En Bretagne

If your goal in travel is to experience new things, taste new foods, admire beautiful artifacts, then even a short trip will do. You can pack in a lot on a weekend getaway. You'll feel like you'd been gone a month, because you will have accumulated a trunkful of memories. 

But if your goal is to let go of stress and to ease into another world, to soak up its flavor with all your senses, to rid yourself of a mindset and to push yourself into a new chapter of your life -- a weekend wont do. I'm in Brittany for four nights and I'm wondering if four nights is enough. You have to stay in one place long enough to feel boredom. And I'm not bored yet.

At the same time, I feel the change in me and that's good. May it last.

 

The morning comes with emergent sunshine. Yes, it will rain today, but not until later (I'm told). Right now, it's looking good!

I have this idea: my breakfasts haven't been Bretonne enough. What if I walked over to the one bakery in centre ville, Le Vieux Fournil, and purchased their Kouign Amann, and brought it back to the breakfast table? Great idea, don't you think?

I set out. It's only a 12 minute walk and the Breton morning air feels so good!

 

 

 

I see a lot of activity by the bakery. People drive up, buy their daily fix, drive away. I'm excited!

 

 

But it seems that all they have are the usual croissants and baguettes. And the Far Breton, which my hotel supplies as well.

No! Where is your Kouign Amann?? She tells me -- it'll be ready around 11. Maybe 11:30. This just confirms what I have suspected recently: they dont eat the Kouign Amann just for breakfast here. They treat it as a dessert. (In my favorite bakery in Madison, it's thought to be a breakfast bread for sure.) 

I return, not sorry that I took the walk. Cities, towns -- they are at their most beautiful in the early morning I think. People beginning a day don't walk with hunched shoulders, tired, disappointed. Their pace is brisk, their spirits are (usually) high. It's great to watch. Even here, were there are very few people out and about.

 

 

But, pleasant as my unsuccessful stroll was, it did net me nothing Bretonne for my breakfast. I reshuffle things a little, adding a crepe to my plate, giving up on cappuccino in favor of a big cup of milky Brittany-style coffee, but these are meager efforts. I feel I am eating a very good hotel breakfast. Nothing more. Let's see if I can make up for it as the day progresses.

In fact, I have one last day in Perros-Guirec. That's always the toughest one. Usually this is when I shop for things that will prolong the feeling of being in a beautiful place. It never works of course, and within months I dont even remember where a shirt, a sea shell, or a plate, purchased with such love and excitement came from, but still, toward the end of a trip you want to pack something up to bring home. But of course, the shops are all closed today, so I'm spared that ritual.

A walk. I definitely want to walk. But where to? I walked the coast to the left, I walked the coast to the right. I'm going to go inland!

It's not totally random. I was given this map of the region and there are all kinds of markings on it signifying places of interest. One set of roads is all marked up by a green broken line and from what I can figure out, this means the route is interesting. or it leads you to interesting places. I like the rural roads here so why not!

First, down the steps to the beach...

 

Oh, we have waves today! Perhaps not big by Hawaiian surfer standards, but big enough that the locals rush to make the most of them.

Me, I'm thinking -- good thing I gave up on taking a boat trip to the seven islands (you can do that!). I hate bouncy waters.

Beautiful as the shoreline is, I turn in toward the middle of the thumb.

I can't say this was a splendid walk. Initially quiet, it then picked up a busier stretch of road. There was still a walking section for the likes of me, but honestly I preferred the quieter back roads of the other two days. Why the green broken line on the map? Meaning wherein was the attraction? I do not know.

Still, there were highlights. I saw some of Brittany's cropland. This is the land of cabbage, cauliflower and artichokes. Here we go!

What, you see clouds? Can't be much. They say rain in the afternoon. It's not anywhere near that... 

 

 

After a while I decided I was close enough to the port of Perros-Guirec that I should try yesterday's bakery once again. Just as I turned toward the shore, in the middle of nowhere (so -- no shelter), that rain cloud spread over us and dumped a whole load of rain. Of course, I hadn't bothered with the umbrella. The rain was supposed to come down later. Ah well...

(Finally, an overhang!)

(By the time I finished my walk, I'd dried out again.)

 

 

 

A reward awaits me at the bakery! 

 

 

They do still have the Kouign Amann.

