningly overdressed in my jeans, sweat simply drenching my clothes and then I found the street. Then, eventually, I found the hotel.

I started to double back along the streets but quickly realised the one-way system was impossible. By this stage I felt everyone wandering around in swimmers and thongs was secretly laughing at me, which just increased my discomfort. I headed back to the hotel and decided to walk the long way back to the marina which was not made up of one way streets. It was a long way via main roads, roundabouts and successive pedestrian crossings. I ticked off landmarks as I walked so I could remember the way back. Just as I was about to give up all hope and lay down and die, the marina appeared around a final corner.

From here I climbed and climbed and climbed until I found Mirinda sitting, reading in air conditioned comfort. After a bit of calming down and cooling off, I directed her to the Hotel Thalasstonic. I felt totally robbed when the girl at reception was really, really nice.

It turned out that the room wasn’t that bad. I lugged everything up to the first floor then jumped into a lovely cold shower. I stood under it for quite a while trying to reduce my core temperature. Thank God the water pressure was good and strong.

After sitting around for a bit, we decided to go for a walk around by the beach. It was a bit less crowded than earlier and the water was very cold on our feet as we paddled along. Lots of families enjoying the beach. One very odd thing: a low wall runs alongside the beach with a path and another wall beside it which keeps the riff raff out of the properties there. The odd thing is that these properties have built a little area of sand that is behind the wall where you’d normally expect there to be a garden.

Sandy gardens in Treboul

Above the beach there is a wooded path and a handy shower for washing sand off one’s feet or very baggy swimmers if you are a balding Frenchman who likes to show off. A bit further up the path is a lovely little spot of sandy beach where a single family was enjoying the solitude. Behind, on a hill above the next popular beach along, was a very crowded cemetery, evidence that the one-way system has managed to trap quite a few other people permanently.

We then wandered back to the hotel, deciding to eat in the restaurant. Boy, another big mistake. The food was pretty tasteless and the worst we’ve had on this trip. Not to mention the waitress who was pretty surly when Mirinda started eating her langoustines. The only saving grace was the beer, which was good and cold and went down very well. Love that Duchesse Anne.

The night was even worse than the day. The hotel appears to be in the heart of the noisiest part of Treboul. It also seems that the main straight for the Treboul Grand Prix circuit is directly outside the hotel window we stayed in. Possibly not so bad, except this night was the 50cc Mosquito Bike Championship and what with the constant loud buzzing and the adoring cheers from the drunken crowds, it meant little sleep all round for us both.

I am trying to find something good to say about the place in Treboul and all I can come up with is the pressure in the shower…but the shower stall was too small.

After breakfast Mirinda went for her usual read and I went for a walk along the beach in the opposite direction from yesterday to see if I could reach the big green thing on the beach across the bay. The drunk woman had gone.

The tide was very low and it was pretty easy walking all the way around to the other side. The beach is very wide for most of the way and though there is no town, a large caravan park lines a long stretch of it. The amazing thing is the number of mussel pickers. It seems that scores of French holiday makers come down to the beach for a free feed. Bags full of them they take home. Quite amazing.

Big green thing round the bay from Locquirec

As I approached the big green thing, I was greeted by the sight of a woman in a wheelchair, reading happily while a couple dug for mussels not far from her. Her wheels were a few inches into the sand. It must have been a right pain to get her there and back and hopefully they returned home long before the tide turned.

Back at the hotel we popped into the patisserie for lunch then set off to see some more parish closes.

Inside Saint Thegonnec's church

There’s a sort of Parish Close Trail not far from the hotel so we headed off towards our first one at St Thegonnec. The church steeple is very impressive and the church, huge and the calvary tremendous. But inside the church is unbelievable. An incredible display of wood carving lines the walls from ceiling to floor. Stories from the Bible, saints painted bright, crucifixions scattered hither and thither. The thing that strikes you most is the colour. The carvings are bright and new. I do not think I’ve ever seen a more ornate pulpit.

