What are we going to do next?

            Austin was at the door when we arrived in Washington DC on a Friday night( May 17) from Baltimore/Washington DC Airport.  For us, the day had started at our Paris/Luxembourg apartment many hours earlier. By the time we got to 15^thStreet N.E.  we had been on a train to Charles De Gaulle Airport, a plane to Heathrow in London, another plane from London to BWI, and an Uber to the house. For us, it was 3 a.m. Paris time.  Exchanging big hugs, I am always relieved to know that Austin is not yet too old for that. He is affectionate with us when we step into his world and he was full of hugs when we appeared. In spite of the long journey I was already looking for changes in him.

Sweet boy...Did I mention he likes sweets?

Like Grandpa...like grandson....

            We spent the weekend with Jessica and Austin  even though Hayden had to go to Myanmar for work the first morning we were there.  Perhaps Austin was reacting to his “single parent” or in some way to his Dad leaving, but I came away remembering that his mantra for this visit was “What are we going to do next?”   At aged 5 he doesn’t nap regularly as he used to, which makes for longer days on the weekend to keep him entertained.  Good thing we were there to help out.

            Saturday morning we watched him play baseball.  He is on the Solid State team which Jessica coaches (Solid State is a bookstore on H Street which is a sponsors Little League). We were at a community field in S.E. Capitol Hill and sat in the bleachers as each child went up to bat and was given a generous amount of pitches in hopes for a hit.  Austin has had lots of tennis coaching from his Dad and seemed to be the one kid that understood “watch the ball” or “keep your eye on the ball and swing”.  He has unusually good eye hand coordination skills and got a hit every time he was up to bat.  As an infielder, and growing up with parents who are baseball aficionados, he knew just where to throw the ball when it came his way trying to get an "out".

            “What are we going to do next?” prompted a walk down to the Anacosta River in the National Arboretum taking Jeter… followed by lunch at Nando’s on H Street where we hadn’t been in ages. Dog walks with Austin on his scooter pass the time but we also were treated to Austin riding a two-wheeler bike (sort of) on his own.  No training wheels but Mommy vigilant and prepared to catch him before he lost his balance.  Washington was having a heat wave which drove us indoors again to play games.

Gearing up with pads for a bike ride...  

           Austin loves to play board games and has moved way ahead from the days when he was content with Chutes and Ladders or Candyland.  He explains the rules seriously and luckily has no problem playing for “others” like me when my tiredness began to really hit me. Jessica says his favorite store in Eastern Market is Labrynth, ,a fantastic game store.  We were in Eastern Market on Sunday for lunch and Austin insisted he had to walk through Labrynth on the way to and back again from our lunch to the car.

Board games, anyone?

          In answer to "what are we going to do next?"  Jessica took us all to the Native American Museum on the Mall  Sunday morning.  Austin loves to go to the kids section on the third floor and play the skateboard game or simply sit down at a table and draw with the markers and paper they have out.  This Sunday they had a special Hawaiian festival on the first floor and when we were able to coax Austin away he was drawn to a demonstration of Konane, a Hawaiian game played with rocks and a board with indentations.  He watched for awhile and then was invited to play.  He caught on very fast in a match with a Hawaiian boy who looked at least twice his age.  Austin was enthralled and when the game finished he had won.  Austin broke out in a big grin and looking at his Mom said "Did you get  a picture of me winning?"  Did I mention that Austin has a strong competitive streak?

Simulating skateboarding

 Playing Kanane

"Did you get a photo of me winning?"

            He also loves sitting with someone to put together or assemble a new toy.  We made the mistake, I think, of buying a Star Wars Lego figure at the Paris Airport to take him.  It obviously was too complicated to put together by himself.  Jessica, with all her Mommy patience skills, sat with him because he wouldn't let it go until the figure was put together.  Somehow when it was all done he seemed to lose interest.   He likes the challenge of assembling things…perhaps.

