Rule Britannia

We headed out from Nantes en route to Brittany, the last major stop on our trip. We had rented a house in a tiny town called Lacronnan, which is on the southern coast of Brittany. The town looks like a movie set and in fact has been the setting for a number of movies. The house we got was marvelous and only about 600 feet from "downtown" Lacronnan.

Our magnificent house in Lacronnan, which was fully equipped with everything we needed including laundry facilities.

This large looking stone in the front yard could be a rune stone, but you would never know from all of the lichen and moss growing on it.

An old cart in the middle of town.

The buildings were of stone with flowers decorating the facades.

The interior of this building harkened back to a much earlier time (despite the addition of the electric lights).

Like all the small villages (no matter how small) there was a church...

with ornate stained glass and a magnificent altar,...

and even an ornate side altar.

There was also a graveyard at the back of the church.

There were walls by the side of the road festooned with these magnificent serbian bellfowers.

The azaleas loved the Brittany climate as well, judging by the size of this specimen.

Deirdre's favorite wisteria was in abundant flower...

as well as these very colorful cape jewels.

The first few days, we were there for a week, were iffy, weatherwise, chili, and a bit rainy. That was OK because I was dealing with a sore foot which was crimping our style. I had scouted out a number of day trips, one of which involved a 2 hour drive to a small coastal town from which we would take a brief ferry ride to a “ Rustic Wonderland" famed for its potatoes. Yes, potatoes.

We didn’t realize it was market day in the town from which we depart, which meant parking was difficult and required a lengthy walk to catch the ferry and not good news for my ailing foot.

A bridge too far

We purchased our tickets and were informed that due to its being low tide we would need to walk to the end of the bridge to catch the ferry. The bridge turned out to be a narrow walkway, suspended over a drop of probably 30 feet above the rocky, low tide shore. To make things more interesting, they were repairing the bridge with cables and generators sprinkled liberally across the bridge surface. If I’d seen the bridge before buying the tickets, no tickets would’ve been bought. But now it was too late. Grasping Michael’s hand in a death grip we headed out with me battling phobia number one verified.

Somehow, we made it to the ferry where blood could once again flow to Michael's hand and enjoyed a brief scenic ride out to the island. Once there, we treated ourselves to a meal of the famed island potatoes. These potatoes tasted very much like any potato you have ever eaten. I pictured the islands Chamber of Commerce meeting where they grapple with how to attract tourists after the fishing industry went bust. 

"I know", I pictured one of them saying, "we'll advertise the wonders of our potatoes". Amazingly enough, this marketing ploy appeared to work since tourists were seated in the restaurants cheek to jowl munching on the very mundane potato offering. It is not an exaggeration to just say that every square inch of the island which lacked a house or a store was planted with potatoes.

It was low tide at Île de Batz, and the lighthouse in the background is 44 meters tall, built in 1836. It has great panoramic views from the top (which with Deirdre's foot and phobia, we decided to forgo the experience).

The coast of Brittany receives warmer currents from the Gulf Stream, thus the tropical, deciduous and evergreen plants all in this one photo.

For an island of only 3.05 square kilometers and a population of 457, it manages to raise an amazing amount of potatoes.

Even with such a small population, there is an impressive church on the island.

There is also a very imaginative muralist.

I guarded myself for yet another terrifying journey to and from the ferry and the long trek back to the car. I can’t believe that I, a marketing professional, was fooled by such a marketing scam.

Sea caves worthy of pirates

Our next outing was significantly more enjoyable. The south coast of Brittany hosts a number of sea caves. So we set out one beautiful late afternoon on a small boat to explore the caves. Michael’s photos will display how interesting the caves in the coastline were.

The variety of colors in the Grottes Marines de Morgat on the Crozon Peninsula look like a child has gone wild with their Crayola crayons.

There are four caves close together in the cliff of the cap de la Chèvre (cape of the goat). The Grotte de L'Autel (Cave of the Altar) is the biggest one, an 80 meter long cathedral.

