The Inaccurate Tourist

45. Bretagne

What do you do when you're weary of the easily accessible cathedrals and lack of cliffs in Paris? When you want to start your own Early-Canadian fan club? Or when you have a long weekend and crave butter? You visit Bretagne, of course!

Bretagne is the northwest region of France. In English, I should say Brittany, but I'm going to continue with the French spelling -- mainly because googling for the English spelling continually suggests that I actually want to search for 'Britney'. The inhabitants of the region are Breton, as is the language and the adjective. In the Breton language (the most popular modern Celtic language after Irish, and the only Celtic language still spoken on the continent), the region is Breizh.

The Celts arrived here, well, a long time ago. The Neolithic is the last period of the stone age, when man was polishing and grinding stone tools instead of chipping (the Paleolithic), but before the use of metals (the bronze age). The Celts left their prehistoric mark for modern tourists in the form of megaliths -- giant stone formations that can be categorized as dolmens (giant stones arranged as a tomb), cromlech (formations for religious purposes, of which the most famous non-Breton example is Stonehenge) and menhirs (single, giant stone markers). The size of the menhirs is particularly impressive. Erecting the 200 tonne obelisk in Paris was thought to be an engineering marvel in the nineteenth century. Many of the menhirs are half again as large, and were erected over three thousand years ago.

I didn't visit any prehistoric Bretagne on our trip, but I know how the story continues, thanks to the influence of Asterix and his menhir-toting buddy Obelix. The Celtic people and lands were added to the Roman empire when Julius Ceasar defeated Vercingétorix at Alésia in 57 B.C. France was occupied by the Romans, who introduced their technology, taxes, circuses, and eventually religion. Over the next hundreds of years, the melting between the two cultures produced the Gallo-roman people -- the ancestor of the modern French.

In the fifth and sixth century, there was a massive immigration of Bretons from across the channel. The Celtic people had long ago spread into Britain from the continent, and their descendents returned by the thousands to flee the invasions of the Picts, the Scots and the Anglo-Saxons. They set up large communities on the shores of Bretagne.

In the ninth century, Bretagne was united as a sovereign kingdom, with its own king, and in 1066, the Bretons contributed to the conquest of Britain (and of course, history fans can't do much better than checking out the Bayeux Tapestry for the story of William the Conqueror and The Battle of Hastings). By the twelfth century, Bretagne was an independent duchy under the English rule of Henry II.

In the fifteenth century, the Duke François II took his duchy to war against France, and was defeated by Louis XI. His daughter, the Duchess Anne of Bretagne agreed to meet and marry the next French king, Charles VIII, to ally the two countries and negotiate an independent Bretagne. They had a lot in common: they were both already politically married, her to Emperor Maximilien of Hamburg, and him to Maximilien's daughter. After Charles' death, Anne would marry a second French king, Louis XII -- a personal, rather than political, marriage that had little effect on her lands. Bretagne was peaceful, prosperous and independent.

In the sixteenth century, Bretagne loses its independence as Anne's daughter Claude marries another French king, and brings the duchy as part of her dowry. Bretagne firmly becomes a province in the French kingdom.

From a purely stylistic point of view, the black and white Breton flag has similarities to the American flag (although it was based on earlier coats of arms of cities in the region). Instead of the red and white bars, there are nine black and white bars, and instead of stars, there are black ermines on a white field. The ermine is a symbol of Bretagne, like the fleur-de-lys is a symbol of France -- it looks like an upside down elongated kite, with three small diamonds radiating from the top.

Sylvain and I had booked two nights at St. Malo, and we drove directly there (in Sylvain's car) from Paris via Rennes on the pay highways. In total, the trip took about four hours and cost 24€ in tolls, but we took it really quite slow, stopping at several aires along the highways to stretch, eat and refresh. We arrived in the very early afternoon, at low tide.

Tourism on the coasts of Bretagne, especially around the city of St. Malo, is highly linked to the tides. The beaches are extremely gently sloped, so the shore moves large distances. In low tide, you can walk out to some islands, lookouts and forts that are inaccessible during high tides. There are many signs warning you that if you get stuck on an island, you'll have to wait there for the next low tide to get off. We went immediately to the old section of the city (the remparts or reinforced city walls) and walked along the beach, clambered over the rocks filled with tidal pools and visited the extremely windy islands.

St. Malo, as any good Canadian knows, is the birthplace of Jacques Cartier. In 1534, he set out from this port city to search for an alternate route to East Asia and stumbled into the new world. From the current inhabitants, he learned the name was Kanata, and voilà -- a future nation was named.

The city is also known for it's privateers, or corsairs. Much like pirates, privateers were permitted to attack and capture foreign ships on the high seas and keep the riches they found. This activity was authorised by the king, who distributed letters of course to ship captains.