St Sebastien in St Thegonnec's church

There was also a rather pained and oddly cross-eyed St Sebastien. It was also odd in that he only had two arrows and three arrow wounds. Generally he looks like a porcupine but this sculptor had spared him the usual excess.

After this incredible experience we stopped in a small park and ate our lunch along with a French family who had arrived first and claimed the picnic table. Halfway through lunch a mad puppy came bounding over and started befriending the kids. We were then treated to the sight of a dressing gown clad local woman calling and whistling for it to come home. She looked a bit rough. It could have been the drunk woman from last night but I couldn’t be sure.

Next on our list was Guimiliau which is very famous for its calvary. The thing itself is massive with almost 200 figures carved around it. It’s made of granite and was carved from 1581 to 1588. The figures are very much of their time with men in codpieces – hardly the height of fashion in 34AD.

Along with all the Biblical scenes is a rather odd depiction of a woman being dragged off by a bunch of demons. After some digging I have discovered that this is a local moral tale for local immoral people. It is based on the story of Lost Catherine (or Katel Golled). She was a pretty young thing who was not satisfied with the strict life and wanted to go out dancing and playing bingo and just being generally naughty. One night she met a dark handsome stranger who promised her everything if she came dancing with him. Naturally she agreed and naturally he turned out to be the devil. After her date he collected and she was hauled down to the fiery depths of hell by snarling, growling demons.

Calvary at St Guimiliau

This stone story served as a warning to people who could not read. Sitting near other more serene scenes of Christ and his followers, Catherine’s tortured face and the grinning demons look very different and something best avoided. So remember, be as naughty as you like but if some dark handsome stranger promises you everything, there is going to be a catch! This scene is only present on two calvaries, Guimiliau being the best. There’s a picture of it in the album here.

Our final close was at Lampaul-Guimiliau. From the outside it isn’t much to look at (apparently it was struck by lightening in 1809 and hasn’t been quite the same since) but the interior of the church is extraordinary. Across the aisle, high above is a beam which contains a massive crucifixion as well as statues of the Virgin Mary and John the Baptist – they all look life size. The beams that stretch from side to side are also carved with faces or Celtic puzzle shapes.

I’ve included a picture of one of the saints (I’m saving you having to look at another St Sebastien, for there was one). This is St Roch. We encountered him in a number of the churches and he always had this little dog with him. The dog always appeared to be returning something; a frisbee or, as in this one, a ball. At the same time the saint is lifting his robe to show a wound on his leg. We thought it all a bit odd until I discovered that St Roch was a hermit who hurt himself, crawled into a cave and was fed by a dog who regularly brought him bread.

St Roch at Lampaul-Guimiliau

Similar carvings around the walls depict other saints with small panels of stories beneath them. There is one rather modest set of Adam and Eve and the serpent and even Salome gets in with John’s head on a platter as she dances for Herod. Not usually shown with this story is the headless body of John with blood gushing out the neck. Truly graphic and equally gross.

We then drove back to the hotel for a lovely last supper. During our short stay at the Hotel des Baines we have been joined by an interesting assortment of fellow guests. Among the most interesting…

There was an English pair with two small children. He was some sort of orthopaedic surgeon and she was an obedient little stay at home Surrey mother. They had an au pair (or nanny) to look after the kids while they went off and enjoyed themselves (I assume). His idea of a holiday was to listen to his mp3 player most of the time with big headphones on. At first Mirinda thought he wasn’t the father of the children but I think he probably doesn’t see them very often so they are unsure whether to call him dad or doctor. Her dinner dress sense was about 20 years younger than it should have been.

There was the old American couple that always sat in the same place. We noticed them mainly because on our first night the wife changed her order upon seeing Mirinda’s dessert. They seemed very nice and acted like they stayed there every year and had done for centuries.

