I am a terrible one for nostalgia. I love nothing better than to wallow in lost but happy times, or what Henry Williamson called ‘ancient sunlight’. So if my exploits of the last couple of days seem to have something of a sentimental journey about them, you will understand why and, I trust, be appropriately forgiving.
I stayed last night at Audierne, about five miles from the Pointe du Raz. It is a pleasant fishing village cum holiday resort, tucked just in behind the coastline, around a little estuary. The last time I was here was on the second part of my second honeymoon. As the storm clouds gathered yesterday evening, I cycled into town from the campsite at Kersiny Plage to revisit old haunts and bring happy, sunlit memories back to life. The town didn’t seem to have changed one bit, and, sure enough, there, out by the breakwater, was the Brasserie de Grand Large, where I had downed my first pression as a newly re-married man, on a gloriously sunny eve
ning back in May 2001. My reverie was rather rudely curtailed when I discovered it was shut!
However, the Hotel du Roi Gradlon (the Breton equivalent of King Arthur), where Claire and I had stayed, overlooking Audierne’s long white beach, was very much open, so I had a drink there instead. It is a rather unprepossessing building, but in a glorious situation. A double room with a balcony and fabulous views out to sea will set you back 79 euros, which strikes me as about as decent value for money as you will find in these parts, especially as the food is excellent as well. I can recommend both Audierne and the Roi Gradlon unreservedly – and that’s nothing to do with rose-tinted spectacles!
Today, I drove through relentless and torrential rain to Trevignon, which is a few miles south west of the handsome fishing port of Concarneau. This is another place which holds the happiest of memories. I used to come here with my three children, Joanna, Becky and George, when we holidayed in Brittany back in the 1990s. There is a whale-shaped rock about a hundred yards offshore to which we used to swim out and then dive off – George, aged about six, included! The poor little lad almost drowned getting there, but once he’d made it, he would hu
rl himself time and again into the deep blue water, as if it was the greatest thing in the world.
I stayed last night at Audierne, about five miles from the Pointe du Raz. It is a pleasant fishing village cum holiday resort, tucked just in behind the coastline, around a little estuary. The last time I was here was on the second part of my second honeymoon. As the storm clouds gathered yesterday evening, I cycled into town from the campsite at Kersiny Plage to revisit old haunts and bring happy, sunlit memories back to life. The town didn’t seem to have changed one bit, and, sure enough, there, out by the breakwater, was the Brasserie de Grand Large, where I had downed my first pression as a newly re-married man, on a gloriously sunny eve
ning back in May 2001. My reverie was rather rudely curtailed when I discovered it was shut!However, the Hotel du Roi Gradlon (the Breton equivalent of King Arthur), where Claire and I had stayed, overlooking Audierne’s long white beach, was very much open, so I had a drink there instead. It is a rather unprepossessing building, but in a glorious situation. A double room with a balcony and fabulous views out to sea will set you back 79 euros, which strikes me as about as decent value for money as you will find in these parts, especially as the food is excellent as well. I can recommend both Audierne and the Roi Gradlon unreservedly – and that’s nothing to do with rose-tinted spectacles!
Today, I drove through relentless and torrential rain to Trevignon, which is a few miles south west of the handsome fishing port of Concarneau. This is another place which holds the happiest of memories. I used to come here with my three children, Joanna, Becky and George, when we holidayed in Brittany back in the 1990s. There is a whale-shaped rock about a hundred yards offshore to which we used to swim out and then dive off – George, aged about six, included! The poor little lad almost drowned getting there, but once he’d made it, he would hu
rl himself time and again into the deep blue water, as if it was the greatest thing in the world. Now, you know what you've got to do!!
I was determined to do it again, for old times’ sake, but although the sun had come out by this stage, the overnight storm had left a tempestuous sea in its wake, and whilst I managed to swim out to the rock, I couldn’t clamber onto it. Weather permitting, I’ll try again tomorrow. But it was still good to be back on what is one of my favourite beaches in all the world. It is a perfect crescent, with granite rocks on either side, and the quartz in the white sand makes it sparkle with a million tiny points of light when the sun shines, as it did eventually this afternoon. Happy days!
However, you will be reassured to learn that I have not entirely been neglecting my Celtic duties in all this self-indulgence. Yesterday, en route from Camaret to Audierene, I visited three of the most famous places on the Brittany tourist trail. First stop was at the Menez Hom, which isn’t quite the highest point in Brittany, but probably is the closest thing they’ve got to a sacred mountain, like Croagh Patrick. At just over 1,000 feet, it is a modest eminence and, the French being the lazy beggars they are, they’ve built a road almost to the top. Still, the views back over the Crozon Peninsula and out across the Bay of Douarnenez are stunning, and the weather was clear enough to be able to appreciate them.
