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 15teen: The Charentes then into Brittany

The Charentes then into Britanny

I would have loved to have posted some great photos here to help tell the story of our visits in the Charentes, staying with our friends, Theresa and Tommy at their Chez Thomas in Segonzac, but, sadly, I laid my camera down. After a few thousand clicks, I needed to cool off the camera and give my trigger finger a rest.  I will, however, resort to some quickie little smartphone shots

I recommend to all explorers of France, that if you ever want to visit the Cognac region, namely, the Charentes, book some time at the Chez Thomas Chambre d'Hôtes.  The famous city of Cognac, and touring opportunities at the distilleries there, are only a short drive away.

Segonzac is the real centre of the cognac producers. This is where Raymond Desse, grand viticulteur, produces his award-winning cognac. 

On this visit to France we visited him again, honoured to be invited to his home with our friends for an aperatif dînatoire, prepared by his wife Marie Noel, a most gracious hostess, and a true ambassador for France. 

Raymond proudly showed us his award, a distinction of honour in his industry. 

We celebrated with samples of his eau de vie.






M. Desse gave us a tour of his property. 

Several years ago he planted a small grove of oak trees at the back of his house. The trees facilitate the propagation of truffles. These he harvests in February with the help of a friend's dog.

The other side of the house is flanked by a perimeter of bushes (sorry, I did not get the plant name). These also promote the growth of truffles. Raymond harvests these ones in May/June.





Tommy has the truffle eye: he picked one out of the ground on our little tour!

Wow! Now who has their own private "truffle plantations"? And this is not all. M. Desse also cultivates his own escargots.

He picks the snails off his grape vines and places them into a big garden pot that he covers with a lid. There is flour in the pot for the snails to eat, which purges them of toxins.

Before we said au revoir, we followed the viticulteur into his personal cave where we selected a very special bottle of VSOP to take home to Canada, and two bottles of his Pineau des Charentes for consumption during our weeks in France. 

The last glass of the Pineau we consumed this evening!

Merci beaucoup, Monsieur et Madame Desse!

With the exception of just a few wet days, we have been blessed with almost two months of rain-free days in France. T-shirts and shorts on a lot of hot April days. Friends back home in southwest BC have repeatedly messaged us about their biblical rains - 40 days and 40 nights ... 


The rain did finally catch up with us though, when we pointed our little Peugeot to the Atlantic coast. We pulled into Brouage for a look. 

17C Citadel

This pre-Roman settlement had, by the 16th century, developed into one of the most thriving commercial centres/seaports on the south Atlantic coast of France. 

More than half a century ago Brouage was the centre of France's salt trade.



This, the birthplace of Samuel de Champlain (some say) is a "must-see" for the French Canadian in search of his/her roots.

I was jumping in and out of the car between rain showers in the old fortified city, determined to capture some of our past with my lens. 

To avoid a sudden downpour I ducked into a musty, cavernous chamber at the top of a flight of worn stone stairs. My eyes quickly grew accustomed to the dark and I was able to make out some of the details in the room. 

I was in the latrine. I swear there were about six black holes on a smooth old bench, a big bum width between each. Wow! Hell, I'll pay a euro to use the toilet by the Tourist Office.

I had a lot of questions, among which:
What were these guys talking about, all shitting together?
How bad was the air? 
Was it unisex/co-ed?


We stayed at a hotel in La Rochelle that night, grey, cold and dreary in the Atlantic rain.

Tour de la Lanterne

The seafood dinner was excellent, even with (maybe, because of) the smell of the muddy banks in the lowering tide.

Dinner Recommendation: Restaurant Le Bar André, Rue St Jean du Pérot

...ooo0ooo...

The following piece is a jump ahead to the dark side. 

I promise that the next post will be a much brighter Brittany.

Dinan is the city in the north of Brittany if you have a penchant for the Dark Ages with crooked half-timbered buildings, streets shared by only old people and tourists. We felt we should stop here to check it out. Ricky Steeves recommends it highly ...

It was a rainy day and very gloomy in the old city. My wife used the word, "spooky".

I wanted to find a restaurant that served up local Breton dishes. A Crêperie seemed to fit the bill - in the photo, located under the arch, bottom right, of the 1,000 year old building. 

I was sure we had chosen the right eatery: 
Firstly, because I was having trouble understanding the French.

It wasn't. It was Breton.

Secondly, the food - I had no idea what it was. I like mysteries. But it turned out to be downright medieval. 

"Slow-food-France" has both advantages and disadvantages. On the one hand, the slow, civilized pace is healthy, calming, and provides an ambience for good conversation; on the other hand, the pace can be unhealthy, stressful, and conducive to grumbling and nastiness. 

I was famished by the time we were shown to our table. When the food finally arrived I was ecstatic about the grand, veined  saucisson laying large on my plate. I ravenously wolfed down the first half of the andouiette. Then my taste buds kicked in. They slowed down my knife and fork. I put smaller and smaller pieces of the sausage in my mouth, garnishing each one with more and more dijon. 

After much ado, the Breton wiener, reduced now to a thumb-sized length, lay lonely and abandoned on my plate. 

Joanne said, "What's wrong?"

"I don't think I like this. What is it anyway?"

"Chitterlings," she said, with a smile on her face. "Tripe."

I hate tripe. It is the only thing in the world I don't eat. This might be a psychosexual repression Freudian thing from my childhood. Ugh! Andouiette. I should have known.

We got out of Dinan.

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