            Austin reads some now by himself as he demonstrated when Jess brought out some “easy readers”.  One of the After-Care teachers at Miner Elementary had been working with him. He did it easily as I listened to him occasionally hesitate and then sound out letters to get the word.  His ability to print in lower case letters amazed me. On Sunday afternoon when we were all tired from the heat and keeping Austin entertained, he had a tantrum and was sent to his room.  In a short time, he came downstairs holding a sheet of white paper like a peace offering and without saying a word handed it to Jessica.  Printed clearly in blue marker it read,

            “I love you, Mommy.  You are the best.”

All was forgiven and life went on.  Where had he learned to write so clearly?

            Knowing Austin will be going to Mundo Verde Charter School in late August for Kindergarten and will be immersed in Spanish, I threw out lots of Spanish words to him when I was there.  We practised counting up to 100 and made a game of it. I had him repeat words and phrases trying to keep it light and fun.  He has a wonderful ear for language and although we are all a bit apprehensive about the big change for him this fall, I think he will grow to love understanding and speaking Spanish.

            Austin is still the conversationalist . He’s always been lots of company when you are with him because he has much to say.  Sunday evening we had our last hugs and said our “ love yous” , which will last us till early August when Austin comes to visit us at Camp Biltmore Lake as he does every summer.  Can’t wait. 

On to Paris

          The taxi let us out at Place Edmund Rostand, a busy intersection in the heart of the Left Bank in Paris.

            “Don’t get your expectations up too high,” I kept telling Art because I’m not sure how this apartment is going to be. It faces the Luxembourg Gardens but it could be noisy.” I glanced around at the five streets and avenues all converging onto this one corner.

            I’m sure it will be fine,” he said reassuringly.  Booking the Airbnb apartments wherever we travel has become my job and it takes hours online to find the right one.  Even then, it’s a gamble until you arrive and see it.

            

            I punched in the code to release on the keypad next to the large carved wooden front door of #6 Place Edmund Rostand,  Going through a second set of doors we were in a lobby with a carpeted winding staircase to the upper floors and a tiny “lift” to one side that barely accommodated us and our luggage.  Two flights up we came to one big double door, an entrance to the only apartment on the entire floor. Sonia, the maid let us in and showed us in to one end of the long apartment, lived in by Marie and her husband. Our end had been closed off with a private door to make an Airbnb. We had two rooms (sitting room/kitchen and bedroom) with a bathroom inside another apartment.  Clever idea extra secure, I thought.  Not even the most experienced thief could make it through all those many doors.  The tall floor to ceiling French doors that opened onto a decorative rod iron railing gave a sense of  spaciousness. I stepped outside often, fascinated by all the activity below us and across the street at the Luxembourg Gardens.  What a perfect location...I had done it!

#6 Place Edmond Rostand

            That evening we met Marie Fabry, the 68-year old landlady who spoke perfect English and invited us to her side of the apartment for a look.  She told us her grandparents had moved to this apartment building in 1920 and they, and her parents had lived and died in this 18^thcentury building.  She had grown up in this apartment and even though she made reference to “other homes” she and her husband could live in she chose to stay right here in her childhood home.  Surprisingly she confessed that none of her family had ever owned one of the apartments because they were never for sale. However, she was the third generation of renters in her family.  Her living room was long with at least six sets of French doors with the same view we had and walls covered from floor to ceiling with large paintings. All very eclectic and mismatched but very French.  I wondered what it must feel like to be living in the same building as your ancestors had, for three generations.  For me it was hard to fathom having such a strong sense of place and  I found myself envying her for that. 

