Stubborn - 1. Fixed or set in purpose or opinion
2. Difficult to manage or suppress
Recommended addition: 3. The people of Bretagne (Western France)
People have lived in the region known as Bretagne for over 8,000 years. The first known inhabitants were Druids, of Stonehenge fame. But the primary "genetic" driver of the tightly knit folks of the northeastern four "departments" of France are Celtic in origin. The same Celtics who defeated Rome in 397 B.C., and ranged far and wide across Europe as they made their way west. Defeated by Caesar in 56 B.C., they became, according to one source, the "least Romanized of all Gaul, especially when it came to the use of the Roman language." Five centuries later, Rome withdrew from the region, leaving it to more Celts migrating from England in the face of Anglo-Saxon invaders. Later, through marriage and other high strategies of nation building, it was absorbed into the growing nation of France. But not without the obstinate resistance of the inhabitants. Oh, they are French today, all right. But fully a quarter of them still speak Breton, and all are first and foremost, Bretons.
And the most Breton of them all is mon ami, Yves B. He works with us in Nantes, even has a home and has raised his children here for thirty years. But, almost every weekend, or at least, every opportunity, he goes home to Bretagne, to his home in Concarneau. It is from Yves that I have heard so much about the area, all of its virtues, and none of its faults (it, evidently, has none). Given such a build up, I had to go see for myself. Yves is right. It's pretty special.
I had planned this trip for last weekend, looking forward to meeting Yves on his "home ground," and getting a first-hand tour...not to mention some 16-year-old Single Malt. But, it wasn't to be. When I went down to get Betsy out of her lonely garage I encountered the entire town of Saint Luce sur/Loire buttoned up tight, streets blocked everywhere and a town "market" day or some such crap going on. I couldn't even get parking near Betsy. I had to park over a kilometer away, and, upon going to her garage I found no way to get her out. An attempt to find a policeman and ask how I was to get my property out of their barricaded city was fruitless; proving, as in America, a cop is never around when you need one. So, thoroughly pissed, I changed my plans and put my trip off until this week. The downside of that is Ives in in San Antonio, of all places this weekend, so I'm on my own. Well...Betsy's with me, of course. And when Betsy's with me I have everyone around as companions on my journeys.
I pulled out of Saint Luce about 9:00 A.M., heading northwest out of Nantes on N165. South of Vannes there is the Golfe Du Morbihan. Imagine my surprise when I found one gigantic water hazard and no golf course. The Gulf of Morbihan is natural harbor area with something like forty (40) islands depending upon the tides. The area is widely known for its megalithic monuments, some of the ruins dating to two hundred (200) years before Stonehenge. But, more about that on the return trip. On the way out I stopped by Sarzeau to become familiar with the area, then turned toward Concarneau, Yves' little piece of heaven.
From a rest area on N165.
The picture doesn't show what I went through to get it. There were narrow trails in the rest area leading to a thicket of woods. The only way I could get this picture was to stand on the exposed roots of a large, downed tree. Balance was tenuous at best, and proved doubly so when I tried to turn around to get off. Didn't work, so I have to jump down. It wasn't all that far, but, at my age, one wonders when the ol' bones are gonna snap like twigs. Didn't happen so I rode on.
I pulled into Concarneau about two-thirty. A good cup of café gave me the opportunity to locate a hotel room and relax. There wasn't a lot of choice within Concarneau, most being 10-14 miles away in Quimper, and I became very interested in a hotel across the Baie de Forêt (Forest Bay). Firing up Betsy and the GPS I made my way to the Mona Lisa Hotel on a point in the Bay near Fouesnant. A little negotiation and I was in, unpacked, and on the beach snapping pictures.
The hotel site around the bay from Concarneau
The beach at Cap Coz.
Careful! Old man, with camera, ogling.
After a little while it was time to head over to Concarneau.
The harbor at Concarneau.
The walled fortress of Concarneau.
Adjacent to the fort...lots of boats.
Concarneau is known as a working fishing town. But it doesn't lack for pleasure craft either. And, respecting the price of gas as it compares to wind, lots of sailboats over here. (I know this because old guys know a lot about wind.)
Across from the fortress, on dry land, a very nice square.
On the bridge into the fortress.
Adorning the walls some of the ubiquitous, and beautiful flowers of France.
Once inside though...the usual commercial suspects, though I found many of the stores to be less "usual" than I have found in other places. There were some specialty Bretagne stores offering some neat local product.
Stepped outside at the "Wine Gate." It was built in the 15th century to receive wine from Bordeaux, there being few easily accessed harbors on this coast.
Of course, at any commercial establishment, spelling is less important than real estate.
It is a fishing village. This was taken from the bridge to the walled fortress.
I had eaten very little during the day and was looking forward to a good meal. I found a restaurant offering swordfish steak, one of my favorites, so I determined to grit it out. Why? Well, I'm in France. They wouldn't open until 7:00 P.M. I waited around, stretching a beer at another establishment, and, as was to be expected, was the first customer at the restaurant. But, not the last...it filled up pretty quickly. A nice, relaxing meal later I'm doing something I don't normally do: riding late. But, thanks to a well-lighted GPS and bright moonlight night I made it to the hotel just fine.
The view past the fortress on my exit from the restaurant.
View from the beach behind the hotel.
While I was riding in the night in Carcarneau, my friend Yves was taking the Alamo for Bretagne.
Morning from my hotel window.
(Taken by holding the camera outside my woefully small, narrow window which costs me 19€ more...but it was worth it to hear the waves all night.)
The next morning leaving the hotel I pass by this little harbor that was full of water when I saw it last. It reminds me that if you sail out of here it's very important to know when high tide occurs...but more important to know about the low tide.
On the way back to Nantes I stop at Carnac (is that the source of Johnny Carson's Carnac-the-Great character name?)
As mentioned earlier, this is in the Golfe Du Morbihan region near Vannes, and is the home to many megalithic Druid monuments. According to Wikipedia, they range from Dolmen (single rooms formed by three or four vertical rocks with a flat rock cap), to Pyramids with underground chambers, and Circles (ala Stonehenge), to Menhir, single large, upright stones. At Carnac, they took menhir to the extreme, laying rows of them for up to ten (10) kilometers.
One assumes the archeologists have checked around them for skeletons. They certainly look like headstones to me.
