from France: if someone paid me to come up with a plan for a perfect French getaway, I’d tell them – do this:

[A reader commented recently (paraphrasing) – I decided to follow your travels on my recent trip to Sicily. Thank you! We had hilarious adventures! Well now, I feel gratified. Ocean put forth some ideas and the reader took it from there, understanding that it never will be as you expect it to be. So, I get questions about what to see and do when in France. Here’s an idea - though mind you, it wont be as you would expect it to be:]

Oh, to get out of Paris a little! To walk along empty paths, to smell spring flowers and ocean breezes! To eat well, sleep better, to spend not too much…

Sure, sure, there are many ways to slice this banana. How about this: take a rapid train and then a local and alight in Roscoff (Brittany). It’s a town, not a village, but not to worry, it’s a good destination.

Book a room ahead of time at the Le Temps de Vivre. You want details? Click onto Ocean View (it's in the sidebar; no, not now – after May 25th). Ask for the cheaper room, in the tower. It’s beautiful! (View provided in previous Ocean post.)

You’re there. Now what? Get your shopping over and done with. Go to the Algae Center and look at all the fantastic things you may do with seaweed! Impressed? Loaded down with algae purchases? Head back to your hotel room, dump the stuff in the closet and head out again.

Walk along the little streets, admire the detail – the knobs to latch the window shutters, for example.








Go to the port and get your bearings. You’ll want to know what’s what. Walk out onto the footbridge and study the tides. Make sure you have a windbreaker on (see post below).

So now you’re hungry. Lucky you. Your hotel is right next to the restaurant of the same name. Feeling poor? Order from the cheapest set price menu. But if you’re going to splurge on food once in France, don’t do it in Paris, do it here.


Next morning, the hotel will provide a nice little breakfast. Eat up – a crepe, a Breton cake, breads and jams and yogurts. Oh, and the kitchen next door will have prepared a delicious little fruit thing. You wont want to skip that, nor the freshly squeezed juice.

You could, this morning, visit the onion museum. This is the region that wants to give AOC status (special French certification, reserved for such things as wines and cheeses) to the onion. It has a Roscoff terroir, you see. And a history. You’ll want to know about it.

Then, head back toward the little port. You may want to take your lunch now. There’s a great place – Auberge du Quai – it’s bustling at lunchtime, but they’ll find you a table. Tell them you’re in a hurry though. You’ll want to make the 13:30 boat. So order something simple like a half dozen oysters and an Ocean salad (no, I’m not copyright here, on Ocean) – with shrimp and smoked salmon.








Now you’re ready to explore the countryside.

Get on the ferry with the locals. (The docking point is different depending on the tide; watch what the others are doing and follow them.) It’s a fifteen minute ride to the Isle de Batz. You wouldn’t want it to be longer – the waters can be choppy here.



island view


On the island, head to your left and follow a path along the coast. You’re in the village now.

…but not for long. Just always take the path closest to the water and you wont lose your way. It’s about 15 kilometers around the island, so pace yourself well. Don’t be like this foolish American duo I know who had to run like crazy, waving their arms to keep the ferry from pulling out without them. There are only so many ferry runs and it would be sad if you missed the last one.

So what’s the walk like? It takes you past small Brittany homes, through pastures, past coves. You’ll stop to watch the waters crash on rocks as fishing boats brace their bows against the ocean waters.













At the tip of the island you’ll lose a lot of time watching the gulls, so be prepared for that. After you’ve taken the n’th shot of their splendidness, move on.








And don’t forget to look at the other island inhabitants. No, not the people, the horses and ducks and what have you. Looking out at the ocean too long and hard may keep you from seeing a mother duck feed her young one.





So you managed to not miss the boat back? Great. Poke around the little harbor and watch others pick up their lobsters and crab for the evening meal. Don’t be tempted to do the same. There’s no room in the minibar for it.





So, not yet time for dinner? There are great tea rooms and pastry shops that’ll sustain you. Sort of like this one:





It’s evening. You’re wondering if you should go back to the same restaurant or try something new. Choices! You have choices! You don’t expect to be guided here every step of your way? Explore! Consult the hotel staff. It is your last night on the Brittany coast? Make it great – go to a place that serves mountains of seafood. Maybe like this:





Of course, leave room for the main course. And the dessert. And a noisette maybe?

Another night in the tower room, another breakfast of crepes and cakes and then you can return to your Paris.

Anyway, that’s what I would do.

from France: looking out

What’s a day like here? Yes, I walk, there are misty rains and plates piled high with shellfish. The fields are covered with artichoke heads and cauliflower globes and every person that passes shouts out a greeting.