The Grotte Sainte-Marine (Cave of Saint Margaret the Virgin) is notable for its legend. She is also known as Margaret of Antioch (should you wish to learn more).

The Cheminee Du Diable (Devil's Chimney) was named after the daylight coming through on the upper reaches of the cave.

Finally there is the Chambre du Diable (House of the Devil) which is completely dark in the interior of the cave.

There were also these interesting rock islands, one of which looks a little like a whale with its tail in the air.

The birds appeared to prefer this adjacent stone island.

While on the boat we saw this individual "sail" surfing...

on a surfboard with a hydrofoil, hovering above the water.

There was also a sailing lesson for the very young. We were wondering if this was part of the French curriculum.

Some interesting flora

Brittany has a very unique climate. it reminded me a bit of the Azores. This is because it is adjacent to the Gulfstream. You can look up and in one glance see a massive pine tree with a palm tree sitting right next to it. When we arrived in Lacronnan, everything was in bloom. And everything was huge. There were rhododendrons that grew to a height of probably 15 feet with azalea bushes probably pushing eight or 9 feet. The Wisteria (one of my favorites) boosted trunks bigger than pro football players thigh, snaking across the entire front of a large building. And much like the Azores, the rainfall in Brittany is a major contributor to the impressive size of the flora.

The sea coast of Brittany is very striking with the high cliffs above the Atlantic Ocean, with an occasional beach visible...

or in other instances no beach visible.

Common Gorse covers the hillsides by the ocean.

There is also sea thrift, as well as...

heather scattered about the hillsides.

I was still nursing my foot so we’re taking it kind of easy. One day we just rambled up into the little town of Lacronnan at the top of our hill. It was time to indulge in Brittany‘s signature cuisine crêpes and cider.

What happened to French cuisine?

At this point, I must digress for a moment. Oh the crêpes and cider were just fine, but I was shocked to see what had happened to French cuisine over the last few years since we spent an extended time in France. Let’s start with McDonald’s. You used to be able to drive off the highway to a rest stop where you would actually get very good food. No more. At one stop, we were treated to the site of the biggest McDonald’s I have ever seen in my life. Where it appeared that families had arrived there not out of necessity, but as an actual destination. You could choose to bypass McDonald’s and enter the main facility which looked like a giant 7/11 with prepackaged food, suffocating in saran wrap. But it didn’t stop there. In our entire four or five weeks in France, I could count on one hand the number of truly excellent meals, we enjoyed and don’t think that we were trying to cheap out either. The problem appears to be that high end restaurants have gone from the traditional French offerings to the adoption of rampant “fusion“ concoctions. I may be a crabby old person, but I wish the French would adhere to the same strict rules about cuisine as they employ in the protection of the French language. At one point, I became excited when I saw a sign, offering comfort food. Reading the small print I learned that comfort food in France was now burgers, pizza, and fries. Sigh. Enough complaining.

Another walled town we visited in Brittany was Vannes, which is on the Gulf of Morbihan. The St. Vincent gate leads into the pedestrian zone of Vannes.

It is another town of half timbered buildings (171), but here the timbers, or sometimes the stucco, have been painted.

The town also had fortified buildings on the walls of the city, the former home of the Dukes of Brittany.

Here half timbered houses connect to stone houses built in a later period.

Saint-Malo

Our last stop before heading to Charles de Gaulle and our flight home was in Saint-Malo. We had booked a room in a B&B on the outskirts of the town. Our host was a retired professor of paleontology and archaeology at the Sorbonne. The living room of the B&B hosted a series of skulls ranging from the prehistoric to the modern day. It was a tad unnerving.

The host was a rather eccentric fellow. He had a rule (not disclosed earlier) that there would be no eating or drinking in our room. This meant that if I wanted to have a glass of wine (or three) I would have to do it looking at the skulls and chatting with him.

Saint-Malo and its environs was the site of vicious fighting between the Allies and the Nazis during World War II. This was the heart of Vichy France. A couple of months after the Normandy invasion, the allies heavily bombed Saint-Malo. Our host seemed to think that the allies overdid it and complained mightily about the ferocity of the liberation. I was somewhat put out by his attitude (and perhaps lack of gratitude), that I asked if he would have preferred that we just let the Nazis continue their occupation. He seemed too critical about this.