There was the tall Frenchman who was always looking for a friend. I was a bit concerned because he appeared to keep forgetting what he was doing. I noticed him one morning at breakfast. He would get to the buffet and stand and look, pick up a bread roll, stand and look, then wander around a bit then replace the bread roll. This took quite a while because he also had to chat to everyone who came near. He was about 100 and moved slowly but seemed perky enough. It turned out that he has a serious back problem. This did not stop him wandering the town each day wearing his hat at a very jaunty angle.

And worst but not least, in the room beside ours there were two women and a man who smoked on the terrace then went into the room to cough themselves silly. I thought they were awful but when they left, one of the women seemed very pleasant and bid me a fond farewell when we met in the car park as I was packing the car.

Breakfast is served in the lovely dining room at the Hotel des Bains. It is all buffet style and features various French pastries, rolls of ham, lovely cheeses, rolls and all sorts of lovely stuff. The coffee is particularly lovely. And everywhere the staff are pleasant and smiling.

After eating, Mirinda decided she was going to read her book in one of the rocking sunchairs overlooking the sea so I decided to go for a walk along the beach. The shore is littered with 600 million year old boulders as well as sand so I scrambled along, expecting to end up at a beach we spotted yesterday. The tide was low – which means you can walk about 10 miles out to sea – but the going was rough in places. I spotted some interesting graffiti high on a concrete wall. Eventually the rocks just became impassable so I scrambled up to the footpath and continued walking along the coastline like a civilised person.

Rocky beach at Locquirec

On the beach were people flying kites, running dogs, some even swimming, though it has to be said it’s not exactly peak summer weather at the moment. One little girl and her father were flying a big kite. Once it was nice and high, dad gave her the string and she ran along with it as happy as can be. She was so tiny I was surprised she didn’t fly off with it.

I returned via the church which has a small calvary out front, featuring two Marys supported by what appear to be snarling demons. The inside was lovely. Being a fishing port boats abound, hanging from the roof, on ledges on the walls. A very pleasant church.

The statue inside Locquirec church

Upon my return to the hotel I found Mirinda still looking out at the sea reading. She had had a very pleasant time. But lunch beckoned so we tried the very full seafood restaurant in Locquirec. Mirinda keeps accusing me of not trying new things so rather than the tripe sausages (yuck) I went for what I think was haddock in a coriander seed sauce (yum). It was very nice.

The restaurant was very full and at the table next to us was a big family group. From great granddad, who had to have each of his meals liquidised, to the youngest member of the family who bore a striking resemblance to Claudius the Roman emperor though he was just walking. He had a very old face on such a tiny body – it was like something out of Doctor Who. He spent a long time bashing on the window trying to get the attention of a normal looking kid on the other side who was noticeably frightened.

There are two main things we wanted to see this trip. One was to see some of the famous parish closes. These so-called enclose paroissial are unique to the Finistere region of Brittany and are regarded as one of the highest forms of Breton art. The term refers to the cemetery, which is enclosed by a wall. The main entrance to the churchyard is through a triumphal arch. This is generally a big, ornate archway where the funeral processions would go from the village.

Just inside the arch is generally the calvary. This is a stone depiction of the crucifixion with Christ at the top, the two robbers either side of him, his mother and Mary Magdelene somewhere in front of him and a whole host of Biblical scenes beneath. The carved scenes beneath the cross are mostly of the time leading up to the crucifixion. So, like Jesus Christ Superstar, you have Gethsemane, the betrayal and Judas getting paid off, the flagellation, Jesus lugging his cross up the hill, the guards falling asleep in front of the cave, etc. There’s a whole host of different little sculptures. They vary from close to close.

To one side of the close will be the ossuary or charnel house. About five years after burial, bodies would be dug up and the bones stuck in this place to accumulate. Eventually when there was a big pile, they would be reburied in a mass grave. Apart from short term storage, the ossuary served the purpose of reminding the parishioners that death was never far away. Most of these charnel houses have memento morti writ huge above the door – Latin for remember death! These days, most of the ossuaries have been turned into souvenir shops or are just empty.