But what’s it like to be here in the midst of spring?

One day at a time. Take yesterday: I wake up in a b&b just outside the sizable town of Treguier. A bird is at the window and it is sort of fitting.





The inn (Kastell Dinec’h) is an old house, run by an older woman, with the help of her daughter and granddaughter. OK, maybe the little girl isn’t much help. She’s only two and in the morning, she runs up to me, jumps into my arms and demands a kiss. She’s their charm agent and you forgive her running footsteps upstairs, above your room.

After breakfast, Ed and I hike to Treguier...





...to catch a bus to Lannion, an even bigger regional town – the only one in this area that has a train station. Except I read the bus schedule incorrectly and so we don’t really have a bus to catch. A costly mistake which only a taxi can save. Sigh.

We are waiting at the station, with still a few minutes to spare. Good thing there is bakery across the street. Good thing there are plenty of apple croissants and raisin croissants – you know, for variety.

We catch the train to Plouaret, where we catch another train to Morlaix where we catch another train to Roscoff. All on time, no missed connections.

Roscoff by the sea. Yes, there are a half dozen hotels, but the coastline remains untarnished by us, the tourists. This isn’t a beach casino town. There are no tour buses either, though maybe it is early in the season? Roscoff looks like what it tries to be: the "pink onion" capital of the world.





We wander into an algae store. A new variety is discovered every week (the store clerk tells us)! I’m in. I buy algae soap, algae spread (great with toast or artichokes!), algae scrub. I walked on the stuff at low tide and now I plan to smear it on my body. How odd we are, the occasional tourists who can’t get enough of their place.

The main street of Roscoff has a number of eating spots and one or two souvenir stores. At some point in the summer there will be tourists here, but now, the streets are empty but for the occasional French family out for a brisk walk..





A footbridge runs into the ocean waters. At the end, there is a platform for passengers of the ferry that runs back and forth to the offshore island. Walking it at low tide feels windy, dangerous, spectacular! The gust runs between groups of rocks and blows at you so hard that you are certain you'll be thrown into the waters below.





It is amazing how high the water level is by evening! Rock islands, so visible in the late afternoon are gone. Someone turned the ocean faucet on and let it flow too long! It happens so quickly! One, two, three, all flooded.






We eat a cheap meal at a pricey eatery. I say without hesitation that it is always better in France to do this rather than eating the expensive selections in a moderate eatery.

Here, take a look at this seafood and seasonal asparagus amuse bouche:





Then comes the meal. I have eaten so much seafood the past days that I am beginning to feel the addiction. What, no snails for breakfast? But here, at dinner, the chef works inordinately hard to create masterpieces. Yes, he has his emblem – his Michelin rosette. Want to find him and the wonderful little hotel his wife presides over? Check Ask for an Ocean View (link in Ocean sidebar) in several weeks. It will be there.

My images of Brittany include a night walk under a brooding sky. Forget it. I’m spent. Tomorrow. Definitely then. Or the next day. Oh, I’ leaving then. That’s okay, I still have a Brittany post in me – about offshore islands and kind ferry captains. In the meanwhile, a glance out the window, just for balance.

from France: the whys and hows and wheres

The posts have been a tad shorter, the photos – less numerous. Why? Because I did not finish all my work for the semester before leaving and so I’ve had to take some waking hours each evening to attend to it.

And I said little about the trip basics. How is this a hike? And where is the bike?

Let me explain:

We chose to hike along the GR trail (no.34), which for the most part, hugs the northwest coast line. Most of the time it is a dirt path. Sometimes it crosses beaches and stones, still wet from the receding tide. Sometimes, when a stretch of coast is impassable, we pick up a country road for a while.

We are carrying packs and I’ve grown used to the weight of mine. It helps to have a light computer!



through fields of artichokes



close up


The weather was fantastic the first day, fine the second and at first drizzly, then downright pouring rain the third.

I would say that, therefore, this third day of hiking was the best. We were energized by the wetness of it all! The scenery was well served by the gray, wet skies. We encountered the occasional person picking the night’s supper, or a fisherman digging for bait, or a farmer tending to the artichoke fields, but otherwise, there were few people out and about.









Brittany weather is like that – rarely cold, rarely hot, often changeable. Flowers thrive on it. I see plenty of evidence of this.



yellow and blue


When the drizzle first started, we paused at an old inn in a village of a few houses and ordered hot fish soup and a shrimp salad. A simple place with exceptionally cheap prices. Such wonderful, nourishing food!



a village with an inn










We were so buoyed by it all that we set out to hike further. That’s when the rains came down. No jacket could keep the wetness out of my pack. But we did not give up. Hearty Polish peasant stock here! (Ed, lacking that, is starting to sniffle.)

