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Had a lovely breakfast with Madame & the other guests. French bread and home made cakes. Delicious. There was a lovely BIG jug of coffee in front of me until I realised it wasn’t all for me. I pretended I hadn’t filled my cup right up. Lots of chat about what people had done or were planning to do…in French. Mirinda did very well to join in. I drank my coffee.
Off to Becherel, the book town. The small town is sat atop the highest point for some distance – 176m above sea level. Like Hay on Wye and Fjaeland, Becherel is full of second hand book shops. It has been since 1989. In 1978 it was given the title “Brittany Small Town of Character”. It was once a walled fortress, built by Alain of Dinan in 1124. It was seized by Henry II (married to Eleanor of Aquitane) in 1168. A bit of the walls still exist and there are pleasant walks around the place. In all, it’s very small. From the 16th to the 18th centuries, Becherel was known for the quality of its linen thread. Much of Becherel’s early history is dominated by the Hundred Years War…well a hundred years of it, anyway.
TIC in Becherel
Du Guesclin, a crazy war-mongering, illiterate French military hero, helped free it from the English in 1363. Hopefully we shall hear a lot more about this crazy chap as he was a popular figure around these parts once upon a time or two. We saw the spot where his house was which, interestingly, was outside the walls of the city and now seems to be part of a council estate.
We searched in vain for a cup of coffee – the only options were the Reading Cow and what appeared to be a Russian bookshop which had been soaked in Borscht. Neither were very appealing so we returned to the car and set off for the gardens at Château de Caradeuc hoping they’d have a tea room. Upon arrival Mirinda questioned the poor student who was collecting the entrance fees.
Entrance to Château de Caradeuc
Mirinda: Is there a café here?
Girl: Non.
Mirinda: Where is the closest café?
Girl: Non.
Mirinda: Well, we’ll get coffee then maybe return.
Girl: OK.
We returned to the car. It’s amazing the way there appear to be few cafes in rural France. There are bars & tabacs but these seem to be where rough blokes go. Some towns have creperies but these are not exactly cafes. What’s particularly odd is that the French boast about their coffee prowess.
Anyway, we headed off to Montauban which is a tad bigger than Becherel and has a creperie. We had delicious galettes and coffee then picked up some nice cakes in a patisserie before heading back to the garden.
The Caradeuc Park is supposedly the Versailles of Brittany. We haven’t yet been to Versailles but my impression is that it is massive. Although spread over a few acres, Caradeuc is not massive. It is very formal and symmetrical. There are some impressive statues and a lot of the stuff has come from somewhere else. The château itself is lived in and therefore visitors are not allowed but, having paid, you are free to roam around the avenues of trees (lime, then beech, then chestnut, then oak, etc) and stop at some impressive views across the Rance, which appears to flow at the bottom of the garden.
Most impressive is the statue of Louis XVI, dated 1826, by the sculptor Molchenet. The marble is beautiful and the folds of his gown look real. The lace on his thigh looks very real – the photo below is a close-up of the lace. The statue is bigger than normal size and was originally meant for the Rennes town hall. There’s nothing to suggest why it didn’t get to the Rennes town hall though it looks excellent where it is.
Detail from statue of Louis XVI by Molchenet
After a long and arduous tour of the garden, we returned to the car and to our room at the Château du Pin. We were accosted by Madame. Apparently the previous guests in the Loti room took the key home with them and so we have the only one. As we took it off with us, she was unable to clean our room. In future we are to put the key under the hat in the hallway. Sounded fine to me as it has a huge turtle attached to it, which is uncomfortable in my pocket.
Mirinda had a short sleep and awoke asking what day it was. She claimed it was so confusing but I assured her the days had always been the same. A family of South Africans have taken over the front lawn with a rugby ball. They already have two kids but not satisfied with this, the woman is pregnant. They spent a lot of time making woop woop noises then inspected the ruined chapel and stables. Next to the château there is a farm building, which has been partly transformed into a gite – they inspected this as well.
Mirinda attempted to book us into a recommended restaurant but the reality of ringing a French restaurant on an English mobile phone was all too much, however she did manage to book something, somewhere. We went and experienced one of the oddest dinners of our travelling lives.
When we eventually found it, the Restaurant du Lac turned out to be a very big restaurant on the edge of a lake. It probably seats around 100 people. It looks like the sort of place that operates a bit of a monopoly on fine summer days and nights. There’s a caravan park just around the corner and, just beside it is a big hall which can be hired out for weddings, parties, etc. Having found this massive and empty establishment, we approached a young chap with a tentative “Is this the Restaurant du Lac?” He was all smiles and confirmation, asking if it had been Mirinda on the phone (for he hadn’t taken a name) making the booking.
Rain soaked window inside the Restaurant du Lac
We were standing in the bar which had a few friends hanging about and tables and chairs stacked in a corner. Mirinda asked where the restaurant was. He showed us into the main room and said to sit wherever we liked. There were tables everywhere, set for dining, windows looking out at the lake. It looked great if a tad echo-y. Mirinda asked if there were any more bookings and the young chap smiled and said that we were it. We were a little surprised they’d bothered.
I assumed that the wedding reception that was presently taking place in the hall was using the same chef but cannot be certain. Eventually a threesome turned up through the dark and the rain, to sit a few tables behind us. Interestingly they had a woman dealing with them and she only gave them a choice of two tables out of the 90 remaining.
The meal was lovely and the service very good. We asked for some water and were given a litre, the remains of which we took away with us. My only complaint would be the rain, which spoiled the view. Still it stopped when it was time for us to leave so we took a stroll around the lake for a bit before returning to the car.
We were parked in a very big car park – it services the hall, the restaurant and probably the lake as well – with no signs of any kind, so is it any wonder that we decided to leave the way we had arrived? Big mistake. We ran into some no entry signs a little further down the road. We went down another little road but this only led to a marina. I suggested ignoring the no entry signs and making a mad dash for the main road. As we started turning back to the car park we suddenly saw another car leaving.
“Quick! Follow those tail lights!” I said and Mirinda sped off down the road. The car in front led us on a merry, twisting dance but eventually we popped out on the main road heading back to the château.
Happily and safely, we eventually laid down to sleep.
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There was a story in The Times about some Norwegian claiming that if we shot more moose, the amount of methane in the atmosphere would decrease and, therefore, greenhouse gases would be reduced. This culling could be used as a carbon offset. If you ask me someone should start with whatever livestock makes the god-awful smell around the Château du Pin. It is truly foul and just wafts through constantly. Mirinda thought it was me but I assured her if I smelt that bad, I’d be in a mortuary.