 Views from the French doors to Luxembourg Gardens

             Strangely the first glimpse we got of Paris was of Notre Dame.  Something propelled us first to walk down Boulevard Saint Michel to where it meets the River Seine.  There, was the Notre Dame Cathedral that we had walked past and been in so many times on our visit two years ago.  It was a shock to simply stand and stare at the towers which are intact but no tall roof and steeple.   There is no access now to get near it as the streets in and around it are barricaded and guarded. The icon we all took for granted that was Paris is no longer.  I must confess it hit us hard and it was awhile before we could turn our backs and walk on to explore further. After that, if we were in the vicinity I didn’t really want to think about it anymore.

Notre Dame Cathedral

            Paris in May was full of young people zipping around on electric scooters alongside the perpetual tourists especially abundant in and around the River Seine.  We were energized by the cool weather and sunshine, and the good physical condition we were in from our walking in Brittany, and the excitement of being back in Paris.  We remembered easily how to travel places by Metro. Sometimes, though, we’d say “let’s walk instead…we can take in so much more.” 

            One afternoon we decided to forego being tourists and walked across the street from our apartment to the Luxembourg Gardens.  We found some empty metal chairs on the side of the gravel walkway and sat down to “people watch”.  Because it was a sunny spring afternoon, there were many people out sunning themselves and others just walking through the gardens.  There is a large octagonal basin of water in the center where children sail model boats. I wished Austin had been with us as he would have loved the afternoon sailing a boat alongside the French children.

 Luxembourg Gardens

         We walked the length of the Boulevard Saint Michel and stopped to enjoy the creative and artistic boutique decor on the Boulevard Saint Germain. A shop which caught my eye enough for a photo was displaying high end clothing and handbags in the midst of walls covered with floor to ceiling bookcases filled with real books. No, it was not a bookstore.  We stopped in to an Art Gallery with paintings in the window that caught our eye.  The gallery owner was very gracious and we managed to keep our composure as he quoted prices in the thousands. Alas, an original piece of artwork from France was not to be.   Instead, we brought home a poster from the tourist office in Brittany which now hangs on our office wall.

A boutique in Saint Germain

         One morning we went by metro to the Gambetta station in the 20^tharrondissement to visit the Cimetiere du Pere-Lachaise, the largest cemetery in Paris which was first opened in 1804 . Built on a hill on 110 acres of land, today there are over a million people buried there. We were told to stop at one of the florist shops at the entrance to the cemetery to purchase a map which shows where many of the famous writers, artists, musicians, and actors are buried. 

         The cemetery is a peaceful, quiet place in the middle of bustling Paris, where you walk down cobblestone streets under the umbrella of tall shady trees.  The graves are close together and vary from unadorned headstones to towering monuments and even elaborate mini chapels.   Many tombs are the size of telephone booths. Here multiple family members can be buried.

I felt like we were on a scavenger hunt following the map to see if we could find Oscar Wilde, Gertrude Stein, Frederic Chopin, Modigliani. Yves Montand, Jim Morrison, Edith Piaf, Marcel Proust and others.

 Marcel Proust grave

 Oscar Wilde grave

Frederic Chopin grave

          On one side of the cemetery we came across huge monuments, some with dramatic sculptures, honoring the French who had died in each Nazi concentration camp.  There were also monuments to soldiers and resistance fighters from both world wars.  One could spend days here.  I noticed French people visiting family graves as well as tourists like us doing what we were, looking for the the famous people.  What surprised us is that this cemetery is inclusive of all religions all other ethnicities  Jews, Catholics, Chinese, Vietnamese and others are buried randomly,  side by side with no separations.

 Concentration camp victims

On our last afternoon in Paris, we had walked for miles and were on our way back to the apartment. Half a block from our apartment, I saw an English bookstore called “The Red Wheelbarrow”. How had I missed this on the very block where we were living?  I found myself going in “just to take a quick look”.  The owner came over to wait on me and started a conversation.

“Where are you from?” she asked.

“I’m from the US …we live in Western North Carolina,” I replied.

“Where in North Carolina?” she persisted.

“Asheville,”  I replied thinking she wouldn't know it.