We hiked until the evening and then turned inland toward an auberge for the night. No buses here, nothing. Ed thought it would be fun to hitch a ride, but I balked. I’m too old, too wet, too something! Besides, there were too few cars going our way. And so we walked and walked some more until we found a bar where we could call for a ride for the last several miles. The country auberge had dinner ready for us. Good and hot.




with mussels and mushrooms



with morrells and white asparagus


So ended our hike along this stretch of the Brittany coast. We’re taking a train and a series of buses to a different location now, still in Brittany, but even further west. We only have time for one day-hike tomorrow. After that, we’re heading south to pick up a couple of bikes in Avignon.

Okay? Explanations typically come before an ocean crossing, but this time, my work got a huge grip on my time. By tomorrow I should be done with it and I can truly exhale. Actually, I’ve done a fantastic amount of exhaling already. And hiking. And eating. I have seasalt on my skin and in my hair and Brittany flowers in my head. Powerful combination.

from France: beaches, families and crepes

Having myself lived in two countries where the political leadership has been, at numerous points, tremendously unpopular among those within and those outside the particular nation, I am sympathetic to the sizable minority who voted for the losing candidate in yesterday’s election in France. And even more sympathetic to those who felt the choice was less than perfect on all counts. Oh, politics.

For us, the day was only mildly touched by the presidential fever here (with nearly 85% of the French voting, you have to think that it was a feverish event). On the Brittany coast, all was calm, the tide was again low, the rocks and cliffs were dramatically positioned at every turn, the flowers were at their spring best.





We spent a while watching the occasional person try windskating on this beach. And the small, dads only, soccer game, with kids playing in the sand and moms chatting. And the two swimmers who thought nothing of the cold water. Scenes from nearly empty beaches are mesmerizing. Three photos for Ocean – of the tall firs protectively looking down on the cove below, of the biker who chose not to bike across, and of the solo walker.














At the local creperie -- one of only two places selling food here, Madame Louisette was taking a break from the kitchen duties. Monsieur Fernand was in back showing off how “award winning” crepes are made, granddaughters were helping out. A Sunday in Brittany.

from France: en Bretagne

It is late Sunday afternoon. Monsieur has yet to vote, but he made for me the most “perfect” (his words and he is correct) crepe, with acacia honey and lemon. I eat this as dessert, having downed 6 oysters that he just shucked for me (another 6 for Ed) .

We walked for a long long time. Internet connection has been spotty to say the least, but now, in this remote place on le Cote de Granit Rose, in the middle of nowhere, where Monsieur Fernand Bricout and Madame Louisette Bricout run a creperie, I am connected.

They are stunning people, but you wont see a photo today. Let me only post pics from yesterday. And then I have to move on. The path is long, the lodgings for tonight? Unlcear. Are there any nearby?

So, from yesterday:



low tide



rocks and castles



coming in for lunch



my lunch



towns and beaches



low-tide, close up



the youngest sailors, hauling in their boat

from France: cliff hanger

Internet or no Internet? It's always a cliff-hanger here and today I tumbled into non-connectedness again.

Once again kind strangers stepped in to lend me their life line. But I wont abuse their generosity and so I'll be brief and photos wont appear until I again establish a connection.

Thankfully, I have Ed's calm shrug to remind me that Internet issues are still ever with us and they are to be solved or ignored. No room for fretting.

In the meantime, we are indeed hiking along the granite coast, albeit in the French way. Two hours into our stroll (let's call it as it is) we pause in front of the most tempting terrace, where families are eating great quantities of Brittany seafood. Wouldn't you pause? And after, wouldn't you take out some work papers for a slow review, right there at the table, sheltered from the coastal breezes?

Our goal was a mere two dozen kilometers, but I can't say we made it.

Still, the tides were low, the sun was out and the views were spectacular.

My one issue (apart from the Internet stuff) is Ed's constant longing to rent a sailboat to take us out on the Channel. I may have to say yes eventually. My last excuse (Jason wont like it if I get salt in my hair) seemed pretty thin.

More tomorrow. Unless both Internet and kind strangers will completely disappear. Very unlikely. People are beyond friendly here. Nothing could change that. Not even tomorrow's big deal election.