We ate at an artisanal crêperie -- finally, real Breton crêpes. They're not quite the same thing as in Paris, which is understandable. Bretagne is all about the crêpes. Several of the restaurants were already fully booked all through the evening, but I still think we lucked out in finding our crêperie (Ti Nevez in the old city). It was absolutely tiny, about four or five tables. It turned out to be Sylvain's birthday, and a respectable celebration with very good cider.

We set off the next morning towards Mont-Saint-Michel -- the church on a rock. The Michelin atlas had the coastal route marked out in green, indicating scenery, so we took the road toward Pointe de Groine and hung out over the famous sculptured rock cliffs of Bretagne. It was pretty grey out, and the cliffs were grey as well. It reminded me a lot of the west coast of Canada. I got that impression a lot in Bretagne.

Our little hike around the point took us by a campground. If there's anything I'm homesick for, it's Canadian camping. I want a place that you can only walk into, and where there's a lot of space between me and the next guy. I want a campfire. Alright, if you know me, you know that I talk more about loving to camp than actually camping, and I probably won't make it out camping in Europe this year. But I miss it anyway.

The city of Cancale is supposed to be extremely beautiful and colourful as well. I wouldn't know. We skipped it entirely to get to Mont-Saint-Michel at a decent hour. A couple thousand years ago, this would have been a large granite rock island in the bay. At low tide, you could walk out to it (being careful of quicksand, as signs today still warn) and at high tide, it's completely surrounded by the water. It would have been an impressive thought even without the church.

In the seventh century, the Bishop of Avranches had three visions of the Archangel Michael, who requested him to build a monastery on the island. The island soon became a popular Christian pilgrimage, and at the turn of the first millennium, the Benedictine monks started work on the abbey. It was built and expanded over the next six hundred years, while a village to support the pilgrims and fortifications were built around the base.

We saw the outline of the island and the abbey long before we arrived. We got there in the early afternoon, at low tide. Parking is a bit peculiar. You pay to get into the lot, which is well-drained but curiously wet, and there are large signs that tell you exactly at which hour you have to get off the lot -- it's submerged during high tides. The land is extremely flat, which means that the tides travel great distances and can come in at a brisk walking pace.

Mont-Saint-Michel is stunning. It should be a mandatory destination for anyone visiting France. Everyone else thought so on this Easter long weekend, and came. Of course, crowds bug me a bit, but they were right. You have to go there. I'm embarrassed by my inability to express how incredible it is.

We walked from the lot along the causeway, built to permanently connect the island to the shore in the mid-nineteenth century (and hopefully prevent a few quicksand deaths among the pilgrims). There was a long, extremely crowded corridor from the medieval gate, passing through the old village which was now entirely tourist oriented -- gift shops, restaurants, side museums. It was a high-tourist weekend, so all the little corridors between the half-timbered and slate-roofed houses were full. The ramparts were full. The staircases (many, many staircases) crossing up and down the rock were full. There was an incredible line going into the abbey.

The view from the abbey was incredible. The abbey itself was incredible -- with great halls, a peaceful cloister perched on top and little hidden herb gardens poked in here and there.

We were exhausted and ate lightly at the hotel that night in St. Malo.

The next day we headed along the Rance valley on our way to Dinan. We took a couple of side routes, mainly thanks to my intuitive sense of direction (it was wrong, but intuitive nonetheless). We found a little hiking route to an incredible lookout over some beautiful countryside.

The city of Dinan is outstanding in a different way than Mont-Saint-Michel -- it has all the multi-storeyed medieval wood houses and the carvings, the cathedral and the ramparts, but people also live their lives there. It's a real city.

We needed more crêpes, but unfortunately the crêperie recommended to us by our colleague was closed for the day. We wandered around the old part of the city to the central square and ate another excellent meal. I bought my souvenirs, especially some crème de salidou, a caramel sauce for crêpes and desserts made from high-quality salted butter.

One of the most amazing picturesque streets in Dinan goes from the old city, through the city walls and down to the Rance river. It's fairly steep and not very evenly cobbled, but the medieval wood houses on either side are interesting and brightly coloured. We followed the river for a long distance, enjoying the peace and green space along it. Back up in the city, we walked nearly the entire ramparts, and visited the St. Malo cathedral.

Our last destination in Bretagne was a tour along the Côte d'Emeraude, named for the emerald colour of the ocean. Cap Fréhel is one of the most well-known panoramic points on the route, and we spent the rest of our remaining time in Bretagne along the cliffs.

They were very colourful, and very beautiful. There was a lighthouse and a tearoom, but neither of them were open while we were there. Not surprisingly, we didn't do anything but walk and gape. Wow.