“I was just there last week,” she exclaimed.  “I went to visit a dear friend, Renee Levine, who moved there from Paris.  She worked in this bookstore with me and was part owner.”

She went on to explain that her friend and husband had left Paris to be near their daughters in the US and now they were elderly and the husband was not well.
  

“Next week is Renee’s birthday,” she continued.  “Would you be able to take a book to her in Asheville?”  she asked.  She had picked up a book in the store and was showing it to me.

“I’d love to,” I told her, “but I don’t have an inch of space in my luggage.”

As we continued to chat I learned she was Canadian but had lived in Paris for many years. She asked me if I knew Malaprops bookstore. 

“Of course,” I replied. “Anyone who lives in Asheville knows Malaprops.”

By the time I walked out, I had bought a paperback for my trip home, and we had exchanged names and contact information.  Penelope Fletcher said she’d be in touch after she called Malaprops to order a book for her friend, Renee, if I would deliver it.  I agreed thinking it would be interesting to meet her friend who had lived in Paris a long time.  I wasn’t certain she was serious about contacting me.

A week after I was back in Asheville I found myself driving downtown to pick up two gift wrapped books at Malaprop's for Renee Levine and finding my way to a retirement community called The Crossings.  There I met Renee, a petite women with a slightly German accent and a soft voice.   Her husband sat in a wheel chair quietly with a sweet smile on his face and listened.  (Penelope had told me he had Alzheimer's). Renee was turning 94 the following day and was as sharp as she could be telling me some of her life story of which she had written and published some years ago.  My instinct had been right and I could have talked with her all day.  I was uncertain as to how she felt about receiving a stranger like me.  And yet that same afternoon I received an email from her...

Dear Kristina,

 it was a pleasure to meet you today and on top of that to be presented with a present from Paris.  How rare to meet someone with a rear view and side view and of course front view mirror on the world instead of a tiny little local screen for a visual field….  

Thanks for the visit,  Renée

            Paris has a special allure and I will always be drawn to go back as we continue to explore other parts of France. This city leaves a lasting impression that makes you want to return.  But it is the personal connections you make unexpectedly that are what you remember and treasure.

Exploring Dinan, Brittany

Wonder-struck, Victor Hugo too, discovered at a bend in the road

this ancient and beautiful city, stone-crafted, cleaving to the rocks as

a house-martin’s nest above the precipice… 

From Dinan by Gerard Malherbe

            Arriving at the empty Dinan train station we were the only passengers to get off the small commuter train on a Saturday morning.  No hordes of tourists and no locals. Art and I didn’t say anything as we maneuvered our suitcases across the tracks, into the station, and out the front door to look for our hotel.  It all seemed a ghost town and we knew what the other was thinking.  “What have we done?  This doesn’t look like much of the “must see” place we read about in the guidebook.”  

            After asking directions on the street to our hotel, we headed uphill dragging suitcases on rough cobblestone sidewalks towards a roundabout and the centre ville or the center of town. Things started to look more promising as we walked to the Ibis Hotel that had been advertised on Booking.com as being ”5 minutes from the train station”. It was a 15 to 20 minute walk instead. Once checked in, we asked directions to the Tourist Office so we could get reassurance that Dinan was the “not to be missed” medieval town that we had come here to visit.

             Rick Steves writes in his guidebook that Dinan is a “must see” town if one only has a short time in Brittany.  Yet, following through on recommendations in a travel guidebook is a gamble.  There could be hordes of tourists or perhaps it might not be so great. We had decided to take a chance and go for a weekend to Dinan when we were looking to extend our Brittany visit.

            A taxi driver had dropped us off at the Lanion train station the morning after our Inntravel trip ended. Traveling on two small commuter trains for 2.5  hrs. to Dinan was fun.  These small trains (more like electric metro cars) that traverse the countryside are enjoyable for short distances. The journey to Dinan took us through rural green lush Breton farmland and past fields with grazing cows. It was a clear sunny morning which we took as a good sign since the weather in Brittany is so changeable.   We went past tidy villages, each with tall steeple of a Catholic church sticking high above the town and neat Breton style bungalows mostly made of stone with slate roofs.    We were heading east from the Granite Coast and away from the ocean… more inland.  The changeover to a second train was easy at a small station and we were on our way once again with very few travelers or commuters. 

