Chapter 19teen: Brittany the Northwest

Brittany: The Northwest

We drove over a very new bridge to get to a very old place: our destinations were between medieval Brittany and medieval Brittany. 

Pont de Térénez (2011), crossing the River Aulne in Finistère

To be sure, we are here partly to learn about our history, to experience some of the old world of Europe, but also to see how our fellow world citizens are dealing with the here and now.  

There are frequently surprises as we travel around in France. Often it is the technology; for example, this bridge. One gets so used to the old road bridges, some of which have served for centuries, then all of a sudden, zing: the Térénez bridge.

We were meandering through the hills and valleys from the old village of Crozon to the peninsula for Pointe de Pen-Hir.  The bridge twists and turns just like the road on either side of the gorge that it spans. The cables are like silk, gossamer webs. And, like so much that we find to be characteristically French, it is built for people, e.g., not just cars and trucks: there are lanes on each side of the bridge, purpose-built for walkers and cyclists. The Térénez bridge has won a number of awards for its unique design.




When we were in the southwest of France we reserved a few Chambres d'Hôtes for our days in Brittany. One never knows for sure what accommodations are going to be like, but we have always been very satisfied. 

We left Crozon, and headed north to Saint-Pol-de-Léon, Dinan (See Chapter 15), and La Grande Sauvagerie - a 16th C manor house near the agricultural town of Saint-Pierre de Plesguen.

14 Century Kreisker Chapel has tallest spire in Brittany (80 m)

Saint-Pol-de-Léon, is a small city on the Northwest Brittany coast. We only did an overnight in the town, but it was memorable and absolutely worthy of a return for further exploration.

Le Clos St. Yves, in Saint-Pol-de-Léon

Le Clos St. Yves was a gem, though it was really hard to find, tucked right into the maze of medieval streets in the centre of the old town. Neither the GPS in the dash of the Peugeot, nor our trusty old mobile TOMTOM GPS (which we always have with us) took us to the door. 

DID YOU KNOW that smart phones record a lot of metadata with every photo taken?  Here are the coordinates for Le Clos St. Yves: 48º 41' 8" N and 3º 59' 13" W.

Believe me: if you are in the area, be sure to reserve a room here; or even make this a destination for a few days. There is much to see and do in the area, within easy driving distance.

The family-operated Chambres d'Hôtes is in a brilliantly restored 16th Century home. Our spacious room looked out into a large enclosed garden.

And La Pomme d'Api, a very highly rated restaurant, also owned by our hosts, Jennifer and Jerime, is just a short walk down the street.

We easily found our way down the street to the restaurant in the fading light at the end of the day, then back again in the darkness illuminated by different kinds of glow.



Jerime (spelling?) is the Chef. Jessica is the Maitre D, server, and more. She is very charming and bi-lingual (Eng.)

We always say that service and friendliness really make a difference. Is there such a thing as a 10 out of 10 score?



Dinner that night was probably the best we have ever had in France, or maybe even anywhere. And breakfast in the morning was as good as it gets.




Roscoff today is a busy stop for car ferries between France, Ireland, and the UK. It is a city of unique architecture, much of it built by marine industry moguls hundreds of years ago. There is much history here and this is a city worth exploring for those who want to meander around the old stones streets. 

 Our Lady of Croaz Batz - The Renaissance spire (1576)

Roscoff is also an active fisher port. 

Everything to do with the sea is a magnet for my camera.

JEALOUS

Morlaix is a neighbouring port in a bay to the east.

Had we known more about this region of Brittany we would have planned to stay much longer. 

See the printing on the awning. That's not French. It's Breton.

Last observation in this chapter - some words of warning: beware the Glutton. Get too close and your handbag, your flipflop or your low slung camera could get sucked in. Hah! Another great innovation by the French.

Dinner Recommendation: La Pomme d'Api, Saint-Pol-de-Léon.

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Chapter 18teen: Brittany - The Northeast Coast

Brittany - The Northeast Coast

Crozon, a few hours by car north of Carnac, is where we stopped for lunch before heading out to a destination that I had on my radar early on during the planning of this grand voyage: the land's end cliffs at Pointe Pen Hir.

At almost exactly the same latitude on the Atlantic coast of Canada, one finds Trouty, Newfoundland, a much more remote and obscure region of the world than this magnificent point of land in Brittany.

right across the Atlantic from Crozon Peninsula is Bonavista Peninsula in Newfoundland

The drop is several hundred metres right down to the rocky beach below.   

Venturing too close to the edge is rather freaky, unless of course, one is a climber with the right gear.  

We did see a class of young girls fitted out for a rappelling lesson.

Across the beach and into the next bay is île Longue, the location of France's nuclear submarine base.

I needed a geologist with me to explain the stacked polyhedron rocks, and why they can be seen in so many regions of the world, including at the roadside of Daisy Lake on the drive to Whistler, BC.

The Giant's Causeway in Northern Ireland is similar in structure, though much more symmetrical and accessible. 

These large balanced stones are nonetheless dramatic features of wild nature. They draw you in and make weird faces at you.

While I was kind of expecting savage storm weather for some wild coastal photography, I think we got lucky with what we had - warm, clean clear air, refined by an unusually dry wind from the ocean.

...ooo0ooo...

Though we were close to the Normandy D-Day 73rd Anniversary celebrations, Joanne and I did not attend. 

We had our own two minutes of silence at another very moving War Memorial. 

There is a large and imposing cross that stands on a rocky plateau at Pointe Pen Hir.  It commemorates the fallen Bretons during the two wars of the 20th century.







The inscription reads, 

TO BRITTANY for a FREE FRANCE

The sculpted figures are of a proud young woman, with manacled wrists, who has broken her bondage, a link of chains hanging freely from her right hand. She towers above a humble group of men and women, common workers, wife and mother, and fighting men - army, navy and air force - who have sacrificed themselves for the freedom of their country.

A few hundred metres from the cross, on the promontory of the point, is the International Maritime War Memorial. I have never seen anything quite like it. A field of ships' anchors stand as iron tombstones, each one bearing a brass plate with the name of its ship. Most were French battleships, some were Liberty Ships. The latter were purpose-built American merchant ships used for the transport of supplies during WW2.

French Battleships Dunquerque, Strasbourg, Clemenceau, Courbet

This is a gloomy site, and I am presenting it the way I experienced it - with a feeling of darkness and foreboding, of fright and unease.

The main victims were 30,000 German submariners (mean age 20 years), 45,000 merchant seamen lost in the Battle of the Atlantic 5,155 merchant ships destroyed (638 French), 739 German submarines sunk.

The museum plaque reads: this memorial shows only cruelty without glory of naval warfare for merchant shipping.

After a couple of hours in this remarkable place of lightness and darkness, we drove away, ready for a couple more hours of slow driving to our final destination and accommodation, further north, not far from the English Channel. 

I was lost in thought behind the wheel when Joanne yelled, "Look at the beach. Stop the car."

I pulled over, ran down to the beach with my camera, and captured these three images. The French army was on manoeuvres on this beach in Brittany. Were their fathers or grandfathers also here more than seventy years ago?

No, I don't think so. 

As the soldiers came close to me, young men and women, they smiled. I smiled back. 

I said, "Merci, pour les photographs."

They nodded and kept on walking to where the beach ended. The troops stopped there. It was time for a break, for their lunch, I guess. Maybe a baguette and a flask of wine??

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