Campsite consternation; the genius of Aires; Breton Whisky; and on to the Pink Granite coast! Days 6-8

We may only be on our sixth day but, as we left the Cap d’Erquy under a leaden sky heading further west, we just knew we had to stop at the nearest Super U supermarket for more of these…

 

 

our new favourite French crisps – with lashings of what else of course, but Breton butter! We’ve never seen this flavour before and we’re still not sure whether they are a national treat or local to Breizh, but oh my goodness, what a heavenly crisp they are![1] We have fallen into the habit whilst driving on our adventures of having ‘journey crisps’ for days we spend largely on the road. France always comes out tops, and now, the bar has been raised yet again. In fact, it will be interesting to see whether any other flavours make it to the cab on this trip!

 

As we drove on west towards the Côte de Granit Rose, munching away on our chips, we decided to aim for a free Aire at Tréguier, with an eye to exploring up the coast and then moving on to a campsite right on a narrow spit of land surrounded by oyster beds near Plougrescant. The area looked amazing and (as with our trip to Scotland), was courtesy of a recommendation from one of Mrs B’s friends, Lindsay.

 

But first, to our stop over in Tréguier. It’s a port town located on the river of the same name and capital of the Trégor province, which, apart from the free Aire, promised one of those fabulous provincial markets the next morning before we headed off to the coast. We arrived in the rain towards the end of the afternoon, pulling into a lovely riverside parking area with free facilities for campervans and a short walk up the hill to the old town.

 

 

Once a bustling port (a hub for shipping potatoes amongst other things) it’s now a cosy ville touristique with a very helpful Office de Tourisme on the harbourside.

 

 

 

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We’d seen adverts for Breton whisky already, and in the tourist office we managed to pick up information about a couple of distilleries that were close enough to Tréguier to warrant a visit. After our accidental discovery of a lush Welsh single malt (Penderyn) when we were exploring Tintern Abbey earlier this year, which opened our eyes and taste buds to the idea of a wider Gallic history of single malts than we had been aware of, we’d said we’d keep an eye out for others – not realising that we’d find some in France!

 

The next morning saw a let-up in the rain, so we headed off early to the market where we’d promised ourselves more luscious Breton pastries with our coffees. Previous experiences with French markets saw us heading up the hill at a good pace, in order not to miss out on anything. But as we arrived in the square, we initially wondered whether we had got the wrong day, with only a handful of traders set up around the perimeter. The pictures we’d seen of a bustling market that spilled out of the square and down the street to the port, clearly only happened in season – and we were definitely out of season! We made a beeline for the seafood stalls that lined the semi-covered end of one side of the square, keen to see the shellfish that this area is famous for and marvelled at the huge variety on offer. Window shopping only this time though, as we were hoping to sample the local seafood in a restaurant or bar for lunch. After the obligatory coffee, another Kouign Amann and a slice of Pommé, another Breton delight in the form of a buttery apple pastry (yum!) we wandered back around the market, by which time, almost all the shellfish had been sold. A seafood lunch was off the menu as most restaurants seemed to be closed out of season, so we decided to head back to Evie for a stroll along the riverside…

 

 

and then drive up the coast to a Municipal campsite that was still open, according to ACSI…

 

Located on a tiny spit of land (Beg ar Vilin) not far from Plougrescant, the location looked like it would be stunning, with the sea on three sides of the site – some compensation for the return of dull weather. But, as we rounded the corner and the site’s flags were flapping in the breeze, we spotted a sign on the firmly closed gate… fermé pour congés. We may not have known then what ‘congés’ were (holidays), but we were left in no doubt that we weren’t going to be stopping here! And as this was the only campsite for some distance, we decided to bring forward our trip to the whisky distillery and then head back to the free Aire at Tréguier to re-plan! French Aires have always been a fave with us, and yet again we were saved by a generous bit of municipal planning and campervan friendly attitudes!

 

Mirroring almost exactly the location of our vexingly closed site, but located one estuary along the coast, the Celtic Whisky Distillerie on the L’armor peninsula delivered an outstanding tasting – with us both opting for the same choice, the Glann Ar Morr. Conveniently, there’s a free Aire just along the road from the distillery…

 

 

but, with the bays too short for Evie and the location back at Tréguier  much more appealing, we headed back, grateful that we had opted only for a ‘splash in the glass’ tasting!