            

            Dinan, a medieval city with a thousand-year-old history, is built along the banks of the estuary of the Rance River and up into the hills above.  For eight centuries this was an important port for traders and pilgrims from Spain, France, and as far away as the Holy Land. It fell into disrepair and neglect in the mid 19^thcentury when an imposing viaduct was built.  In recent years much of the old part has been restored to become a popular destination for French and foreign tourists. 

            I confess we were captivated entering the “old city” and walking past the half-timbered houses with slate roofs while wandering the steep, narrow cobblestone streets that take you from the river up to the city center. There is a 12^thcentury church, Saint Saviours, to explore with tombstones of fallen knights from the Middle Ages carved into them. ( I was reminded of my semester abroad in England when we sought out country churches to do brass rubbings of such tombs – something that has long been banned.)  We walked around the ramparts that surround Dinan …left when it was fortified by Breton Dukes against invaders.  There are gates and towers and even a moat for Middle Ages enthusiasts. There is a Clock tower that once was a town alarm and announced curfew time.  Today it still watches over Dinan while tourists can climb to the top for an aerial view of the old city.

The Clock Tower

            Dinan is full of unusual artisan galleries, gift shops, creperies, and outdoor restaurants all in the Old City. Imagine our delight at coming across yet another Michelin star restaurant – Le Canterbury, exactly at 1:15 p.m. when we were ready to stop for lunch.  We thought we had left that elegant dining behind at our three hotels along the Granite Coast….but no.  We were seated at an intimate table for two.  A small restaurant, we noticed there were only well-dressed older French customers eating here. It was full.  We guessed they were local to the area as the hostess /owner seemed friendly with everyone. We settled in for what turned out to be another exquisite three course meal with appetizer, main course, and fancy dessert.  Only this time it was an unforgettable lunch.

Michelin star restaurant

 Appetizer of Goat Cheese wrapped in pastry dough

            Still in our walking mode, we had inquired at the Tourist Office where we could take a long walk outside of Dinan.

 “Mais, bien sur, le long de la riviere Rance…” we were told.

We set out in the cool of the next morning to walk several miles on the wide, flat asphalt path along the Rance River.  We were told there was another medieval town called Lehon which was our destination. We were not the only ones doing this walk as there were French bikers, as well as families enjoying the exercise, sunshine, and views of the quiet and lazy river. Tall leafy green trees provided lots of shade.  In the distance we could hear the church bells ringing reminding us it was Sunday morning.  If we looked up as we walked out of Dinan we could see the ramparts and part of the stone wall surrounding the city.  The Rance River narrows on the way to Lehon and just outside the village there are locks which, if you are traveling by small boat, you must go through. 

Lehon turned out to be another “gem” although much smaller and quieter than Dinan.  The church and cloisters as well as the narrow winding streets provided lots to see for an entire morning until we hiked back to Dinan and opted to sit outside at one of the many restaurants along the Rance for a late lunch. By the end of our second day in Dinan we had walked many miles and hadn’t even noticed. 

Monday morning we walked the 20 minutes back to the Dinan train station.  It was just as empty as when we arrived but a helpful train employee was on duty and reassured us that we would have no problems changing trains twice before our arrival in Montparnasse Paris. 

“We’ll have to stay alert to watch for where we get off and where we change trains,” I told Art .

All was went well on the two commuter trains from Dinan until we arrived in the Rennes train station.  Being one of the major cities in Brittany, Rennes has a big train station.  

There were no conductors in sight so I stopped a French woman to ask, ““D’ou part le train pour Montparnasse?”