(Not surprised that these guys favor hoodies...)

What's with me and this pastry, you may ask. Well, I actually would have liked to have tried other Breton cakes as well (there are so many!), but this one is the most common here. It's supremely rich (Kouign is Breton for cake and Amann -- butter). And sweet, so basically bad for you at every level. Nonetheless, it is deeply satisfying. Like a Breton version of chicken noodle soup for the soul. I rarely eat it back home, but here, of course I'm going to look for it!

And I'm thinking -- why don't I walk back past Le Vieux Fournil bakery and pick up theirs as well? I could compare!

Up to centre ville I go!

That plan is a bust. Le Vieux Feurnil bakers decided to close early for the day.

The French shops often do this: sorry to close, be back soon! (or not so soon). No matter. I have my pastry. And I have a chance to revisit this central spot in Perros-Guirec. It's where I began my explorations here. Right at this cafe, which so clearly is a preferred gathering spot for locals.

 

 

 

I consider lingering once again, but I'm itching to get back and stretch out. One last glance...

 

 

... and I turn toward the hotel.

The rest of the afternoon goes by too quickly. I must read, write, rest, steam myself up at the sauna, swim (there's a small pool), pack, I must take in Brittany, take in France. Who knows when I will be back. (That is of course my ridiculous approach to anything. Whatever happened to living for the moment!)

Dinner? At Le Belouga. Meaning at the hotel. I can do their regular menu tonight, concentrating on anything that belongs to Bretagne. For instance, "salade Cesar a la faconne Bretonne" -- with scallops and sardines, followed by cod wrapped in seaweed. Could we get more maritime than that?

(kir vin blanc, bread, salted butter, and a view)

 

(what can I say -- I'm in the middle of a thrilling mystery that takes place in Brittany! Who says dining alone is for the birds??)

 

It was a good choice.

And yet, the tug to do one last walk by the sea is strong. And so, of all things, I walk down all those steps once more...

And I take in the crashing waves...

... and the stars above...

 

How peaceful the world can be, for some, in good years... how grateful I am for having had these beautiful days en Bretagne.

with love...

En Bretagne

This, too, is Brittany:

Indeed, a day without rain here seems unfitting. Like a winter without snow back home. It happens, but you feel strange about it.

Last night it rained hard. It was dark of course and I saw nothing, but I could hear it. And I thought -- maybe I'll get lucky and I will be forced to stay in my room come Sunday! I had walked so much on Saturday (25 000 steps -- which is as much as I ever want to walk anymore) that I thought I need a day to not walk. I have learned that when you cross 70, you always need recovery time after anything. Holiday celebrations? Recovery needed! A day of biking, of adventure? Recovery needed! A day full of grandkids? Recovery needed! You get the drift. I'm not especially tired. But your head, your heart, your lungs -- they need to stop running at full speed. This has been my experience again and again when I travel: after the grand Scottish hikes -- I needed downtime. After the endless Stockholm ramble -- ditto. And now, after my Brittany explorations -- I need a day of rain. Thank you, dear weather gods. You read my mind.

Breakfast: I decided that aside from the Far Breton (a prune and custard local specialty), there isn't a sweet cake that I really want here (there is no other pastry specific to Brittany), so I go in the other, salty direction: home cured salmon over dark bread (delicious!) and then back to my beloved seedy/nutty/fruity bread, with lightly salted Brittany butter (they never serve it unsalted, and that's a good thing -- salted butter is their specialty!), and buckwheat honey.

In the matter of honey: I'm tempted to bring some home. I know -- it is a terrible idea! Last time I packed a jar of honey in France, it opened in midair and everything, everything was covered in honey! But still, the buckwheat honey I can get in Madison is too strong. Last time I could hardly finish it. The taste was overwhelming. The one from Brittany is magnificent. Buckwheat here is a crop of great pride. Ask what the regional Breton dish is and everyone will say buckwheat crepes. (Why haven't I had one? Well. you could say the day is young.)

