As it’s actually quite a ways from the southeast of France to the northwest, I flew from Nice to Nantes on a Saturday, where I spent the night. The next morning, I took the train to St. Malo, where I met my fellow cyclists at 2 pm. Having read All the Light We Cannot See, by Anthony Duerr (excellent read!), I had high expectations for this historical, walled city, and I was not disappointed. It is full of charm, with its seemingly-aged stone buildings. Yet it was almost completely destroyed in WWII, by Allied bombers no less. Post-war, it was restored beautifully, almost to its previous look, as evidenced by a poster exhibition that showed photos pre-war and post-restoration. Unless one knows this history, it would be impossible not to think that this town holds the secrets of centuries.
Even though August, it was a typical day in Brittany, overcast, and at times rainy. We twelve were fitted for our bikes and told that an 8-mile ride had been planned for the afternoon. No one batted an eye (including me, feeling in the minority re: my opinion on this), as we all pedalled out of the courtyard into the pouring rain, providing my first clue that I had landed with SERIOUS riders. This realization forced me to review my reasons for joining this tour. Well, I missed bike riding. Check. Also, I wanted to see Brittany. Check. Further, I needed better exercise than I’d been getting. Check. The one thing that I evidently ignored was what would actually be involved in it, as in the daily mileage and elevation gain. What hubris to think that I could handle whatever came my way, no problem!
I had envisioned a group of 12 people coming from different parts of the world, or even just the U.S. What transpired, though, was that nine out of the 12 Americans knew each other, either from work or kinship. So, they pretty much hung together, with an occasional nod to the fact that there were three others of us. It was thus the two retired doctors from Portland, Oregon, and I, who rode and ate our lunches together. The problem was that the one doc, the orthopedic surgeon, was really fast, in spite of his three additional years on me. His wife, a Family Doc, had arranged for an e-bike, so she was right there with him, whatever his speed. I brought up the rear and had a heck of a time keeping up (often I didn’t – I just let them go ahead), especially on hills…and Brittany is not elevation-challenged! Nosiree! The nine sped past us every day, not to be seen again until dinner.
Each day we rode somewhere between 35 and 42 miles, often with as much as 2,000 feet of elevation gain. This would have been decidedly easier had there been the attitude of, “Let’s just enjoy being out here, and take our time. If we get to our destination by 4 or 5 pm, that’s fine!” Ha! Far from it. Each day, it felt like a race to be sure and get to the hotel by 3, at the latest.
By Friday, though, I was getting the hang of it, as I rode 42 miles with 1,500 feet elevation gain without feeling at the end that I needed to collapse! For this weakest rider of the group, it felt like a major victory!
I really liked Brittany; every town we passed through featured well-looked-after stone houses with character. Greenery and flowers abounded. The half-timbered houses (depicted above, in Dinan) were over-the-top delightful. Really, there was nothing not to like! Well, people warned me – there was the weather, quite gloomy and gray for much of the winter. Hmmm…something to consider.
The name of the bike tour was “Bicycling Brittany and Normandy.” Yet, the only Normandy part was the end point, Mont St. Michel, the famous abbey, which we were guided through the day of our departure. It was then I learned why Normandy claims it, and not Brittany. A river bisects the plain leading up to it, and territory to the north is in Normandy, to the south, Brittany. However, Brittany likes to believe the Abbey belongs to it, in spite of the official boundary. No doubt they would like to officially claim it, too, considering the revenues this monument brings in, with thousands of tourists descending upon it each year. I found myself wondering why some clever Breton had not figured out a way to divert the course of the river…
In solidarity with Brittany, I have titled this post accordingly!
At any rate, one more potentially-livable region to consider in my quest for a home base!
I enjoyed watching the building of a sand castle, complete with moat. After taking this shot, I went swimming (68 deg F water, refreshing!). When I came out 20 minutes later, the tide was coming in quickly, already overflowing the moat!
We would ride through fields (the one on the left is cauliflower, on the right is buckwheat), with the occasional stop for fuel (middle)!
This is a galette, which is a buckwheat crepe, an iconic food of Brittany. They can be filled with virtually anything, like a crepe. The cup has in it (hard) cider, an iconic drink of the region. (It was full when it arrived at the table…)
Images from the lovely city of Dinan, where we spent two days
The Couesnon river, providing that all-important boundary, determining the official location of Mont St. Michel.
Taken from the ramparts, and looking down into the water, this is a shadow of the top of Mont St. Michel.
