Plage d'Aber and a drive up towards Brest

After leaving Pont Croix where we visited the Lavoir (laundry pool) we headed up towards the general area of Brest, enjoying people, boats and cows along the way.

Here's the route we were following

One of the other beautiful spots we stopped at, probably at lunch time, was the Chapelle Sainte Marie du Menez-Hom at Plomodiern. (See map)

I always try to photograph whatever text is displayed to explain the history and character of places like these, so here it is - and I love the part where the builders get forgiveness credit to get them out of hell earlier.

Above and below is a selection of the photographs

I took in the Chapel. Stunning place.

And finally we reached Plage d'Aber (which is not far from Crozon) where we spent a week high above the bay with a stunning view of sunrises and sunsets with all the life that happens in between.

And here follows the pictorial story of the lonely fisherman

who didn't know when to stop talking ....

He spots his prey from far away.

Two innocent folk, just mussel digging ...

Bonjour! he cries and they respond

So happy to find a fellow digger ...

He tries to tell them of better pickings

Where he found his bagful today ...

But he talks too long

and they start to lose interest ...

Until, alas, he's alone again.

Poor fella.

Above and below are some of the

stunning views we enjoyed for a lazy week.

War-time bunker on the hill.

Too many of these sad-memory-ridden structures

in this area

Craggy island which you can walk to at low tide

This was almost hide tide

Low(ish) tide for walking out to the island

One of the views from our perch on the hill ... the back view

The back of Milly showing you what a stunning pitch we had.

I so enjoyed this crab fisherman. Well, he was probably very well equipped to be catching a lot more than crabs. With a choice of three nets, at least two containers to take his catch home in, and another important-looking bag slung over his right shoulder, to complement his sturdy shoes (maybe wellies) and waterproof dungarees, he was set for hours of fun. I think that beard had something to do with his strong sense of character too ... and I bet if I had got close enough, those eyes would be twinkling with anticipation. I didn't spot him coming home from his fishing adventure, but I'm sure he got fine pickings. As you can see, he had timed it for the tide to be well out.

This photograph inspired a little oil painting which is now in Gallery 1608 in Bushmills.

My favourite crab fisherman wasn't the only one thoroughly enjoying fishing in this bay. I spent hours watching people - as you do - and photographing them telling their fishy stories. There was even a photographer taking advantage of the lovely weather over the bay.

 We enjoyed our own walks along the beach, loving the fact it was so large we could let Bridie off her lead for a good run and a paddle every now and then. And there has to be an image here of our beautiful girl, all sandy from snuffling for critters ...

I'm a huge rock fan ... and I don't mean the music either ... although I love that too. I have solemnly promised Alan never to collect another rock because I have so many at home in our little garden, collected from South Africa, Namibia, Ireland and France, we'll soon be living in a rock garden. On this trip I collected rock photographs, especially loving the red rock so special to this area. You'll see it alongside my one and only rock photograph (out of many!) on the collage below. There's also an image of the nasty bunker set into the side of the cliff. I really don't enjoy all the signs of war you find here.

Taking Bridie for her "walk-a-bouts" Alan spotted a laid-out rock sculpture of a dinosaur, but his excitement was short-lived after we decided it was a very modern sculpture indeed! The stones hadn't sunk into the ground even one millimetre.

One day the wind was just right for sail sports. I'm going to guess that these guys (below) were para-surfing. There were quite a few of them, not all in the pic because it's quite a wide bay, and none of them went too far out, prefering to stay where the waves were breaking. By my South African (Durban) standards these are very small breakers but these guys were having great craic altogether.

About mid-week, getting well into the lazy ways of enjoying our spot, we felt a twinge of guilt at not having traveled around more to see the area we were in. We put our "best spot on the hill" in jeopardy and set out for the day, heading towards Brest. Cities are not really our thing, but the getting there and tootling around them is fun.

We took a drive out to the end of the peninsula south of Brest to the lighthouse at Camaret-Sur-Mer. It was a lovely drive but we decided not to stay there as the aire was pretty full of other cars and motorhomes without shade or the view we'd so far been spoilt with. Nevertheless I had an excited South African moment when I spotted what we would call a thatched roof rondavel.

On closer inspection, as we rounded the bend, I discovered it was about two stories high and was a lookout tower. (Above, before I discovered its height!)

Tootling along and going past the picturesque harbour at Roscanvel we spotted this across the road from one of the houses overlooking the water ... basic translation : "Please help yourself. Too many for me."

Of course we weren't going to pass that one up. We parked a little way down the road just out of site in a parking lot at the end of this road ...

... and wandered down, hoping to chat to the kind person who had put those apples out for the taking. Unfortunately she was very involved in chatting to another couple so we just left a business card I had on me, with a Merci beaucoup! written on it.