            “Voie 6,”  she said.

            Knowing we had a 9-minute layover, we headed underground to Track 6 and then up the stairs to the platform. There was a sign and a train waiting to leave for Paris. Great!  We had reserved seats in Car #18 and as we started down the platform looking for our car the numbers were going down…away from 18!  There was not a conductor on the platform and people were rushing to board the train.  Minutes before it was scheduled to leave Art grabbed my bag and his and said “just get on”. We did.

            The train was packed with every seat taken and luggage racks full.  The train began to move but but we had not found our car. We began walking from car to car until we came across the first conductor we had seen since arriving in Rennes. I showed him our tickets to ask where Car #18 was.  

            “C’est l’autre train,” he said pointing to the track next to us. Then in his broken English and my floundering French we understood that there were two trains leaving Rennes at the same time for the same station in Paris.  We had boarded the wrong one. How were we to know that?

            “Un minute, s’il vous plait,” he indicated we should wait a minute.

            He made a phone call and then disappeared into the next car while we waited.  He came back to motion that we should follow him.  He had found two separate seats in the next car for us.  Our luggage was piled outside the car along with everyone’s who had not found space in the luggage racks.

            As we pulled out of Rennes, I briefly mourned the loss of our reserved seats that were probably empty in Car #18 on the other train and then shut that thought out.  Moving as far away from the man sitting next to me who reeked of alcohol and was nursing a beer at 11 a.m. I told myself that it was only an hour and fifteen minute trip to Paris.  Thank goodness!  Art and I were disappointed that we had gotten off to such a good start leaving Dinan. We had wanted to sail through all the train changes without a glitch. It was not to be.

            Paris beckoned as we emerged from the Gare Montparnasse to find a taxi and head to the apartment I had booked online overlooking the Luxembourg Gardens.

  

             

            

.

            

Walking the Granite Coast of Brittany

        Starting our walk at the Troezel Bian Manoir Hotel 

           “Bon Jour.”  is the polite greeting we get as we pass the occasional dog walker or hiker on the Granite Coast of Brittany.  The Bretons have a way of singing it out almost melodically.  Whether it’s morning or afternoon we say our “bon jours” back.  There is something satisfying about this tiny exchange.  It feeds our excitement of walking in a new place and a reminder that we are in France now.

            I walk along the sandy path with the chaos of granite boulders at the edge of the Atlantic on one side, and the native grasses on the other.  It is spring in Brittany and the yellow gorse and purple heather are in bloom.  There are clumps of wildflowers everywhere, many I have not seen before.  When we pass Breton houses, many of which are still closed up for winter, I admire the gardens spilling over with a profusion of flowering shrubs. All is quiet and there is no one around to admire this spring blossoming.  Most of the two-story bungalows along the coast are  solid granite with much stone trim so they look like they could stand for centuries. Some are small but the larger summer homes are poised perfectly to catch the entire view of the expansive Granite coastline.  Sometimes the houses and villages we pass through look familiar. They remind me of the Devon and Cornwall coastline which I walked years ago when I visited England.  Brittany has strong Celtic roots unlike the rest of France and thus the similarity to parts of southwest England.

            The air smells fishy and damp as I breathe in the ocean.  Living inland, as we do in Asheville, I must store up the sea air while I am here. Everything is neat and clean except for piles of seaweed on the beaches and small fishing boats lying on their sides seemingly neglected…except they aren’t.    The tide is out and the boats will come to life when the tides change.  There is no litter on the path and we encounter very few walkers, none whom are English speaking.  There are no commercial signs.  Most of the coastline is pristine and any disarray is caused by the natural flow of the tides and the winds that blow up from across the Atlantic Ocean.