So how to treat this gray morning? First of all, I stay with breakfast for a long time. I listen to the French around me. (All French guests today. Maybe the Brits eat earlier, I dont know.) Yesterday, I am happy to say that I heard and spoke no English at all, with the exception of the one call I got from Ed. I was so happy to feel that level of immersion. It makes me want to redouble my efforts back at the farmhouse  to keep up my French listening/reading. So I listen again at breakfast. And I watch, out of the corner of my eye. It's an art! I used to be more brazen and cast my admiring glance at various tables around me (as the only solo diner in any French restaurant, you have to cast your eyes somewhere!), until one day, some fifteen years ago, at a restaurant somewhere in the deep countryside of the Basque region, a little girl noted to her dad -- papa, that lady is staring at us! That put me in my place. Even a smile didn't help. I've become more discreet.

I do notice here that about 75% of the diners/visitors are around my age. October travel is mostly for the retired. And it's interesting to observe how different are the styles of partnership at this age. A guy at the table next to mine reaches out for the hand of his (presumably) wife. At another table, she is listening to video clips of (presumably) her grandids while he concentrates on his food. Yet another -- he has said not a word since they entered the room. She grumbles through one sentence after another. Breakfast, in general, isn't a time for laughter, but it seems to me that when you're older you are much less likely to chuckle, or even smile during any meal. Do we really save our happy faces just for the grandkids? Are we all consumed by our frailties? Are we too bored with all that we see? Has the excitement morphed into a more level-headed acceptance?

Ed and I are not a whole lot different. We routinely walk, eat, sit together in "quiet mode." I would find it jarring if it were otherwise. He's a great listener (should I want to break out of my comfortable quiet), but for him, thoughts don't usually travel to the cerebral matter that controls the spoken word, unless encouraged by me to do so (meaning I have to ask questions to get him to actually talk). Living alone for so long had made him develop channels of bypass. Sometimes he thinks he told me something, but in fact, if he did, I never heard it! When we do speak, it's often in shorthand. "What'you doing gorgeous" -- means "I love you and I am happy."  When we do discuss stuff we've read (this is our most common topic -- that, and me expressing thoughts about my family), it's for the pleasure of sharing rather than because we look for input from the other.  

In this way, with glances around and ears wide open, I stretch the breakfast moment to a breakfast hour. Or was it even longer?

 

I do have one scheduled event for this afternoon: L'Agapa is a hotel-spa. This designation is increasingly common in seaside or mountainside hotels. Indeed, it's popping up in cities as well. The hotels have figured out that this is an easy source of additional revenue: set up a sauna, maybe a whirlpool, a massage table, hire someone who likes to kneed bodies or tap cream onto faces and you're set! Even the Baume has succumbed: you can buy a massage, done in your room! I'm never tempted. It seems totally unnecessary in Paris, but here? At L'Agapa, they've made  spa treatments a top selling point. As well they might -- with all this rain, you need to give people indoor options. I had booked a massage for Sunday afternoon a long time ago. It seems fitting for a stay that is to be in the moment and calming.

And so here's the plan: Do nothing, go nowhere. 

 

Now let me ask you this: do you live by your own plans and theories? I know some people do. They're principled, programmed, productive. They have it all laid out.  They know what's important to them. Me -- I do too, until something happens to change my mind.

In the end, my day completely did not match that earlier description. Small things toppled big ideas. I recalibrated. 

First of all, there was a pause in the rain. 

 

 

With a promise (100%!) of a resumption in the early afternoon. So maybe I should just do a leisurely stroll now? Not a long one. Just a little movement to taste that salty air?

I am up for it. Or rather down for it, as I must descend these stairs.

If yesterday I turned left along the thumb's edge, today I'll turn right. I dont need to go far. Maybe just up the road a bit to see the views, take in the shore front villas. Look at what's really blooming in the yards of the inhabitants of Perros-Guirec.

There isn't a walking path along the coast here, but the roads are super quiet and there is a good edge for pedestrians. Of which there are few. People out for a jog or a friendly chat. Otherwise -- quiet.

Beautiful ocean view mansions!

Nice views looking back toward "my own" Plage de Trestraou.

And then lo! What's ahead? Another beach -- the Plage de Trestrignel.

This one is much more serene. There's a restaurant bar looking out over the water, but otherwise, there's no commercial activity at all. No sailing school, no shops. Very few people.

And it's beautiful in its simplicity. I do see some "water walkers" (a new sport that I had not ever seen before: don a wetsuit and push yourself against the tides and currents), and a handful of swimmers.

The swimmers? A group of guy friends. They swim with orange bubbles on their backs. Is that to warn boats of their presence? Or a just in case signal -- find me, I'm lost at sea? 