Then there’s the church. It can vary but most of them are amazingly ornate inside, having marvellous carvings set high on the wall and painted beams spanning the pews. Some can be visually overpowering and mind blowing.

And so we set off for St Jean du Doigt or St John’s finger. So named because in the 15th century someone dropped off the top part of John the Baptist’s index finger for safe keeping in the church. Apparently when dipped into water and applied to someone’s eyes, it will help their vision. There are reports that Duchesse Anne was cured of an eye complaint by being given the finger. She was so impressed she gave the parish a whole load of cash so they could complete the church in a rather grandiose manner. It must be because St John’s dead. Normally if you stick a finger in someone’s eye, it only hurts.

Calvary at St John du doigt

Driving along the scenic route, passing lovely white beaches and fun-loving French families, we found the small town of St Jean du Doigt and had no problem locating the church. The steeple is extremely high and ornate! I blame Duchesse Anne for that. Passing through the triumphal arch, a wonderful fountain is set bubbling away between the graves. Standing in a graveyard with the only sounds being the constant flow of water and an old woman scratching in the dirt, is pretty amazing.

Inside the elaborate church, it is quite disappointing. Largely simple with not a lot of decoration, it appears that they spent all of Anne’s money building the outside and ran out by the time they got to internal furnishings. Actually this is being a little unfair but is written after seeing other parish closes and in this respect, this church is a good first one!

The old woman was tending the graves, by the way.

So, from an old burial site to an even older one, as we searched for the Barnenez burial cairn, a Neolithic monument near Morlaix. I was expecting something quite small. Not so!

Tomb at Barnenez

A huge burial mound built between 4500 and 3900 BC, the cairn has led a somewhat charmed life. After laying dormant for a very long time and even growing grass and shrubs over the top of it so it eventually just blended into the landscape, in 1954 it was purchased by a civil engineering company and became a quarry. Very handy. The rocks had already been brought up from the seaside by Neolithic man, why not use them? They quarried a huge chunk out of the side of the cairn before the scientific community eventually put a stop to it.

Excavations took place between 1955 and 1968 when it was restored. The main principles for developing the megalithic sites in France were as a result of this restoration. In effect, this was the first of its kind and now Brittany and, indeed, a lot of Europe, is scattered with sites that have been studied and preserved.

Chamber at Barnenez

The whole thing is just stones piled on top of each other but in such a way as to support itself. Absolutely brilliant. From small stones to massive boulders, it sits magnificently. Archaeologists believe it was built in two stages. The overall length is over 72 metres and the original height would have been 8 to 9 metres. There are 11 funerary passages which vary in length. Visitors are not allowed to enter the structure but because of the 1954 demolition by the civil engineering company, the ends of three of the tombs can clearly be seen.

It is an amazing place sullied only by the silly man taking money. He dithered over every person, annoying most of the visitors. When it came to me, I handed over the stuff I wanted to buy and he totted it up. I gave him a 20€ note and accepted the change. As I was leaving he made a big fuss. He’d left something off the bill. Fair enough but when he asked me for the extra 1€50 he was annoyed that I didn’t have it in change. Sacre blue! But the cairn…now that’s worth remembering…

Upon our return to the hotel, we ordered coffee and tea at reception and sat out on the lawn to enjoy it with a couple of cakes we’d purchased at the patisserie which wisely stays open all day.

Another lovely dinner followed by a late stroll down to beach. The food at the Hotel des Baines is truly delicious. There’s a set menu each night with three options for each course. They changed each night we stayed and were all excellent. The wine list is extensive and ordered by region. I can’t praise the restaurant fare enough. Even the cheese was formidable, though I’m sure it wouldn’t have been hard enough for Nicktor.