 

Waking the next day to a more promising sky, we headed off for the Granit Rose coast, determined to speak to a person on reception at any campsite we might think was open! As neither of us is that good with French on the phone, our reluctance to use it had clearly not helped with our wasted journey to Plougrescant – a lesson learned, we thought…

 

S&J

(covering 15^th -17^th October)

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[1] We now know they are available all over – including the UK if you look hard enough! And, that Bret’s are a Breton company based in the region and using exclusively Breton spuds! Obvious with hindsight!

Last Tango in Breizh – more fun with butter than you could imagine!

Into Normandie and on to Breizh  Days 1 – 5

 

Ordinarily we would plan to be away in Evie for our autumn trip for anywhere between six and eight weeks. But for a variety of reasons, our time was limited to just three weeks this year – and not starting until the second week of October! So where to go? Deciding that it would be too much of a road trip to whizz down to the Spanish Med for some much needed sun, and recognising that a lot of the French Med would have shut up shop by the time we got there, we narrowed it down to Kernow or Breizh, as we learned to use the names given by native speakers.

And as we’d spent a fabulous week in north Cornwall on a spur-of-the-moment campervan trip in September, we decided to explore Brittany – somewhere we had been before but never to the more dramatic north and western coastline.

 

Arriving in Dieppe in the afternoon, and after deciding that we would swerve the autoroute and instead just explore the Normandy coast towards Mont St Michel and the border with Brittany, we had forgotten just how much the French have come to love their giratoires! Which is how, after slowing down for roundabouts more times than we’d care to remember, we decided to stop near the picturesque town of Pont l’Eveque. Mrs B had found what looked like an interesting Aire just on the outskirts (on Park4Night of course) in a little hamlet called Saint-Julien-sur-Calonne. There were cryptic comments by previous van visitors about ‘not standing by the glass column’ and it was clear that there was no parking between 0800 and 1800 – but we decided to have a look anyway, as darkness had already fallen and there weren’t any other options close by…

 

Arriving in the dark is never ideal, but seeing an empty bit of tarmac next to a tree and picnic bench, all looked good and just like the photos in P4N. But as we were manoeuvering back and forth to get Evie level without needing ramps, we spotted a hand made sign, warning of fines if we stayed beyond 0800. The ‘glass column’ turned out to be one of those undergound recycling bins that are lifted out by trucks – which would need to park right where we were! Without any info on which day the recycling truck was due, and by now too tired to move on, we reconciled ourselves to an early start the next day… which turned out to be very easy indeed, as the nearby church bells kicked off at 0700 and kept going for a good five minutes without let up!

 

So, by 0730 (after a very early fog-bound drive by Mr B whilst Mrs B snoozed in bed) we found ourselves outside a rather unusual example of rural religious practice; a small park area on a hillside, beautifully kept with flowers and numerous shrines to a variety of local saints where people could come to contemplate. This was another P4N suggestion but for day parking only. Breakfasting as the sun rose and watching as the early morning mist melted away, we enjoyed the peace of this unique and special spot.

 

 

Reflecting on how little distance we had travelled from Dieppe, and resolving to use the autoroute next time, it was a short hop before we reached the start of the free A84 at Caen, which would take us on to the free Breton ‘autoroute’ network that radiates out from Rennes. (The inverted commas here are because the Breton roads are dual carriageways, rather than dual carriage motorways, but at the speeds we drive in Evie, they are essentially interchangeable!)

 

We hadn’t yet decided the specifics of where we were heading in Breizh, but wanted to explore the culture, food and drink as much as possible. With a limited number of campsites open this time of year, Mrs B suggested we stop just west of Dinard at a small village called Pléboulle to use as a base for some exploring of this section of the Breton coast.

 

Camping Frêche à l’Ane is a small ACSI listed site set on a hillside with terraced pitches, where we decided to stay for three or four nights so we could explore this part of the Côtes d’Armor region – all of it new to us.

