People travel for different reasons, for us it’s all about curiosity on the small scale. The details of how others live, where they live, how they eat. We are long term Francophiles and have traveled there often. It is a big country and the regional differences are striking and fascinating. This 32 day maxi-venture in Rocinante presented us with an unrivaled opportunity to see the country in a new way. No route plans, no itinerary and lots of time to poke about in the detail. In particular have a fully equipped kitchen on-board allowed me to explore my passion for French regional cuisines. Markets and supermarkets are a constant source of delight for me and B often joshed me about suffering what we called ‘kitchenitis’ when we stayed in hotels.
No kitchen longings this time. We got off the ferry in Cherbourg with our fridge empty. Our first stop was a little town famous for the making and selling of copper pots – Villedieu les Poéles. We’d had a lovely sauté pan from there many years ago but that was destroyed by a wire wool wielding pot washer in our restaurant. So we returned and left with a splendid new pan. We then found a supermarket and stocked up on goodies for that nights supper. Veal was the main event.
We were heading for the north coast of Brittany and a site from the CC Camping Card book we’d invested 15€ in. This gives discounts at listed sights in the off season. Off season runs to around the 7th to 10th of July. We were aiming for the little resort town of Le Val-Andre on the Baie de Saint Brieuc on the North Brittany coast. This proved to be a longer drive than anticipated and we didn’t arrive at the site until 18.10. Our very first camp-site proved to be a vexing and discouraging problem. The entrance was closed by barriers, the office was shut and the contact number was a message. Our email booking had not warned us of their strict ‘closed at 18.00’ policy. We were saved by the Garmin sat-nav which pointed us to another site near by at Pleneuf Val- Andre. This little family run site was not in the book but was open, friendly and welcoming. Unlike Stalagluft 61 atop the hill in Le Val-Andre.
By the time we got set up I was hot, bothered, a little flustered, and I made a real hash of dinner. The veal might have been edible had I remembered the electric grill we carried, but I fried it and it came out like boot-soles! Dinner was a disaster. We opened a bottle of wine, had showers and collapsed in our very comfortable loungers under the gazebo that B had struggled to put up, as I cursed over a hot pan.
After a few glasses and B telling me to: “Shut up and give over with ranting and apologies.”
The area and the site were so nice we lingered longer than intended and explored the area. The resort had been full of acres of short-short exposed thighs and assorted flesh when we’d arrived in scorching sun. Next day it was overcast and the sun worshipers had vanished to be replaced by real people and a nice little market in the town center. I do love a French market. B bought a cheap woven bag and I bought nothing but looked at all the fish and offal. My previous night’s disaster had kerbed my enthusiasm for the pans. That night we ate out.
So we settled into our routines and tweaked Rocinante to increase comfort. By the third day my anxiety had receded and our initial slightly tetchy stress had subsided. We knew we were going to have a wonderful adventure.