It would be a shame to miss a potentially new, or different, or spectacular sight….. but there’s too much to see!!!
From Plouegat Guérand, we drove north through Lannion to Trégastel where we got stuck in traffic; please note this is the first time this year that I have had to write those words. There was a Monday market in full swing and the folk who had managed to park their cars were walking faster than we were driving! When we finally reached the Corniche Bretonne we found a car park and set off on foot to the coastal walk, the Sentier des Douaniersa around the Chaos de Ploumanac’h. This is the Côte de Granit Rose and the granite rocks along this stretch of coastline really are a pinky rose colour. It’s a fascinating walk past boulders that are large, round and voluptuous; some of them looked a bit like unfinished Henry Moore sculptures.
Some seem to be balanced precariously, but there are pathways in, around and over them. We walked a fair distance, further than we intended, but it was all so interesting, even the lighthouse was pink, and we wanted to reach Le Guirec for lunchtime. By the time we got there all the eateries seemed to be rather full, so we found our way back through the village to Eileen and nibbled on cheese, olives and crackers before driving a long way east.
We passed Guingamp, St Brieuc, Lamballe and when we finally stopped at Dinan, we wished we could have more time there. Now I know we said we had overdosed on mediaeval surroundings, but it was a little while ago, and it was so wonderful to see that style of beautiful buildings again. Even so late in the afternoon, the town was full of tourists, but then it was a bit of a long weekend; Tuesday being a public holiday.
From Dinan, Rodney was in the mood for getting further east, so we knocked off another 50kms, finally pulling up around 7pm at Camping Haliotis near Pontorson. I had been feeling really drained all day, so I wasn’t overly excited when the girl on reception advised us that as it was National Day the following day, and there would be fireworks tonight. Nicky and David had forewarned us that there are always fireworks on the night preceding ‘Bastille Day’ and that because it doesn’t get dark until at least 10:30pm, they don’t start until 11pm….and that is if they are on time. I was fast asleep by 9:30pm and sleeping so heavily that I do vaguely remember a noisy whiz crackle and bang, but it didn’t really wake me. Thank goodness I wasn’t feeling like this on the night of the fire in Andorra!!!
Driving through Muneville sur Mer, we spotted a baguette dispenser; put your coin in and out comes a French stick! The bakery must have closed down, hence the need for a machine; it seems that all French people must be able to buy at least one fresh baguette per day, every day, by law!
It was a little bit drizzly and I was just thinking about dusting off the raincoats, but the sun kept trying to peak through the solid white sky. We zigzagged our way up to Grandcamp Maisy and then followed the coastline to Pointe du Hoc. On 6 June 1944 an American battalion scaled the 100ft cliffs as part of the Normandy D Day Landings. A memorial centre opens out on to the clifftop and we wandered around various German gun emplacements, bunkers and enormous craters. On the edge of the cliff is a granite memorial to the 225 men who set out that day and the 90 men who did survive.
We continued along the coast to Omaha Beach where we stopped briefly to closely view the startling commemorative sculpture that seems to burst out of the sand.
By now it was mid-afternoon so, thinking that Bayeux would be busy at this time of year, we drove straight to Camping Municipal des Bords de l’Aure. It turned out there was plenty of space, although each pitch parking area was incredibly narrow. Eileen was fine, fitting in just perfectly, but later on we watched a Swedish family shuffling back and forth numerous times trying to fit into theirs. Apart from that, the campsite was good and only 500 metres from the centre of the lovely town of Bayeux, so we unhooked the bikes and cycled in. We bought our tickets to see the Bayeux Tapestry or Tapisserie de la Reine Mathilde and then joined the queue. The complete tapestry is hung upright in a U-shaped, dark tunnel of a room.