Down at the dock we watched three girls in a boat. We saw them a long way out – at first I thought they’d thrown a child overboard but it turned out that one of the girls (all in their early 20s I think) in a bikini was walking and pulling the boat along with her. The bay appears to be about two foot deep at low tide. Most boats are out of the water, their keels buried in the sand, making them lean precariously. We followed the girls’ progress as they approached our side of the bay. Just before the shore there is a channel deep enough to moor boats in, maybe seven feet. When the girls reached this, the one in the water suddenly vanished. When she resurfaced, she swam with the rope in her mouth, dragging the boat across the narrow dip.

Arriving at the shore, she stepped out and pulled the boat close to the rocks so the others could get out. One hopped out but the last girl sat and waited for the boat to be on solid, dry ground before bothering to stand up. It was at this point that I realised they hadn’t just hired the boat, the girl in the bikini came with it because too many people lose the oars when they go out for a day on the water.

I should add that we weren’t the only ones watching this. By the time the girls reached the shore a good crowd had gathered to watch the final moments. Either that or it had something to do with the girl in the bikini.

Back at the hotel we sat in the rocking loungers watching the sea. A slightly drunk woman from dinner sashayed down to the seats in the avenue of trees looking well pleased with herself. Mirinda thinks she was SO pleased that she was definitely NOT with her husband. The guy that did join her eventually vanished so that when we returned to our room the drunk woman was there, all alone.

Our last breakfast at Château du Pin. A Parisian who lives in Washington and works as a translator for the IMF told us that Bretons had shutters because of the high level of furniture robbery that takes place in the region.

Château du Pin

Dotted around the Château du Pin are lots of interesting paintings. They feature either writing or musical notation. Each is very different – even the handwriting – with backgrounds somehow reflecting the writing. They are all in French so it’s difficult to work out what’s going on. I have spent days admiring them but this morning we found out that they are the work of Madame!

They represent authors and musicians, snatches of their work in their handwriting, and some artistic swooshes to give an impression of their lives. They are, on the whole, excellent. This also explains why Madame dresses in the typical artist’s white top with big round lapels and large buttons.

We eventually said our farewells to Madame and set off up the N12.

Guingamp

We managed to get as far as Guingamp before we stopped for a very long lunch. All we wanted was a wander, a crepe and a coffee. What we got was a wander and two hours in a creperie where we felt we were in trouble for not having cider. And it was definitely frowned upon that we wanted to leave before the obligatory three hours were up.

During our wander we did manage to see the famous black virgin in the church of Notre Dame de Bon Secours (stained glass at left). The 14th century church itself was quite amazing. It doesn’t have the normal transepts and the altar is just ‘plonked’ at one end. All very dim inside but that could also be the weather which continues grimly.

A few spots of rain accompanied us around the town centre where we admired the fountain through the drops.

Back on the road and up to Locquirec where we will be staying for the next three nights. Les Hotel des Bains is a very swish place which has its own bit of beach and lovely gardens and odd shaped trees. It has all you need (except for lunch) so we really don’t need to go anywhere else (except for lunch).

We checked in and wandered round the grounds and village. It is a port which seems to have run out of water – obviously a VERY low tide. We strolled along the seawall then across the beach.

Locquirec harbour at low tide

This is a popular seaside resort for the French and a few had ignored the grey weather and were frolicking on the beach with their kids. The usual array of beachside cafes and tourist shops and a very expensive antique shop where the small candlesticks start at 500€! Although sorely tempted, Mirinda managed to resist.

Beach front buildings, Locquirec

A very interesting church beckoned but I resisted – until tomorrow perhaps…it’s just across the road from the hotel.

Back at the hotel, Mirinda decided to go for a swim but was crowded out so settled on a bath instead and forget doing laps. Our room has a terrace that looks towards the sea and it has become my temporary office for all things journalistic.

Dinner was lovely and the sancerre delightfully chilled. After dinner we had a short stroll along the beach.