 I follow Art when we are on the  narrow coastal path as he carries the Inntravel walking notes and likes to navigate. I go slower to take a longer look around from the pink granite stones at my feet to unusual wild flowers and an occasional sea bird. The walking notes tell us to follow the G.R. (Grande Randonee)-34 which are part of the nation-wide network of hiking trails.  The route is sign-posted with red and white flashes that appear on electric poles or sometimes on rocks.   You have to look carefully for them.  For the next six days we will be looking for the GR-34 flashes as we walk some parts of the coastline. I feel reassured each time I see a marker knowing we are still  on course.  I think of the map of Brittany that we’ve studied at home for weeks and remind myself that I am walking on the northwest coast of France.  As I glance out towards the water it seems I should be able to see England in the distance….but of course, it is just a little too far away to be within eyesight.

Flashers for the GR 34

Walking through the granite boulders

The coastal path is flat  with only minor ascents and descents.  It is not like walking the Costa Brava as we did several years ago.  There, we climbed high above the ocean while waves crashed dramatically against the straight stone cliffs.  In Brittany we can step off the path and onto the rocky sandy beaches that extend a long way out before meeting the shoreline. 

Our six-day Inntravel Brittany walk has been along only a small portion of a coastline that extends for 1760 miles.  There are those who do much more such as the solo French hiker we ran into along the way. He carried a backpack and  small tent and was walking a good portion of the GR34.  He was helpful in broken English understanding my rusty French when we got turned around at the start of our walk from the Maison du Littoral near le Gouffre.  We saw him two days later on the same route we were following.

The 7 to 10 mile per day walks took us towards and sometimes away from the coast.  We walked along the edge of endless green artichoke fields and in and around small farms. Occasionally we came across fields of purple artichokes.  Farms looked prosperous and the small medieval villages we hiked through quiet and tidy.  I loved the Breton farm houses with the blue painted shutters and front doors and windows covered with white handmade lace curtains.  Every house has a garden and because of the temperate climate flowers grow all year round. We saw few people along the way.  Luckily an elderly man was working in his garden as we passed by at a point where our written directions seemed unclear.

“Nous cherchons le ferme Pen ar Hoat,” I bravely said to him.

He replied, “Continuez tout droit sur cette piste et vous la verrez a droite.”

 Artichoke fields

We arrived in “farm country” at our first hotel, the seventeenth century Troezel Bian Manor house.  Owned and operated by Armelle along with her 70-year old British partner Tony, we had one of four renovated guest rooms in this old manor house. Armelle lead us up two flights of centuries- old granite steps to our second floor room under the eaves. Views out the picture window were of the lush green expanse of land now mowed and landscaped.  It was easy to imagine farm animals, horses, chickens, and farm hands roaming around haphazardly in the courtyard of theTroezel Bian three hundred or more years ago. In the evening we were served three course gourmet meals cooked by “Chef” Tony himself.

Climbing the ancient granite steps

 Troezel Bian Manor House

Manicured view from our window

Breakfast at the Troezel Bian

The Brittany walk took us from the simple flat coastal path and the rural landscape of farms to the medieval larger town of Treguier situated on the River Tanguy estuary. From our hotel room at the more ordinary Aigue Marine, we had a view of the moored sailboats and yachts waiting for the tides to come in. Imagine our surprise as we hiked up a steep hill on a cobblestone streets to the center of Treguier to find many Tudor style buildings as if we had just come upon Stratford on Avon in Shakespeare’s time.  Centered by a massive cathedral with one of the finest cloisters in France, Terguier was a complete surprise but a reminder again of the British medieval influence in this part of northern France.

Treguier - like something out of an Elizabethan set

          Our other surprise was to find ourselves dining at a Michelin star French restaurant which is part of the Aigue Marine Hotel.  Not being real foodies we had not realized we would be eating some of the finest cuisine in France on our Granite Coast holiday in what turned out to be, more than one Michelin star restaurant.  

After each meal one of us would say  “How will we ever be able to go home to ordinary food after having eaten a meal like this?”  Not only was every course a work of art in its presentation but it was to be savored slowly for flavor.  Small portions, artistic presentation, and making each meal an occasion are the takeaways I will remember from French dining culture.  We Americans who rush through meals to keep going could slow down and learn much from the French.