 

 

With a lovely, large pitch at the bottom of the hillside, we were bemused by some of the negative comments by ACSI visitors about the short walk back up to the impeccably clean sanitaires and really helpful reception staff with loads of useful information about the area. With time to explore the small village before dark, and after ordering, of course, bread and pastries for the following morning, we wandered into Pléboulle. Whilst we expected the usual neat and tidy appearance/high level of municipal pride in the village, we definitely weren’t prepared to stumble across two large brown 4x4s, engines running and with well-armed soldiers, all with face masks! Mr B guessed from the number plates that they might be Land Army soldiers, but he quickly surmised that the matt brown paintjob on the vehicles and the masks meant they were possibly an elite unit on some hush-hush task. But after a bit of Googling, it seems more likely they were just a reconnaissance unit on exercises, with the ‘special’ brown paint job now the standard for French Army vehicles! Suffice it to say that it still made Mr B’s afternoon, although he was heard muttering that he would miss the old (and to his eyes at least, exotic) camo paint.

 

The next morning brought dull weather, but it was more than compensated for by the pastries we had ordered, which were so delicious they even merited a photo! What we didn’t realise at the time, was that this was just the first of many, many forays into the culinary delights of Breton butter and its judicious use across pretty much the whole range of Breizh food we would encounter – yum!

 

 

After enjoying the pastries, we decided we’d better get some walking in and set off to explore the nearby Cap Fréhel coastline and the beguiling Fort la Latte/ La Roche-Goyon.

 

 

Originally built in the 14^th century, the castle is much restored, now privately owned and has been used for a variety of purposes that includes festivals, film making and music videos. We loved the room set aside to cover its history with the film industry…

 

 

and the walking along a (very!) small section of the GR34 – the 1700km coastal walk around the Breton coast…

 

 

With time before dark to take a circular route back to the campsite, we drove on to another stretch of the coast at Sables d’Or les Pins, for more walking along the beach and estuary – a complete contrast to the rugged and rocky coastline at la Latte.

 

 

The next day saw us heading off to the mediaeval walled town of Dinan, where we planned to try for a typical Breizh lunch. Parking up in the town’s free Aire, we enjoyed the steep walk up into the old town…

 

 

 

With some of the old centre dating back to the 13^th century and most of its walls intact, Dinan scores high on the wow scale, although Mr B’s quest to walk the ramparts (as he was sure we could) was thwarted by large sections under repair! We both love an old town to wander around, but the highlight was undoubtedly lunch, and although a galette Breton is hardly a novel choice, we loved our sarrasin/ blé noir (buckwheat) pancake with its unusual topping of chicken and mushrooms in a red wine sauce, topped with a scoop of fig sorbet!

 

 

Craving something sweet to follow lunch, we had our first entirely chance encounter with what would become a recurring theme on this trip – buttery heaven in the form of our first Kouign Amann; a heavenly combo of flour, butter and sugar, caramelised to perfection, and Far Breton; a flan style egg custard with prunes. Both absolutely delicious (so much so we forgot to take pics!) we were left in no doubt that our plan to have a gastronomic adventure had well and truly kicked off – but we’d better be mindful if we still wanted to fit into the clothes we’d brought by the end of the trip! (If you visit, it was the amusingly named (but helpful with pronunciation) Steve McKouign patisserie!)

 

No doubt informed by our indulgence the day before, the next day saw us plan a proper hike out on the Cap d’Erquy, a little further west and another chance to sample a section of the GR34. Making full use of the info we had gathered at the campsite, we opted for a circular walk, the Sentier des plages sauvage.

 

Using P4N we were able to find a campervan friendly car park that was right on our circular walk, and after a light lunch in Evie we set off towards the coast, arriving first at a series of stunning ‘lacs bleus’ – former pink granite quarries that are now filled with fresh water, which, combined with the gorgeous smells of the pines and gorse was more reminiscent of Corsica or the Côte d’Azur!

 

 

 

 

The walk along the GR34 was stunning, as we passed a beach with an abandoned boathouse…

 

 

beautiful outcrops along the rugged clifftop…

 

 

the most amazing sandy beach at Plage du Portuais, complete with its naturist section…

 

 

and more views down to more beaches that continued to make us think we were anywhere other than the north western French coast - and it's still La Manche!

 

 

We’d arrived in Pléboulle thinking we’d stay for a couple of nights, but after four, and in spite of there still being much more to see, we decided we’d best move on, as there was so much more to explore and we’d barely started on the northern coast!

