11 – 15 August
I stayed in Britanny’s capital for a day only. It was easy to cycle to the city from the campsite situated in a spacious park at the rim of Rennes. The disappointing thing of my visit was that many buildings were being renovated, so they were scaffolded. I could not even get into the cathedral! Maybe this was due to the corona situation, supposingly less tourists (yet there were many) and on top many shops were closed and announced they were to reopen „à la rentrée“, so that means when tuition starts again after the long summer period, which is in the first week of September.
I still liked walking through the steets of Rennes with its famous half-timbered multi-storey houses. I was a bit taken aback when restaurants would not want to serve me at 14h03 (jusqu’à deux heures) pile! Yet, I managed to get a salmon pie and a choclate cake at a bakery that served two small tables in the street. When I was sitting there eating my lunch the huge gate opposite opened up and a troop of six heavily armed soldiers marched out. I was dumbfound. One of the soldiers was a woman and she smiled at me when I starred at the troop marching past me and one of the men even said: „Bon appetit!“ What was going on here? Was there a bomb alarm? – But there was no hectic. „This has become routine,“ someone explained to me, „ever since the attacks in Paris.“
After my stroll around Rennes I drove back to my campsite. The route wasn’t very well signposted. It’s pretty obvious that French authorities try to improve things for cyclists but have not really succeeded yet. And by the way, it might look nice and might not be an issue for pedestrians, but for cyclists the cobble stones in mediaval cities are a torture.
At the campsites the rabbit-scampers were there again. So cute. I had the rest of yesterday’s dinner and noticed a single woman sitting all alone in front of her van. The first single traveller I have met! I approached her. She was a bit older than me and was there for a few days, because her husband didn’t like travelling. Now she visited some places on her own, went to expeditions and so on. She was from Niort, which I actually know. It’s not far from La Rochelle. So my first single-traveller encounter on my trip! After almost 6000 kms!
I was lucky enough to find a pitch on a campsite near the sea on the north coast – La Côte Emeraude – just between Saint Malo and Cancale. I was in Saint Malo once in 1985 (!!) on my very first visit to Brittany and then passed by in 2015 or a year later, together with my kids and they didn’t want to see „culture“, „nice old towns“ let alone „museums“. So we had only quickly stopped at „La Rance„, Europe’s biggest tidal power station, I suppose, with a water level difference of up to 12 metres at highest spring tide.
Also adjacent Dinard with its old Edwardian villas is very beautiful. It really looks like one of these old „English“ 19th century seaside resorts with bathing huts and promenades. And there is a sea-water pool. A lot of these villas seem deserted, though. Probably too expensive to maintain. One was made open to the public, though. On top there was a foto exhibition. I spent some wonderful moments there with splendid views on the sea. And there you can see why this coastline is called „La Côte Emeraude“ (Smaragdküste).
I had taken the ‚bateau bus‘ from Saint Malo to Dinard and when I came back to the pier low tide made walk about 400 metres to a completely different spot to where I had landed three hours before. There were still sea water puddles on the pier. Amazing!
I stayed four nights at Camping Les Chevrets as I had found a wonderful small pitch overlooking the campsite and with a bit of a view of the sea between the pines. I was even able to put up the hammock, even though I had not much time to relax in it. There was direct access to the beautiful dunes and beach. I went there to play guitar in the evening.
On Saturday I went on an excursion to „La Pointe du Grouin“ with its lighthouse „Pierre Herdin“ in front of it.
Then I drove to Cancale. I was afraid of not finding a parking space, but easily found one. I strolled through the little town and wondered where all the tourists might be, because Cancale is know for its oysters. Only later I realised that there is upt-town with church, some shops and there is down-twon at the seafront with the port La Houle and all the restaurants serving oysters. And there it was crowded with tourists. I found a small path up the rocky side of the cliff to get back to my parking slot and left.
My next destination was Granville in Normandy where I wanted to meet Denys, my skipper, and hand him over my sailing gear so I would not have to take it with me on the train that I would take once I had parked my van at Brest Marina Mouin Blanc. It took me more time to get to Granville than expected, as there were many people leaving their holiday destination and there were hold ups on the motorway. It seemed endless and then was not able to located Granville marina on my GPS, but finally found it and even a parking space. Uggh! I called Denys and it was a very warm and welcoming reencounter on the pier.
On the way back I quickly stopped at Huisne-sur-Mer (it’s very close to Le Mont Saint Michel) where there is the German „Soldatenfriedhof“. One of these impressive memorials that should remind us never to take up arms against each others again, that make me also think about and be thankful that we have the European Union, which, in my view, is much more a construct for peace than for economical welfare and progress. My uncle, I have never met him, blindfolded by larksome youth and patriotic promises, had joined the SS at a tender age of only just eighteen. He had actually survived D-Day, but then a few weeks later, he tramped onto a landmine and that was it then.
It is strange – my ever so stupid uncle, who had served such a stupid case, will have his gravesite here for many, many years to come, while my father, my mum or her parents‘ graveyards will be removed or have already been removed. But yes, this is a memorial of the cruel brutal stupidity of greed of power, unbridled egomania and sheer horror. Made me think.
Far faster than expected my four nights at Les Chevrets are over and I have to leave again. On my last day I hike around „La Pointe du Meinga“. I had wanted to take the bus to la Pointe du Grouin again and walk back to the campsite, a supposingly three-hours walk on „le chemin de douaniers“, which goes around most of France’s coast like its counterpart in southern England, the West Coast Path in Devon and Cornwall. But it is already getting late afernoon, so I decide to only go for „La Pointe du Meinga“ instead, and am surprised how often it goes up and down. The one-hour walk brings me 26 storeys and more than 11’000 steps on my health app.
There is a bit of rain in the night and the morning starts with lots of wind! I’m loving it. Beach is empty.