A bientot!

from France: the velo trip

My occasional traveling companion, Ed, has sometimes expressed a desire to bike across France. Maybe “desire” is a little strong. Maybe it’s more like a wee little interest. In any case, I have been aware of this and not at all indifferent to it. I tell him – pick your dates! And in the end, I don’t even wait for his decision here. I pick the dates and book the trip before he changes his mind.

I am very much up on biking. Of a reasonable type. Meaning, not across the whole of France. Let’s be real. I am not Tour de France material. I like flat rather than terribly hilly and I balk at the idea of carrying all my travel paraphernalia in a little sack strapped on a bike rack for several weeks.

As Ed and I discuss the possibilities and the dates draw closer, we strike a compromise. We’ll hike, then bike. The first week, we’ll firm up our leg muscles hiking along the coast of Brittany and the second week we’ll bravely bike across Provence. And if it rains, I get to stay indoors and play with my spiffy new computer (WHICH IS PICKING UP A WIRELESS SIGNAL ON THE FRENCH TRAIN, AS WE SPEAK!!).

I also insist that we skip the camping thing. I want a cozy room and a warm shower. And croissants every morning and wine in the evening.

Remarkably, Ed agrees and so here we are, making our way toward Brittany. And even more remarkably, I am traveling with a small pack filled with tres cool hiking pants and not much else.

God, what have I gotten myself into?

Half asleep from the long flight and the crazy last days of work. It’s barely noon, but I am already thinking of dinner. It’s the way my mind works.

Overheard (on train, in France):
Excuse me, may I use the outlet to recharge my phone for a few minutes? It’s Friday, I’m not likely to get many calls, but still…
Ah, the week-end is here.
Elections on Sunday…
A holiday on Tuesday. Wait, didn’t you just have a holiday here?
Yes, but that was last week.

I am in France.

Late in the afternoon we arrive at our chosen starting point – Trebeurden, on the coast of Brittany. Oh, but it’s splendid here. The view from the terrace window:





We walk down to the water – a stretch of sand along a sheltered bay. Not many people here at this time of the year. Just some school children, learning about sailing, having great fun kicking a soccer ball around, building sand sculptures, pulling in boats from an afternoon out on the Atlantic waters.





The wind is sharp, the coast is magnificent. Tomorrow Ed and I will hike along the craggy shoreline to the next village, then the next. But now, I’m focused on dinner. Lobster bits and sea bass pieces, chocolate tarts and frothy berry mousses – it’s what you would expect from a remote village dining spot in the far northwest corner of France

flying out

I look out my loft window Wednesday evening and I watch a plane come in for a (still distant) landing. People coming in, people leaving.





I’m thinking -- in a few hours that’ll be me, with only a carry-on back pack, heading overseas.

More later.

time to give back

You know how utterly idiotic it was to have Prominent Government Officials appear on American Idol last night (I need TV to help me write lectures) to thank y’all for participating in the Fight On Poverty by voting for your favorite AI performer? Yes, THAT was dumb (not the donation, but its link to voting).

I have a better idea. Forget American Idol voting. Do something REALLY useful. Click on to Asia’s blog and sponsor her ride for the American Lung Association. I know, a million people are on your back to donate to one cause or another. But Asia is one of the coolest writers around and she is offering her writing talents for your donation. Imagine, you could help fight lung disease and have her write something on your blog. Win Win.

(Asia, Ocean welcomes you. I have only once had a guest blogger a long long time ago and at the last minute he succumbed to inertia. Or fear, or something. Not to pressure you or anything.)

To give. So many of us do it in countless ways. And maybe it’s enough. And maybe you’re tired of being bugged about this. Still, it’s Asia and lungs, and chances are you haven’t given much thought to lungs. Chances are your idle moments are spent visualizing a plasma screen TV instead.

Forget the TV. Who needs all those entertainment devices anyway. Just scramble some eggs, bring out the laptop, catch up on blogs and news stories and then click to make a donation. In support of lungs, for God’s sake. So satisfying. So, well, HELPful.

oh dear…

You know you need help when, for the third day in a row, you are posting pics of random flowers and this time, you can’t even move beyond the dandelion.





Never fear, there is only one more day left of this madness and for that day (tomorrow), I may … well, if I told you, what incentive would you have to check back?

So, check back.

don’t

…even think you’ll get more than a hermit’s line here today. Despite the fantastic spring skies and, I’m sure, proliferating spring flora, I remain preoccupied with GETTING WORK DONE.

On my table – there are flowers on my table. Would like to see the insider’s (meaning a person who spent her day inside) view of the petals of spring? Here, stare at these: