The toughest travel days are the ones where you move from one place to the next. Pack up, being mindful of the clock, tidy up, because AirBnB protocol demands it, then of course there are the regular tasks of getting a family of five up, fed and ready to go.
Our train departs the Montparnasse Station at 11:52. It's supposed to be a 20 minute walk, but I think that's for a sprightly person who doesn't mind the "uphill all the way" course and who hasn't a backpack and two suitcases to tow. I tell the crew we have to allow extra time for pauses. I suggest we leave at 10:15.
We've grown very efficient in packing, bathing, getting ourselves ready. Sparrow had a rough night and of course, that means that at least some of us are a little sleepy, but having a purpose and a time goal pushes us forward.
At 9, I step out for my breakfast bread run. I'm to pick up sandwiches for lunch on the train too. But when I get to the food halls, I see that they are closed. Opening hour on Sunday: 10. Well now, how could have I forgotten that we leave on a Sunday?
I go back to the bakery of our first day -- that one is closed all day. I'm not in despair. This is France. There will be a place open somewhere, vacances, and fermetures annuelles (annual closings) not withstanding.
Relieved, I do indeed come across this place:
Croissants, baguettes, sandwiches. Life threw me a good one.
We eat a breakfast where everyone comes to the table, then jumps up with a last minute packing need or remembering something they still had to do. I offer you some photos of our morning, somewhat chaotic meal.
In helping me do a final apartment check, Snowdrop makes a discovery: a bathroom window, typically shaded, actually offers the best view!
And here's a testament to our efficiency: by 10:15, we have completed our inspection, taken four trips in the mini elevator taking bags down and now are standing outside, ready for the uphill walk.
(At this point, had some stranger stopped and offered a ride, I would have said "oui!")
At the station at last. With time to spare. We pause for a refreshing drink/snack...
And then we walk over to our TGV ("train at great speed") wagon and settle in for the four hour ride.
Wait, you mean I didn't tell you where we're heading? In a sense these next days will be our true "vacation." We'll be in Plougenvelin -- a small village on the far western tip of Brittany. It's a region that I absolutely love, for its unique geography and in appreciation of its somewhat unusual, Celtic history and traditions. Ed and I hiked the coast pretty extensively some years back and we even made it to Le Conquet, a town just 6 kilometers from where we will be staying. It's thrilling to be returning to the area!
And we have the weather for it! Brittany's climate is moderate, which means it can get cool even in the summer. But the intense heat taking over Europe once again and causing such problems for vegetation and for those living in cities, brings just about perfect seaside temperatures. We are lucky.
The train ride is rather long. For Sparrow at least. He is at a wiggly age and the demands of travel are sometimes uncompromising. Still, on balance, he is superb at adjusting to the new normal. If we are all to be sitting in this weirdly moving space for a while, so be it!
He should have napped. He does not nap. Three of us worked hard to make it happen, but the little guy would not give in.
In the late afternoon we arrive in Brest -- a port city that provides services for this very western department of France. From here, we take taxis to Plougenvelin.
We are staying at an AirBnB once again -- this one is in a low apartment building right on a little blip of a cove on Brittany's southern ocean shore. The unit is on the top floor (French 5th) and thus has a commanding view -- from the living area..
The woman who owns it is in her mid eighties. A Parisian, she moved to the Normandy coast in her retirement, but found it too drab and wet there and so when her husband died, she rearranged her life and came here. (She lives just below.)
I admire people who can reinvent themselves after a traumatic event. She is a sweet, friendly person who speaks almost no English, but tries hard to make something of her little holiday rental. (Not so little! It has three bedrooms and it being the far end of Brittany, despite the high season, it's steal!)
Sparrow is in a tumble of good and not so good moods. His routines are upended and he is definitely sleep deprived. He has been a steady guy all day long, but as the evening approaches, he unravels.
Time for me to take the little girl out for an exploratory stroll.
The beach is just across the quiet little street. She is so drawn to it. She wants to sit down and play. I tell her it's nearly seven, we're due for dinner soon, now is not the time.
How about dip a toe in the water?
That works!
The water is lovely!...
It becomes more than just a toe dip.
I tie up her skirts, I take off her sweater, I try to reign her in...
She's pretty wet when I finally insist that we head back. But, she's rinsed by the sea waters and there's hope that she'll dry off soon enough. We walk over to the local eaterie, La Marina, for dinner (I had asked our host about it -- she said it's simple, but proper!).
And then, in her last steps on the beach, Snowdrop sits down in the sand. She can't resist it. It's like walking a child through a chocolate shop and telling her all that richness is for someone else.
And now she is covered from head to toe with sand and there's nothing to be done but walk her upstairs, dump her in the kitchen sink and wash those fine granules off.
Dinner: I have moules frites. Are they in season? I ask. For one more month, the waiter tell me.
We've come to Brittany at a good time.
I am in my corner room now. It's after 9, but the sun hasn't quite set. The windows are cracked open, but not too much, because the breeze out there is cool right now. I am thinking about one of my first trips to Brittany. It was with Ed and I loved it so much that I thought we should aim toward someday having a little cottage on the coast here. We'd come to it for the summer (longer?) and if there were to be grandkids, they'd come and stay with us all summer long and learn French by being the free agents that French children so often are in these smaller towns and villages.
They weren't silly dreams, but nor way they serious dreams. Life took us elsewhere.
Still, it is remarkable that a twist and a turn brought me back to Brittany. And with these little ones no less.
My eyes are heavy, but I am full of the calm serenity that this place brings me. Good night, from Plougenvelin.
Our train departs the Montparnasse Station at 11:52. It's supposed to be a 20 minute walk, but I think that's for a sprightly person who doesn't mind the "uphill all the way" course and who hasn't a backpack and two suitcases to tow. I tell the crew we have to allow extra time for pauses. I suggest we leave at 10:15.
We've grown very efficient in packing, bathing, getting ourselves ready. Sparrow had a rough night and of course, that means that at least some of us are a little sleepy, but having a purpose and a time goal pushes us forward.
At 9, I step out for my breakfast bread run. I'm to pick up sandwiches for lunch on the train too. But when I get to the food halls, I see that they are closed. Opening hour on Sunday: 10. Well now, how could have I forgotten that we leave on a Sunday?
I go back to the bakery of our first day -- that one is closed all day. I'm not in despair. This is France. There will be a place open somewhere, vacances, and fermetures annuelles (annual closings) not withstanding.
Relieved, I do indeed come across this place:
Croissants, baguettes, sandwiches. Life threw me a good one.
We eat a breakfast where everyone comes to the table, then jumps up with a last minute packing need or remembering something they still had to do. I offer you some photos of our morning, somewhat chaotic meal.
In helping me do a final apartment check, Snowdrop makes a discovery: a bathroom window, typically shaded, actually offers the best view!
And here's a testament to our efficiency: by 10:15, we have completed our inspection, taken four trips in the mini elevator taking bags down and now are standing outside, ready for the uphill walk.
(At this point, had some stranger stopped and offered a ride, I would have said "oui!")
At the station at last. With time to spare. We pause for a refreshing drink/snack...
And then we walk over to our TGV ("train at great speed") wagon and settle in for the four hour ride.
Wait, you mean I didn't tell you where we're heading? In a sense these next days will be our true "vacation." We'll be in Plougenvelin -- a small village on the far western tip of Brittany. It's a region that I absolutely love, for its unique geography and in appreciation of its somewhat unusual, Celtic history and traditions. Ed and I hiked the coast pretty extensively some years back and we even made it to Le Conquet, a town just 6 kilometers from where we will be staying. It's thrilling to be returning to the area!
And we have the weather for it! Brittany's climate is moderate, which means it can get cool even in the summer. But the intense heat taking over Europe once again and causing such problems for vegetation and for those living in cities, brings just about perfect seaside temperatures. We are lucky.
The train ride is rather long. For Sparrow at least. He is at a wiggly age and the demands of travel are sometimes uncompromising. Still, on balance, he is superb at adjusting to the new normal. If we are all to be sitting in this weirdly moving space for a while, so be it!
He should have napped. He does not nap. Three of us worked hard to make it happen, but the little guy would not give in.
In the late afternoon we arrive in Brest -- a port city that provides services for this very western department of France. From here, we take taxis to Plougenvelin.
We are staying at an AirBnB once again -- this one is in a low apartment building right on a little blip of a cove on Brittany's southern ocean shore. The unit is on the top floor (French 5th) and thus has a commanding view -- from the living area..
The woman who owns it is in her mid eighties. A Parisian, she moved to the Normandy coast in her retirement, but found it too drab and wet there and so when her husband died, she rearranged her life and came here. (She lives just below.)
I admire people who can reinvent themselves after a traumatic event. She is a sweet, friendly person who speaks almost no English, but tries hard to make something of her little holiday rental. (Not so little! It has three bedrooms and it being the far end of Brittany, despite the high season, it's steal!)
Sparrow is in a tumble of good and not so good moods. His routines are upended and he is definitely sleep deprived. He has been a steady guy all day long, but as the evening approaches, he unravels.
Time for me to take the little girl out for an exploratory stroll.
The beach is just across the quiet little street. She is so drawn to it. She wants to sit down and play. I tell her it's nearly seven, we're due for dinner soon, now is not the time.
How about dip a toe in the water?
That works!
The water is lovely!...
It becomes more than just a toe dip.
I tie up her skirts, I take off her sweater, I try to reign her in...
She's pretty wet when I finally insist that we head back. But, she's rinsed by the sea waters and there's hope that she'll dry off soon enough. We walk over to the local eaterie, La Marina, for dinner (I had asked our host about it -- she said it's simple, but proper!).
And then, in her last steps on the beach, Snowdrop sits down in the sand. She can't resist it. It's like walking a child through a chocolate shop and telling her all that richness is for someone else.
And now she is covered from head to toe with sand and there's nothing to be done but walk her upstairs, dump her in the kitchen sink and wash those fine granules off.
Dinner: I have moules frites. Are they in season? I ask. For one more month, the waiter tell me.
We've come to Brittany at a good time.
I am in my corner room now. It's after 9, but the sun hasn't quite set. The windows are cracked open, but not too much, because the breeze out there is cool right now. I am thinking about one of my first trips to Brittany. It was with Ed and I loved it so much that I thought we should aim toward someday having a little cottage on the coast here. We'd come to it for the summer (longer?) and if there were to be grandkids, they'd come and stay with us all summer long and learn French by being the free agents that French children so often are in these smaller towns and villages.
They weren't silly dreams, but nor way they serious dreams. Life took us elsewhere.
Still, it is remarkable that a twist and a turn brought me back to Brittany. And with these little ones no less.
My eyes are heavy, but I am full of the calm serenity that this place brings me. Good night, from Plougenvelin.
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