A personal audio guide explains each of the 58 panels to you, as you shuffle along and peek through the protective glass. I kept wishing the guide was a bit slower, or you could pause it; I wanted to look at the detail of the handiwork in greater depth. But I guess with hundreds of thousands of visitors every year, they have to keep you moving along. I knew vaguely what we had paid to see, everyone has heard of the Bayeux Tapestry, but the 70-metre length is quite staggering to see, and I’d never realised that it is not a tapestry; it is actually a huge embroidery on linen cloth. It is believed that it was made in 1067 by Saxon embroideries in Kent in England; we always thought it was French. It was commissioned by Odo, the half-brother of Guillaume le Conquérant, aka William the Conqueror, aka William of Normandy, aka William the Bastard! I think I know which title I would prefer if I was him. Odo was the Count of Kent and also the Bishop of Bayeux, (obviously another one who liked numerous titles) and he had the tapestry hung in his newly built Cathedral in Bayeux. It’s incredible that it has survived for nearly a thousand years and is still in such good condition; the eight colours of woollen thread are still quite bright. It is a unique document and piece of art, showing so well the clothing, shields, food, weapons, etc. from that period in history. I really needed more time to look at the stitching, the stylised designs of the trees and mythical animals, to take it all in; so I bought the book and maybe on the long drive tomorrow, I will get to study it in more detail….. on glossy paper.
We’re rather glad that we’ve now seen it up close, because it is one of those things that has fascinated both of us since childhood. The Cathédrale Notre-Dame was also quite remarkable, a perfect mix of Norman and Gothic, with a few later bits too. A couple of hours roaming around Bayeux quickly disappeared before we cycled back to the campsite for dinner and a good night’s sleep.
It was 9:30am by the time we reached the freeway out of Bayeux. We initially turned the wrong way out of the campsite and then went through a petrol station twice; once to enable us to turn around and then a second time because we thought we might as well put some diesel in Eileen. That turned out to be a wasted second circuit as they had run out of diesel, dang. The grey clouds seemed to be stretched above the flat horizon, but the temperature was at least pleasant for the long drive up to Calais. We covered over 300 kilometres and as we crossed the Somme, the grey drizzle started. After just one break for lunch at a rest area, sadly no ‘touristing’ today, Peter Gabriel came on the radio singing “Rain, rain is coming down, rain, rain keeps pouring down all over” etc.………
Nearing Boulogne sur Mer, we were driving through a cloud that was so low we could only see the base of the enormously tall wind turbines beside the road. ‘We seem to have developed a pattern of wet weather whenever we leave or enter a new country’. I wrote that line in July 2014, on our last day in Europe and hey, it still stands. As we drove past Abbeville, Rodney remarked that we hadn’t had a day this ‘orrible during the whole of this year’s tour, and he may be right, we’ve been so very lucky with the weather almost all of the time. After spending €27.30 on péage tolls, we stopped for the rest of the day at Camping l’Escale at Wacquinghen just north of Boulogne sur Mer. It seemed quite nice until I discovered it has a token system for a short shower; I guess I won’t be washing my hair this evening….. While I tapped away on the computer, Rodney concocted dinner from a variety of leftover bits and pieces; it involved rice, vegetables, a tin of tuna, and some soya, honey and ginger and it came out rather tasty.
And then the weather changed again….as it does; we didn’t leave on a rainy day. In fact, when we boarded the ferry from Calais to Dover on Thursday afternoon, the English Channel was a millpond. There was no rocking or rolling, it was such a smooth crossing with barely any sense of movement, though it was under a rather grey, overcast sky. Before boarding the ferry, we had a bit of ‘fun’. There was an enormous queue of trucks and lorries, all standstill, not moving, in the nearside lane. The cars and small vans were all moving fairly freely in the other lane, so we got behind a small van and followed it. We reached a fork where our lane moved across onto the wrong side of the dual carriageway, we assumed as a contra flow to ease the tailback, so we followed the small van onto that section. About halfway along we saw a lot of men running all over the other side of the road surrounding some trucks which couldn’t move. They had managed to get the huge back doors open on one truck, and there I was gesticulating wildly through the window. But we were moving too fast and only fifty-metres up the road, there were quite a few police. Then we had a panic, not about having any illegal immigrants on board, but as we were driving so quickly and not stuck in a queue, had we’d taken the contra flow by mistake and were we now heading into Calais, rather than the port?!!! The traffic going in the opposite direction was running very slowly and for the distance we had travelled, it would take us ages to get back in the queue. Neither of us had seen any signage, so we just resigned ourselves to the fact that we had stuffed up right at the end of our journey. Then suddenly we popped out right by the ferry check in! Wow, were we happy little bunnies?!! The girl at check-in said we were early enough to get the next ferry leaving, rather than wait for the one we were booked on; so we took up the offer and enjoyed the short, smooth cruise across ‘the ditch’. England here we come.