 White asparagus and fish

A work of art appetizer

 A three-night stay at Le Manoir du Sphinx hotel in Perros-Guerric perched on a high cliff just outside the town was an entirely different experience.  Our second floor corner room literally hung over the ocean and the floor-to-ceiling windows faced the panoramic view of the Atlantic Ocean.  From 6 a.m. sunrises to spectacular sunsets after 9:30 p.m. at night we were drawn to the ocean views unlike anywhere else we had been except perhaps our Dubai apartment overlooking the Arabian Sea.  We even caught a photo of a rainbow after a short rain storm blew up and then quickly dissipated one evening.

Our walking notes gave us options for varied hikes each day.  In Treguier, we were  driven by taxi  to a point nearly 12 miles away with walking instructions to make our way back to the hotel. This was mostly GR-34  hiking and almost all along the coastline where we found ourselves skirting farm fields as well as private homes and in some places wooded areas shading our coastal path. Walking the Brittany coast you never forget that you are on historic ground.  There are monuments along the way in the most seemingly quiet out-of-the- way places honoring French resistance volunteers and soldiers from the area who died in the World Wars.  Sometimes we’d come across ancient ruins of an old church or a house dating back centuries to medieval times. 

Honoring French resistance fighters in pink granite

One of the most spectacular walks was the site of pink granite formations along the coast  which are a geologist’s dream. This area was taken over by the Coastal Conservancy  in 1996 for preservation as this is one of the most visited parts of the Brittany coast.  We walked along the coastguards’ path – in memory of the coastguards who were watching out for English invaders and smugglers.  There are many rocks in strange shapes that have been given names such as the trembling rock, the skull, the foot, the bottle, the mushroom, Napolean’s hat, the pile of pancakes, and many more.  The flowers of yellow gorse or broom and the purple heather enliven the landscape.   This heath was once farmed for ferns and gorse and heather. The coastal path leads out to the Men Ruz lighthouse (red stone in Breton).  It was built after the Germans destroyed the first one and is a working lighthouse protecting ships from the rocky coast. 

 The Pink Granite Coast

The bottle

Yellow gorse

During our 3-day stay in Perros- Guerric we inquired about the boat trip to Sept-Iles to see the nesting birds.  Each day we were told the seas were too rough to go.  But on our last morning we heard the boats were going despite the rainy weather.  Evidently the seas had calmed. Instead of the recommended Inntravel hike for that day, we walked several miles along the road and downhill to the wide and sandy Trestraou beach where the boats depart from the Marine Center. The boat trip from island to island to see this bird sanctuary, a protected area for more than 100 years, was not to be missed as our “notes” told us. This is France’s largest seabird sanctuary.  The boat got close to the island where we saw thousands of nesting Gannets who come here between January and September.  We were hoping to see the Atlantic Puffins and caught a glimpse of a few.  The boat then pulled up to another island that is home to a colony of about 20 gray seals which we could see with binoculars and caught a few photos of as they lazed on top of big granite boulders. Seals are lazy creatures and wait till the tide rises so they can slip into the water to catch some food before going back to their reclining positions.

 Gannets 

Lazy gray seals 

            As we dined at our table surrounded by windows overlooking the sea on our last night at the Manoir Sphinx , Art and I made a toast to celebrate our fifth successful Inntravel walking experience – this one totally different than any of the others.  We slowly savored our final three-course dinner as we prepared to leave early the next morning by train.  We would be going on to Dinan and eventually to Paris on our own. 

Dining at the Hotel Manor Sphinx

The Inntravel slogan is “The Slow Holiday People”…and that is us. What a joy it has been to take a break from the fast-paced world to be right where we’ve just been…ambling along the coast of Brittany at our own tempo.

The coast of Brittany, France