I ask them if the water is cold. Some have wet suits, others do not. They tell me no, absolutely not, but I already knew that by dipping my finger in the seawater. It felt really pleasant! Why am I not swimming? Or walking against tides and currents? The simple answer is that it's too much of a bother. With age, laziness creeps up on you like you wouldn't believe! 

I leave the beach now and keep to the roads along the shore. So long as I've gone this far (and it hasn't rained, though my forecasters tell me it's coming!), I may as well push on toward the port of Perros-Guirec (it's actually called the Port de Plaisance). I know it isn't much to look at, because we drove past it on the way here, but I find the blandness really disarming. There are boats and there are some bars and eateries. Not much else. Nothing that would lure the visitor. Well, except for one thing: it has a good bakery (Boulangerie du Port). My hotel buys the brioche from them. Could I maybe find some of the other Breton pastries there? They close at 2, it's just 1 and my phone tells me (I succumbed to its wise words) it's a 26 minute walk from the Trestrignel beach. I'm on it!

(Passing: the biggest hanging rosemary bush I have ever seen!)

(Passing: fellow pedestrians, going to town)

(Passing: lots of boats)

It's a lovely bakery, run by two guys who seem like they really care about their breads. 

 

Unfortunately, as far as Breton pastries go -- they're sold out, but for some Far Breton (I had it for breakfast!) and a BIG family sized Koiugn Amann. I honestly hesitated on that, but wasting 80% of a fantastic pastry is just a horrible plan, so I picked up a raisin roll instead and asked which of the 3 or 4 creperies in the port they liked best. The answer was immediate: Les Vieux Greements. The yellow one.

And that is how I would up having a most delicious ever buckwheat crepe. I chose one with spinach, egg and goat cheese. It seemed Bretonne. With a mug of their cider. Honestly? Heaven!

And with French to my left, and French to my right..

I had my beautiful moment for the day, right there, by the rather indifferent boat port in Bretagne.

As I left, my phone was practically screaming at me that it's about to rain, so I once again cut through the middle of the thumb to get to my hotel with alacrity. About a half hour walk that way, past simple residential homes.

And only in the last five minutes did it start to rain. Pouring rain, from all sides. I smiled the biggest smile yet! This day felt Bretonne!

Closer to 4, I walked over to the Spa. First, a few minutes in the sauna, then for my scheduled massage. This felt rather luxurious as I had just had a massage a month ago, a short bike ride away from the farmette. But, I'm glad I did it here. French massages have this added benefit that the people who do them really want you to look your best (as opposed to just feel your best). They assess your skin with the concern of a dermatologist. Your face is what you present to the world and they want to make sure you're proud of it. I think at 71, my face has long passed the stage of needing to show off its best, but I participate in this ritual because it reminds me that however you feel about your appearance (for example -- indifferent), others will only treat you with care if you treat yourself with care. Without overdoing it, you can take small steps that allow you to say to yourself -- I like being older! (Which I do. Most of the time. When my Stockholm knee leaves me alone, for example.)

The massage and facial were excellent. I feel relaxed. And I'm thinking maybe I was so terribly wound up coming here, that it took more than one day to spring loose from all that had been spinning inside me this past month? Maybe it wasn't the long walk that left me feeling my age. Maybe it was the month of September (and August thrown in for good measure).  Maybe I am just now able to... relax.

I eat dinner at the hotel. This was planned. My room comes with a "one dinner" coupon. It's the perfect day for it. I can do fancy food, especially after a massage!

Did I love it? Well, I loved eating in place. And the food was well prepared. My "voucher" was for the tasting menu though and I can confidently say that not one of the courses would have been my choice had I been allowed to pick from the a la carte. Not eggs mimosa, not raviolis a la truffe d'ete, not the lamb. Nonetheless, all were good and I had a chance to see some of my breakfast compatriots in their evening demeanor. Equally serious, though I suppose the more formal atmosphere called for that.

A picture of one of the dishes (the raviolis, which were in fact quite good, but far removed from Breton cuisine):

And a note on yesterday's restaurant closure. Madame did write me tonight apologizing. They had a gas leak. Glad they had the sense to keep me out!

Good night, Brittany. I'm feeling your special vibe.

with love....