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From Pontivy to the Coast of Vannes




"We take the bye-ways not the highways"
 
Pontivy to the Coast of Vannes

Yay! All duties and medical appointments, except for a checkup in a few days time, done and dusted. Finally time for us to become people again, to begin to enjoy each other's company again ... and to train the dog!

Driving for only a few kilometres a day is our plan. A hop and a skip down the road from Pontivy, next to a lovely spot at the canal-side in Gueltas, amongst cool trees and with a view to an old long boat moored on the opposite bank,is where we spent our fourth night.

 


 
St Gueltas
 
This is likely to be a heavily image-rich blog post, hence the image collages.
Feeling the need to just chill the stress of the house move out of our bones, and to sit and read for a day, we moved ourselves to the more formal aire at the sports ground in Gueltas, so we could service Milly's tanks, and spend another peaceful night.

Our hopes for staying there two nights were dashed by hordes of little eight-year-old fellas coming to play football on the sports field, and rushing around us playing cops and robbers while they waited to kick ball. That was fine except for the fact that Bridie wanted to play too and our peace was smashed into smithereens by her excited barking. We decided to move.

No problem. Just a kilometre or two down the road was one of my favourite overnight stops at St Samson, a tiny town on the banks of the Nantes to Brest canal. On the opposite bank is a nicely tarred tow path so we're often waving to friendly cyclists and walkers as it's a popular and well-used facility. We stayed an extra day here and I did what I haven't done in years ... spent the day reading a book!

Chill out day was putting it mildly ... I was so chilled I forgot to take photographs so these pics are of St Samson on a previous trip in 2016.




St Samson



On Sunday morning we spent time getting Bridie used to playing with her squished blue football whilst on a long lead. There's a suitably big piece of ground next to the small harbour at St Samson, with the usual French boules pitches, and she can run fairly free. She's a nervous German Shepherd (as most of them are) and folk often don't realise that some dogs are more afraid of people than the other way around - so we do our best to keep her away from too many scary folk and make sure she's on a lead all the time. A 30 foot lead, linked to a couple of normal length leads, gives her quite a ball throwing distance to run around in.

On a Sunday afternoon drive, we followed our noses of curiosity and visited the town of Le Chez, 10 kilometres or so down the road from Rohan. Rohan is the very close neighbour to St Samson.

We parked amongst the motorhomes in the designated parking space but there were way too many folk staying there for our comfort. A walk into the centre of the town confirmed that no restaurants or bars were open, so we decided to simply enjoy the views along the riverside and head back to Rohan.
 


 
As you can see from the images below, Spring hadn't quite arrived and the days were cool and darkish
 
 

Alan has long wanted to try out a certain creperie (pancake restaurant) in Rohan, so we did just that for our evening meal. It was okay but nothing really to write home about and I am sad to admit that I don't remember the main meal at all. Yummy desserts though ... Alan chose chocolate and I chose apple ice cream.

 

Opposite the restaurant, as we were walking along the tow path alongside, we spotted this really ancient building which could well have been standing since medieval times. These are the gems which make travel so worthwhile. Their calm survival through good times and bad is very comforting I find.

 

Ha ha, I'm going backwards in time here. Also before our nondescript meal, we stopped at a roadside cafe to enjoy the late afternoon sun with a beer in our hands. As with every pub in small towns, there is a local who, possibly out of loneliness, befriends everyone who sits there. This pub was no exception and I snapped a sneaky pic of the friendly fella who picked a rosebud from the flower bed to present to me. I have no idea what he was saying to me and he has no idea how his lovely action was balm to my still wounded and tired soul. Here he is, guarding the door to the cafe with the white rosebud lying appreciated next to my ice cold beer. I wonder if he realises he's a healer!

 



This is the day we really started heading south and began to feel freedom blowing through our hair. We could have made it down to the coast in one day, but travel is all about the journey and the stops along the way. About halfway between the home we had just left and the coast of Vannes, we pulled in to the Aire de Pompas, between Meucon and Plescop, for another restful night on the road. This aire really is a roadside picnic spot, enough off the road for privacy from the traffic and with a view out to the rolling countryside.

 

A short and visually interesting journey along some coastal bits, brought us to St Gilda's for a couple of chill-out nights. Potential wild camping spots that we found were not the best, so we checked in to the municipal campsite for a couple of nights and found a parking spot right near the gate to the beach. As the camping season was just beginning, there was loads of space for us to relax in.


 

Our two days were filled with beach walks, one of the best sunsets I've ever witnessed, hours of reading and more hours of not having to think about anything in particular. The most valuable rest we've had in years!

Bridie was a scream on her first visit to the beach. The Atlantic was literally lapping on the shore pretending to be a lake, with "waves" no more than an inch or two high by the time they reached the sandy bits. This being Bridie's beach maiden run, and herself being a typical take-no-chances German Shepherd, she jumped about six foot high each time a ripple-wave broke against the beach. Finally I was able to encourage her to follow me out until the water touched her tummy, but she was not a happy girl until she was safely back at Alan's side on the sand.

 


"Uh uh. Can't go in there. I'll drown!"



"I'm off. Not for me thanks."

Her first-time experience didn't end there though. We sat away from the water on dry sand just to soak up the atmosphere and the sounds ... and she discovered that her passion for digging had free reign. She was digging frantically, getting about six or eight inches down before moving on to a fresh patch from which to fling sand at us. Every now and then she'd look up at me with a frantic look in her eyes as if to say: "I can't cope Mum! There is so much digging to be done here how am I going to do it all!" Those memories are even more precious to me than the breath-taking sunset that evening.

I'll end here, before our trip took us back up north for a few days again, with some of the many, many photographs I took at St Gilda's. Here are our moments, in no particular order ...




Just one shot of the many I took of That Sunset




Don't miss the moon!




The frantic digger




A few pics now of the beach walk and coastline
















And back up north we headed ....
 
Find Lynda's Art Site -  https://paintingsonimpulse.blogspot.fr/


 
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