Then it was onto Locronan, which is the Breton equivalent of Castle Combe, or Milton Abbas or Clovelly: a model village, all cobbled streets and old stone houses with hanging baskets and window boxes, grouped around a handsome church. Locronan has featured in dozens of films and television programmes including, most implausibly, Roman Polanski’s ‘Tess of the D’Urbervilles’. It doesn’t look remotely like Dorchester, but it’s charming enough.
My final stop was at the Pointe du Raz, supposedly the most westerly point in mainland France, and the Breton equivalent of Land’s End. It is visited by millions of people every year and although the inevitable shopping village is less tacky and much less further away from the cliffs than at Land’s End, it’s not really the place to go to commune with nature at its wildest and most Celtic. Having said that, the views out to sea, across the truly frightening tidal race that gives the headland its name, to the island of Sein in the distance, are well worth the trek and the 6 euros you have to pay to park. I took a picnic, which included a cheese and tomato b
aguette into which I bit rather too energetically, squirting tomato all down my shirt and shorts.
I was determined to do it again, for old times’ sake, but although the sun had come out by this stage, the overnight storm had left a tempestuous sea in its wake, and whilst I managed to swim out to the rock, I couldn’t clamber onto it. Weather permitting, I’ll try again tomorrow. But it was still good to be back on what is one of my favourite beaches in all the world. It is a perfect crescent, with granite rocks on either side, and the quartz in the white sand makes it sparkle with a million tiny points of light when the sun shines, as it did eventually this afternoon. Happy days!
However, you will be reassured to learn that I have not entirely been neglecting my Celtic duties in all this self-indulgence. Yesterday, en route from Camaret to Audierene, I visited three of the most famous places on the Brittany tourist trail. First stop was at the Menez Hom, which isn’t quite the highest point in Brittany, but probably is the closest thing they’ve got to a sacred mountain, like Croagh Patrick. At just over 1,000 feet, it is a modest eminence and, the French being the lazy beggars they are, they’ve built a road almost to the top. Still, the views back over the Crozon Peninsula and out across the Bay of Douarnenez are stunning, and the weather was clear enough to be able to appreciate them.
Then it was onto Locronan, which is the Breton equivalent of Castle Combe, or Milton Abbas or Clovelly: a model village, all cobbled streets and old stone houses with hanging baskets and window boxes, grouped around a handsome church. Locronan has featured in dozens of films and television programmes including, most implausibly, Roman Polanski’s ‘Tess of the D’Urbervilles’. It doesn’t look remotely like Dorchester, but it’s charming enough.
My final stop was at the Pointe du Raz, supposedly the most westerly point in mainland France, and the Breton equivalent of Land’s End. It is visited by millions of people every year and although the inevitable shopping village is less tacky and much less further away from the cliffs than at Land’s End, it’s not really the place to go to commune with nature at its wildest and most Celtic. Having said that, the views out to sea, across the truly frightening tidal race that gives the headland its name, to the island of Sein in the distance, are well worth the trek and the 6 euros you have to pay to park. I took a picnic, which included a cheese and tomato b
aguette into which I bit rather too energetically, squirting tomato all down my shirt and shorts. The Pointe du Raz, with La Vieille in the foreground
This was a pity, because I was enjoying myself, having actually found a sheltered and reasonably secluded spot, over-looking the Baie de Trepasses (so called for the number of drowned corpses that used to wash up there). Beneath the waves here lies Brittany’s Lyonesse: the lost city of Ys, which was drowned when King Gradlon’s wicked daughter opened all the sluice-gates. The Arthur/Gradlon legends are by no means identical, but they do have many common features, including Merlin. They are, of course, two trees from but a single root, and a root, what is more, that was essentially historical, rather than mythical.
No golf so far, but I have discovered some real Breton beer. I haven’t drunk it yet, so will report in due course.
This was a pity, because I was enjoying myself, having actually found a sheltered and reasonably secluded spot, over-looking the Baie de Trepasses (so called for the number of drowned corpses that used to wash up there). Beneath the waves here lies Brittany’s Lyonesse: the lost city of Ys, which was drowned when King Gradlon’s wicked daughter opened all the sluice-gates. The Arthur/Gradlon legends are by no means identical, but they do have many common features, including Merlin. They are, of course, two trees from but a single root, and a root, what is more, that was essentially historical, rather than mythical.
No golf so far, but I have discovered some real Breton beer. I haven’t drunk it yet, so will report in due course.
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