Our explorations in the next day revealed why the allies felt they had to take extreme measures to secure a foothold. Anyone who has seen the fortifications at Normandy knows that the Nazis were very good at creating obstacles to invasion. I had never realized that they took the same enthusiasm all the way down the French coast. We went to the 39\45 historical site, which was the major Nazi fortification leading to the harbor of Saint-Malo. The bunkers went down three levels at least into the cliff with heavy duty artillery mounted to face in all directions. As the allies bombed and shelled the bunkers, the Nazis just retreated to lower levels and waited until they landed to engage them. I will admit that there was a certain lack of precision involved on the Allies side, which resulted in 80% of the buildings in Saint-Malo being destroyed and 3500 civilians killed.

This is an example of one of the 88 mm cannons captured by the Americans as they fought to capture Dinard.

The shell indentations are still visible on this fortified German position at Dinard.

These two "cloche" shows the heavy damage from American large caliber machine guns...

as well as heavy duty artillery shells.

The remnants of an anti-aircraft gun...

and the main bunker fortification at Dinard that was several levels deep.

This bunker is now a memorial to 7 Canadian flyers of a Halifax Bomber, who on August 31, 1944, were shot down and killed in action.

Many bunkers were designed to blend into the landscape...

while others took advantage of older fortifications.

The old town of Saint-Malo is charming and, while it took decades, Brittany managed to rebuild the old town in such a way that you would never know it had been largely destroyed. It is a walled city with magnificent views over the harbor and out to sea.

This statue of St. Christopher is set in the wall of Saint-Malo as "La Vierge de la Grande'Porte" (miraculous Protector of the City of Saint Malo) was placed at the entrance to the city's defensive wall...

as was this statue of the Virgin Mary & Child.

The original castle is now the Hotel de Ville (City Hall). of Saint-Malo.

Even though 80% of Saint-Malo was destroyed by Allied bombing during WW II, the decision was made to restore the city rather than modernizing it, as some other cities did after WW II.

This plaque on the wall to a native son who was a writer, politician and diplomat and who is buried on the Grand Bé, an uninhabited island below the ramparts of Saint-Malo.

Brittany's Celtic heritage is recognized in this Irish pub within the walls of Saint-Malo.

I couldn't resist taking a picture of this rather whimsical creation of a bird, which somebody put on the wall in the walled city portion of Saint-Malo.

On another day we drove to Dinard, where we hope to see a villa that has a historical museum. As we approached on tiny winding streets, we realized that the villa was under restoration, but we were not disappointed. The neighborhood surrounding the villa posted some of the most amazing, beautiful, huge mansions we’ve seen on our trip. At the turn of the 20th century Dinard was considered the Riviera of its day. This area reminded us very much of Biarritz, which also was immensely popular with the rich in the early 1900s. We wandered the neighborhood and gazed at the houses many of which were undergoing restoration. We then head into the older, urban area which was charming and interesting in its own right.

The interesting variety of large houses in this area speak for themselves.

A view of the beach at Dinard with the town in the background,

When we first arrived in Saint-Malo and we were at loose ends, we took a drive out to Mont-Saint-Michel. We had visited St. Michael's Mount in England many years before and the two religious sites are almost identical. Mont-Saint-Michel is the second most visited site in France. And touristy. So we merely took a shuttle to the causeway leading to the Mont to just snap a photo or two. When we visited St. Michael's Mount in England, you reached it by a causeway that was only accessible during low tide. It was raised, but not significantly above the water when the tide was out. Our sons were about five or seven when we set off across the causeway with Michael and myself, each gripping a boy's hand. Halfway out a tremendous squall came up with wind, lashing us, rain pelting us, and waves lapping over the causeway. There were moments, not just a few, when I thought that was the end of us. Since that time, probably 30 years ago, improvements have been made at least in France. And now the causeway hovers above the tides allowing access at high and low tides.