 

S&J

(covering 10^th-14^th October)

Heading south: airfields; castles; hill forts; Romans and a rowing club!

  

It was with a mix of frustration and sadness that we headed off the Isle of Skye. Frustrated with the weather which had turned for the worse at the very point we were deciding to stay north, or not; and sad, that we had no time left on Skye – which clearly merits a lot longer than we had been able to give it!

 

In spite of the weather turning dreich after the haar had rolled into Portree, we were optimistic that we might get clear of it as we headed off to explore the coastline of Loch Carron, and in particular the little village of Plockton, again on the recommendation of Mrs B’s friend Lindsay. Famous for its coral beach and tropical palm trees, it seemed too good to be true and quite unlike anything we had seen so far! And better still, Park4Night showed that there was a possible place to overnight a short walk from the coral beach!

 

Following the route outlined on the P4N App, we zigzagged across the headland (noting coaches heading in the other direction…) and eventually found an idyllic parking area adjacent to the tiny Plockton airstrip, with plenty of space to park up and only two other vans there. Idyllic that is, except for the small herd of very tough looking highland cattle roaming freely. Realising that walking to the village of Plockton from the park-up was probably not a good idea, we opted instead to drive to the village to explore, and then return to park up for the night.

 

We knew there was a car park in the village where campervans could park up (P4N again) but no overnighting was permitted. Joining a few other campervans, we parked up and headed off to explore. And although the tide was out…

 

 

and the clouds were gathering…

 

 

we did get to see a good example of the iconic red corrugated iron roofs that are pretty popular in the Highlands…

 

 

as well as the small micro brewery, an interesting restaurant (closed), opportunities for boat trips, and a decent pub, before returning to Evie for a cuppa. As we wandered back we muttered, perhaps for the 100^th time this trip, “if only the sun…” a refrain which we imagined we were not alone in uttering with the changeable weather! Because Plockton really is a beautiful location!

 

We were greeted by our neighbours as we returned to the van, both looking like they were clearly stopping over for the night, in spite of the large sign at the entrance to the car park prohibiting it. Of course we may have been wrong, but they wouldn’t be the first campervans ignoring signage stating that only daytime parking was permissible, and it was easy to see why locals all over the Highlands are losing patience with camper-vanners generally. OK the infrastructure may not match the demand for the huge number of campers on the road, but given the very permissive approach to finding your own spot, it did strike us that matters might be heading towards a meltdown of some description, given the widespread disregard by some van owners, of the views of locals. Such a shame, given the generally friendly nature of the Scottish folk we have met.

 

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Parking back up at the airstrip (and keeping a beady eye on those coos) we decided to take advantage of the fact it wasn’t raining, to go and explore the coral beach; a 15 minute walk through the woods that ranged along the shoreline. Passing just two people heading away from the beach who told us we had perfect timing, as we’d have it to ourselves, even under the dull cloud cover, it was a very magical experience. If only…

 

 

Reality check – it’s not actually coral, but a type of hard coralline seaweed called ‘maërl’ that gets crushed with wave action then dried and bleached by the sun. Oh well, very impressive none-the-less!

 

Wishing we had better weather for a swim – or even a paddle, we made it back to Evie just as the rain arrived! As did the midges inside Evie – our first (and only) encounter with the little blighters. Battening down the hatches and deciding against the use of the anti-midge ‘Bother-me-not’ candle from Sally at Ardnamurchan, or a Spanish wafty stick thing that worked with mosquitoes, Mr B opted instead for hand-to-hand mortal combat, eventually wrestling them to an early grave (as described by Mr B) or, perhaps they were just squidged with kitchen paper (Mrs B’s words).