It was both an interesting and attractive harbour below her house with rather rusted reminders of sailing days and, probably, war days. A few photographs later we wandered, with our bag of four apples, back to Milly the Motorhome, stopping briefly for a lovely, cooling ice cream.

Here's a selection of scenes we enjoyed on that drive, including some wonderful views of this white-sailed yacht.

Finally, after a week of much-needed relaxation and pleasure, we returned home, through Douarnenez, our nearest "big" town, catching this lovely view from across the bay.

To end with I simply have to add a photograph of Bridie, whose nose just happens to be at the exact height of our table in Milly .... and Bridie just loves butter! She can smell it a mile away and that foot-long tongue of hers becomes uncontrollable, lapping at thin air because that darned butter is always just out of her reach!

Next trip was to be England, Wales, Ireland, Northern Ireland and back to England. In winter.

My art website : https://lyndacookson.blogspot.fr

The ePlan : https://onlinepresenceassistant.blogspot.fr

Coast of Vannes up to Rennes and back again

Ignoring our "only a few kilometres a day" habit we made the trip from St Gilda's, on the coast south east of Vannes, back up to Reguiny, a town in our old hunting grounds, in one hit. Our plan was to get the medical check-up over and done with, head on up to Rennes to visit Ikea for a couple of bits 'n bobs, then drive back down to St Gilda's for a real rest. We'd tasted leisure time at last and most definitely wanted more!

Friday 12 May 2017
Reguiny is within spitting and whistling distance of where we used to live which meant we hadn't needed to stay overnight there before, but had had our eye on it for a time like this as it was relatively close to Pontivy Hospital. It's a typical small Breton village boasting a public swimming pool (piscine) and a pleasant lake area where we could replenish our water and empty our tanks.

The weather was cool with soft rain ... perfect for enjoying this view from out of Milly's front door and windows. Bridie was in doggie paradise with all the sniffs she could sniff in this delightful mini forest we parked next to.

We completed a busy appointment-filled day with lunch with good friends, the Tomkins and the O'Neills, at a well-known restaurant called La Hangar in Ploermel, another close-by town. La Hangar is a converted railway warehouse, now a very worthwhile restaurant and household novelty shop with to-die-for huge merengues, biscuits and nougat to tempt even the strongest will power.

For our overnight stop we headed east towards Rennes where Ikea is, and stopped at the Tregu Aire near to Pleland le Grande, for the night. Lovely, peaceful and next to a lake of course!

Above and below is Tregu Aire near Pleland Le Grande

13 May 2017, Saturday
I could hardly believe that my youngest, Gary, turned 35 years old on this day! Oh wow. Only way to celebrate is to go to Ikea and buy things. LOL. He's living in Cape Town, and is the GM of a well known and well established restaurant there called The Wild Fig ... anyone been there? I haven't seen him for close on five years ... that is heart-breakingly long. Sniff.

Rennes (Ikea) was our turning point on this leg of our journey and we headed south again, stopping off for a rather eventful night in Plumeliau. When we got there, the town itself was closed off, seemingly for a celebration or fete of some kind. We were able to navigate around the town and find the motorhome aire - at the side of a lake - and settle down for a bit of a Milly houseclean and a Bridie training session.

The evening and night was peaceful until 3am when we were loudly awakened by someone literally thumping heavily on our door and yelling something French at the top of his voice. Even Bridie was too shocked to bark. Alan's first reaction was the best ... he sat bolt upright and yelled something very loudly. I can't remember what he yelled ... I think it was Voetsak! (Ha Ha Ha ... a very South African / Afrikaans expression for a strong version of Go Away!) with an expletive or two. He has one of the most powerful male voices I have come across, when he wants to use it, so it was extremely effective.

On investigation, whoever it was, brave person, had run off by the time we put the outside light on and peered out the windows. Later that morning when we emerged from Milly after breakfast, we found that the thumping-door gentleman had pulled our windscreen wipers away from the windscreen, and they were sticking out like feelers, but luckily not broken and no other damage anywhere.

In South Africa we call the mischievous game of knocking on someone's front door and then running away and hiding, Tok Tokkie. I'm too much of a scaredy cat to have done it myself. The only invasion of a stranger's territory I've ever dabbled in, at the age of about four, and encouraged by my fun-loving grandfather, was dialling random numbers on the big black telephone to see if it would ring. One day a kindly male voice answered my random number dialing and I got such a fright I slammed the phone down and jumped wide-eyed onto my grandfather's lap. He chortled merrily and said "Who was that?" and I replied "Mr Nobody". I never did it again. So brave.

And so on to an Oyster Farm ...