Continuing a dear dead flies tradition, the computer ate this post the first time I wrote it.
So I wrote it again, because I know that the computer likes seconds.
Ah yes, the little squares of Rennes, teeming with life, booming and echoing with thousands of chatting denizens who should actually have been hard at work in plastic-and-steel cubicles, improving France’s disappointing first-quarter GDP figures.
After Rennes came the first true highlight of the trip: Le Mont St. Michel; the approach was designed for maximum effect, with the majestically towering fortress throning over the landscape from miles away… the parking lot gets flooded every high tide, so we kept our cars under surveillance from the many small windows of the monastery. Interesting note: the very top of the Church was finished in the 20th century and added via helicopter.
On the way to another highlight, another highlight: the forest in Huelgoat, alias the devil’s bowling alley. We climbed down into the caves below, where light is thrown in thin beams into the musky darkness.
Then, finally, the cliffs of Crozon, our final destination… the view below…
Tamas testing his life insurance.
Who knew France had these treasures, other than the Guide Michelin?
On the way back, we stopped in several picturesque towns, above the Roman/early Gothic Pleyben, home of the Pleyben cookies.
the obligatory beach picture, keeping in tradition. Above: Tamas running from seaweedman. (Seaweedman not pictured) A flower, courtesy of Katrin, which sprang about at an evening BBQ session at a backpacker’s hostel somewhere in Bretagne.
And then: just us, and the sea.