 

Waking the next morning bite free (a miracle, given the numbers that had found their way inside) we plotted a route south via Glencoe and Rannoch Moor (thanks Paul and Sue) to take in the majesty and scale of the scenery (via Fort William of course). But first, we had our second chance at one of Scotland’s most photographed castles, Eilean Donan on the shores of Loch Alsh. Ethereal was the best description we could come up with, as the rain lashed across the loch and the completely rammed carpark, sporting the by now familiar ‘Full’ signs …

 

 

And the weather hadn’t much improved as we traversed the stunning landscape of Glencoe and Rannoch…

 

 

If only…

 

Stopping only for tea at a community woodland in Dalrigh near Tyndrum, (which would have made a great stopover for the night had we arrived later and been more tired), we set off down the western shore of Loch Lomond, heading back into a part of Scotland we had explored last March. Except then, we had swerved the challenge of heavy traffic on an A road (A82), perhaps better described as a series of slow straight stretches, punctuated with some very narrow wiggly sections, and a sprinkling of sharp bends, usually accompanied by fast-moving logging trucks heading at us on our side of the road… Luckily, Mrs B was driving, and her driving skills no doubt kept us alive and well to tell the tale!

 

Ready for a rest, not to mention a stiff drink, we swerved one P4N suggestion that would have found us in splendid isolation back up the hillside of the loch – but right under a telecoms mast disguised as a giant telegraph pole! And then Mrs B found a likely spot right under the cliff-side of Dumbarton Castle, west of Glasgow.

 

We hadn’t had an urban sleepover for a while, and although it looked ideal (right on the Clyde and very quiet) it felt very odd to be so obviously back in a large town!

 

 

And it started to feel even odder as car, after car, after car started to pull up alongside us, in front, and all over the adjacent verges, with all the occupants heading in the same direction…

It was the black, white and gold scarves worn by many folk though that gave the game away – we were just up the road from Dumbarton FC’s football ground! And sure enough, within half an hour of the final whistle being blown, we were back on our own!

 

With a quick walk after a good night’s sleep to admire the Clyde, the castle, and the weather…

 

 

we refuelled and headed off to the nearby motorway south to England!

 

After a short hop along the M8, skirting the city of Glasgow, we joined the M74 and realised that, (oh yes!) we would very probably hit the Tebay services across the English border in time for another fantastic pie-fest! And we did indeed, discovering that it’s not just us that think these pies are a bit special!

 

With the sun starting to peep through the clouds, we soon arrived at our hopping-off point for the A49 (just off the M56 at Lower Stretton), having decided that the A49 is definitely our new way around Birmingham! With the sun clearly in hat-on mood, we decided to stop off just north of Shrewsbury at the iron-age hill fort site of Ebury. It’s a lovely no-frills site (no showers or toilets for vanners) and, bathed in sunlight we spent a much-deserved warm evening with dinner outside – at last!

 

 

Next day saw the return of some dull weather, but it didn’t stop us having a very informative time at Wroxeter Roman city nearby…

 

 

followed by a wet but lovely walk around the nearby Attingham Park with Mr B’s brother Nige…

 

 

We headed off after lunch (back on the A49) aiming to get to a small site north of Hereford that we had seen on P4N. But as we pulled in, and the tumbleweed rolled across the prairie, we agreed that if just didn’t feel right, so we headed on to our plan B – the field next to Hereford Rowing Club!

 

We weren’t expecting much, but it turned out so well we stayed an extra night, as the sun had found its hat again, and neither of us knew the nearby city, so worth an explore!

 

It’s a quirky site this one, in that the shower and toilet facilities are shared with the members of the club, which were quite cozy in the men’s…

 

 

but the location and views are fabulous…

 

 

the riverside walking to the nearby Breinton springs and ancient orchard very relaxing …

 

 

and the city itself with its black and white timbered buildings and cathedral, very picturesque…

 

 

We very nearly stayed a third night as the sun was forecast to stay and there is so much to do, but the call of home and the thought of seeing our family again was too strong to resist in the end!

 

The journey home was bathed in sunshine, and as we meandered along our favourite way home from the west, the A272, we reflected on what an amazing, if short trip we’d had! Even the variable weather didn’t dent our enthusiasm to return to Scotland – but we’d definitely swerve the very touristy bits – or go in the winter when tourist numbers are low – and the midges are all asleep!

 

(A note on cuckoos. In most of our UK campervan travels the bird we most frequently hear first and last thing is the wood pigeon. But not in Scotland. Oh no, almost without fail and particularly in our time on the Highlands, it was the cuckoo! We have never in all our years heard so many – amazing!)

 

So thanks Scotland – and all the people that contributed to our travel itinerary – we have a sneaking suspicion we’ll be seeing more of you next year!

 

S&J 06.06.24