It was obviously low tide at St. Michel...

but the size of the edifice is quite impressive...

with a gilded St. Michel at the top of the steeple.

These were the oysters on offer at the restaurant in Saint-Benoit-des-Ondes. The dozen were large oysters, but the one in the middle was super-sized. Despite its size it was soft, sweet and delicious.

Outside of the seafood restaurant was this oyster vending machine. Just in case you could not wait for them to open and you had a craving for oyster(s).

This unique fountain was in Cancale on the way to St. Michel.

That Monk had time on his hands

On our last day in Saint-Malo we wandered out to an area known for its incredible oysters and shellfish. Well, actually, we had gone out for oysters prior to this, but made a return trip to see a couple of World War II sites, and an unusual set of sculptures set into a massive cliff above the sea.

We had lunch and a wine or two at a beautiful restaurant perched above the cliff where the sculptures were on display. The background is that there was a monk who suffered a “neurological incident“ which somehow resulted in his desire to spend the rest of his life chiseling faces and various other sculptures into a granite cliff. The set up was that there were several sculptures on a gentle path leading to an abrupt end to the cliff face. Readers of our blog will anticipate that Deirdre had no intention of crawling her way down a cliff to observe the work of a neurologically impaired monk. Michael, sensing the marvelous photographic opportunity, said he would return shortly and vanished over the edge. By the time he returned about 30 minutes later, I was convinced he had teetered into the sea. This was based on the fact that I had seen numerous people descend and ascend within several minutes of visiting the sculptures. I should’ve realized that once the photographer‘s eye is captured, time loses all meaning, and a grouchy, yet relieved, Deirdre greeted his return.

One of the wood sculptures created by Abbot Fouré. His work is known as Art Brut, works created by self-taught creators who do not worry about public criticism.

The view leading down to where Abbot Fouré sculpted the granite.

Another wood sculpture of the Abbot. At 55 years old, after a stroke, he was almost deaf and mute.

The Abbot devoted the last 15 years of his life sculpting the faces and forms he saw in the rocks. All of these sculptures in the granite were created from 1894 to 1910.

The sculptures retrace the history of smuggler fishermen, whom he named the Rothéneufs, drawing on local legend. There were also sculptures of current events or even of Breton saints that he loved.

There are more than 300 sculptures that the Abbot created...

on an area of 500 square meters.

Now you can see why I would spend 30 minutes viewing these amazing works by someone with no formal training. He brought the shapes in the rocks to life.

It was a beautiful location for this magnificent sculpture garden.

The Demo.

We practically reached the end of our journey. All we had to do was drive to Paris drop off the car spend the night at the airport and fly back to LA. Dropping off the car was a bit more complicated in that we were returning a different car than we had left Paris with. The extremely annoying and arrogant manager of the leasing company was unpleasant in a way that only Parisians can be. Not all of them, just some. After we finally satisfied her demands, their shuttle dropped us at the Ibis. Who would’ve known that there were two Ibis Hotels at Charles de Gaulle and, of course, we are at the wrong one with our mounds of luggage. We relocated to the second Ibis, which offered a Star Wars theme, which was very out of place in France. The remainder of our return to the United States involved all the delights of contemporary air travel – which is to say no delight. But we made it. We landed in LA and our son was just in time to pick us up at an extremely busy LAX and we decamped to Studio City. We spent a wonderful week with our sons and then it was back to heat and the advent of rainy season.

A rainy season usually starts in mid June but this year it decided to move it up to the middle of May. Everyone looks forward to this season because April and May are our summer with the highest temperatures and, once rainy season starts, temperatures revert to our more normal 70s and low 80s. And the bonus is that it generally only rains at night, a bit like Camelot. So here we are, happy to be back with our friends in our house, but looking forward to our next adventures. At the end of July we will be attending one of Michael’s families, gigantic reunions, and then we’ll be off to Scandinavia and the Baltics. We hope you all have a great summer and will be sending out blogs, hopefully, from the road on our next trip. Take care.