All thatch around here
St Lyphard church
Punts in the Grande Briere where we had lunch!
Beach and harbour at Quimiac
Picnic sur l'herbe!
Sunday 27th September.
We had decided on a quiet day so only did 27 miles! We rather wanted to see the Marias de Grande Briere which is the second largest wetland in France. So we peddled through very rural villages which suddenly started looking much like Dorset villages, as they were full of thatched houses. Presumably this is due to being surrounded by reed beds. It was very hot and sunny and we came to the edge of the marsh to try to catch a punt to take us in to the middle of the wetlands. Needless to say it was lunchtime so everything had to stop for 2 hours, so we had a lovely picnic on a bridge, and saw a few birds in the reeds. We then had a pressing engagement with the beach, so peddled back to Quimiac again via St Lyphard because it was there and because from miles around you can see it’s pink wooden church spire. We don’t know why they painted it pink and will have to Google it to find out! Quimiac is a lovely Atlantic resort, slightly sophisticated and prosperous looking but being outside the tourist season is very quiet. We spent 2 hours doing absolutely nothing except swimming and sunbathing. Alec spent ages looking at boats in the harbour and estuary wishing he could talk ‘boaty things’ with people who were more interested than me! And speaking of which and we haven’t followed his blog for a couple of days but isn’t Ollie Bond doing well!! Everything is shut up on a Sunday night so we were the only people on the road and in the creperie. We are developing the most curious tans. Stripy feet like zebra as we have centurian style sandals, fairly brown legs up to just above the knee, then lily white until our healthy farmer’s tans on our arms and chests. All topped with faces like owls because of wearing sun glasses.
We had decided on a quiet day so only did 27 miles! We rather wanted to see the Marias de Grande Briere which is the second largest wetland in France. So we peddled through very rural villages which suddenly started looking much like Dorset villages, as they were full of thatched houses. Presumably this is due to being surrounded by reed beds. It was very hot and sunny and we came to the edge of the marsh to try to catch a punt to take us in to the middle of the wetlands. Needless to say it was lunchtime so everything had to stop for 2 hours, so we had a lovely picnic on a bridge, and saw a few birds in the reeds. We then had a pressing engagement with the beach, so peddled back to Quimiac again via St Lyphard because it was there and because from miles around you can see it’s pink wooden church spire. We don’t know why they painted it pink and will have to Google it to find out! Quimiac is a lovely Atlantic resort, slightly sophisticated and prosperous looking but being outside the tourist season is very quiet. We spent 2 hours doing absolutely nothing except swimming and sunbathing. Alec spent ages looking at boats in the harbour and estuary wishing he could talk ‘boaty things’ with people who were more interested than me! And speaking of which and we haven’t followed his blog for a couple of days but isn’t Ollie Bond doing well!! Everything is shut up on a Sunday night so we were the only people on the road and in the creperie. We are developing the most curious tans. Stripy feet like zebra as we have centurian style sandals, fairly brown legs up to just above the knee, then lily white until our healthy farmer’s tans on our arms and chests. All topped with faces like owls because of wearing sun glasses.
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| Alec's short cut. |
Beach at Quimiac
Saltpans and a windmill
Saturday morning mini market
oops!
Saturday 26th September.
After yesterdays grueling achievement traveling 40+ miles due to a logistical error – never trust your B&B host to know anything about what happens locally. Saturday morning we had a slow start visiting the tourist office to collect the next tranche of chambre d’hote maps and cycle routes, bought the next two maps for the Loire Atlantique and Loire inland, visited the ‘must see’ Eglise St Michel – bit disappointing - and looked over the Roche Bernard which was built on the instruction of Richelieu in 1629/34. Outside the hotel there was a small market with a few stalls selling veg, gallettes, honey and not a lot else. Clearly the locals didn’t think much of it as no one else was there either. We discovered last night why we couldn’t stay at a B&B when we went to the restaurant opposite the hotel and found an Irish Hen party in full swing, absolutely no need for conversation; their’s was fascinating and all at the top of their voices. They had all done themselves up a treat for the occasion but the next morning back in the same square they didn’t seem to be so lively. Anyway we wiggled our way out through a hole in the ramparts very similar to ‘fat belly alley’ in Port Isaac which I thought would be a cunning short cut and should save at least 200yds on the road, but by the time we’d been up one alley and down the next and across what was clearly an old sewer ditch with steps maybe it wasn’t so short. Eventually we headed off for Piriac sur Mer. After going through Ferel, Asserac we felt like a swim so dropped down to St Molf, across the salt pans to Mesquer and finally found a long sandy beach which pleased us at Quimiac. It pleased us so much we decided to stay the night there and didn’t bother going in search of anywhere to stay until about 7pm which is when we learned at the third B&B we tried that there was a big wedding going on (which we found later, all the guests were wearing white) and everywhere was most likely to be ‘complet’. Fortunately Vivi wandered into a small restaurant (hungry again in case you think we haven’t thought about food to-day) and madame got swiftly on the phone and before we knew it we were booked in to a place about 2 miles away. Madam here at the B&B has red hair (died scarlet not a ginger) and joked that had she known we were English she might not have offered us a room, fortunately we didn’t understand that so ignored her and it was only later that she told us what she’d said and apologised, I expect it’s something to do with Gordon Brown – actually she’s very sweet and we’ve booked in to stay another night!
Supper – ah at last the serious part of the day was in a wooden shack on the edge of the salt marsh. It’s known as the Cabane a Huitres in the village of Kercabellec and was amazing. Better still were the sacred Ibis who flew in flocks to their roost half a mile away and put on the most spectacular tumbling acrobatic display as they descended into the trees. We were also treated to an amazing firework display put on presumably by the father of the bride who’s wedding had almost left us having to sleep on the beach.
Sunday morning there were six of us around the breakfast table and four of them plus madam had suggestions as to how far up the Loire we should go tomorrow. We had thought Angers was far enough but we were told Tours was a must see and then Blois which is even further so if we make it down to Bordeaux before the first snow shower I’ll be amazed.
After yesterdays grueling achievement traveling 40+ miles due to a logistical error – never trust your B&B host to know anything about what happens locally. Saturday morning we had a slow start visiting the tourist office to collect the next tranche of chambre d’hote maps and cycle routes, bought the next two maps for the Loire Atlantique and Loire inland, visited the ‘must see’ Eglise St Michel – bit disappointing - and looked over the Roche Bernard which was built on the instruction of Richelieu in 1629/34. Outside the hotel there was a small market with a few stalls selling veg, gallettes, honey and not a lot else. Clearly the locals didn’t think much of it as no one else was there either. We discovered last night why we couldn’t stay at a B&B when we went to the restaurant opposite the hotel and found an Irish Hen party in full swing, absolutely no need for conversation; their’s was fascinating and all at the top of their voices. They had all done themselves up a treat for the occasion but the next morning back in the same square they didn’t seem to be so lively. Anyway we wiggled our way out through a hole in the ramparts very similar to ‘fat belly alley’ in Port Isaac which I thought would be a cunning short cut and should save at least 200yds on the road, but by the time we’d been up one alley and down the next and across what was clearly an old sewer ditch with steps maybe it wasn’t so short. Eventually we headed off for Piriac sur Mer. After going through Ferel, Asserac we felt like a swim so dropped down to St Molf, across the salt pans to Mesquer and finally found a long sandy beach which pleased us at Quimiac. It pleased us so much we decided to stay the night there and didn’t bother going in search of anywhere to stay until about 7pm which is when we learned at the third B&B we tried that there was a big wedding going on (which we found later, all the guests were wearing white) and everywhere was most likely to be ‘complet’. Fortunately Vivi wandered into a small restaurant (hungry again in case you think we haven’t thought about food to-day) and madame got swiftly on the phone and before we knew it we were booked in to a place about 2 miles away. Madam here at the B&B has red hair (died scarlet not a ginger) and joked that had she known we were English she might not have offered us a room, fortunately we didn’t understand that so ignored her and it was only later that she told us what she’d said and apologised, I expect it’s something to do with Gordon Brown – actually she’s very sweet and we’ve booked in to stay another night!
Supper – ah at last the serious part of the day was in a wooden shack on the edge of the salt marsh. It’s known as the Cabane a Huitres in the village of Kercabellec and was amazing. Better still were the sacred Ibis who flew in flocks to their roost half a mile away and put on the most spectacular tumbling acrobatic display as they descended into the trees. We were also treated to an amazing firework display put on presumably by the father of the bride who’s wedding had almost left us having to sleep on the beach.
Sunday morning there were six of us around the breakfast table and four of them plus madam had suggestions as to how far up the Loire we should go tomorrow. We had thought Angers was far enough but we were told Tours was a must see and then Blois which is even further so if we make it down to Bordeaux before the first snow shower I’ll be amazed.
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