It took me hours just to choose the pictures I wanted to put on the site. It made me feel like a great nature photographer. The light was great and the location was perfect. You could point and click in any direction and it would be a masterpiece -- the problem is when words fail you trying to describe it. Not that it ever stopped me from trying.

We left Cap Fréhel pretty late, at about eight o'clock and headed back to Paris. We decided to take the trip through Caen instead of Rennes, just to see what it was like. I learned an important tip at this point: it's much cheaper to go through Caen (11€) and it looks pretty much exactly the same as any other route at that time of night.

Bretagne is awesome, but the next few weeks should be pretty cool as well. Check back to hear about my next guests and our amazing adventures!

44. Sprung

Well, it's springtime in Paris -- the most beautiful season in the most beautiful city in the world. Or so they say.

By "they", I mean the unimaginative travel log hacks that drone on about the breezes and blue sky that makes the city fresh and clean, the old stonework and forged iron standing out strongly in the clear light, the springtime flowers making the public green space more prominent. Even living in Paris all year, they promise you will only remember it in the Spring.

It does, they do and you will, of course. It's a cliché but it's true.

About mid-March, we went for a walk through Parc de Bagatelle -- just like this time last year. It was only the second annual visit, but still felt like a tradition. The roses weren't out yet, but that's hardly a surprise. This time of year is for flowering trees, some early tulips and the dozens of varieties of daffodils.

Unlike most commuters, I live in the intensely dense urban area and take a 30 kilometre commute out to the office in the country. We have five or six large office buildings surrounded by larger fields, farms and tiny villages. There's also some woods right on our campus, with a 6 kilometre jogging trail. The fields and trees are just starting to push out springtime leaves, and yes -- even wildflowers. Lots of wildflowers.

We normally go running through the woods about once a week, in good weather. The wide, open space I get every day at work makes it possible to appreciate Paris without being overwhelmed by it's incredible tightness.

I'm still diving weekly, and took my Niveau 2 theory exam. It was much more intense than the equivalent PADI courses, but that could be partially related to language issues: twelve long answer questions in French, each divided into several parts. In fact, there was only one word that I didn't understand immediately (entamer), but it was obvious in context (a transitive verb meaning to start). The kindly examiner offered to let me respond in English if I was having any troubles, but I think she was just showing off. I have some more training to do at the fosse, a circular pool about three metres wide and fifteen metres deep, and then I'm going to the south of France to complete the practical exam for this level of diving.

Along with diving and running, I'm doing a little bit of roller-blading. It's springtime -- you've got to be outdoors. Although I've graduated to the Sunday easy balade through the streets of Paris, I've mainly been sticking to easier trails while some of my colleagues gain confidence to take to the streets. There's an extremely smooth track out in Massy which is excellent for practice. We spent a couple of Saturdays out in the natural setting of the Bois de Verrieres, which is excellent for simulating really bad, dirty pavement. More recently, we retook to Les Invalides, the former military hospital and presently a war museum and Napoléon's tomb.

What else did I do this month? I finally regained my legal status in France by going to the prefecture and picking up my carte de sejour. In fact, that's a bit of an exaggeration -- the paperwork had been filed and finished well before my old residence permit expired. The first time I visited the main prefecture (on the Ile de la Cité, beside Notre Dame), I went to the North-East tower as I was supposed to, and timidly pushed through a heavy wooden door that exclaimed (in French) "DO NOT KNOCK". This time, they had a line outside the prefecture to get through the 'air-lock' (apparently the ancient stone building is protected against accidental decompression), and then a take-a-number system outside the forbidding wooden door. Apparently the computers were down, so I caught a bit of heck when it was my turn and the clerk saw that my occupation was informaticien.

I spent quite a bit of time this month doing some 3D animation for the opening credits of Roger's pet project -- a short film submitted to festivals in Cannes and Toronto. I've switched between different free animation packages and ended up with Blender, a top quality Open Source tool with more features than a fromagerie has fromage. The preliminary edit of the film is outstanding; it's a pity that my opening animation merely achieves expectations.

The city lived through another one-day métro shutdown. It was exceedingly unpleasant. Canadian public transport strikes have the right idea -- continue to provide the service but forget to charge the peasants. Of course, that wouldn't work in a population where the majority of métro users have monthly passes.

Did you know that the French shopping carts (or chariots) have four independently swivelling wheels? It's just one of those little things that scream 'foreign'. In a way, it makes sense -- you benefit from increased manoeuvrability in the little supermarchés of Paris. On the other hand, I've only ever seen carts used in the giant hypermarchés outside of Paris. In the little grocery stores, everybody uses those little personal caddy-tote things. It was odd, at first, to watch people take stuff from the shelves and store it in their personal luggage before going to the checkout, but I've gotten used to it. I doubt I'll ever get used to a full shopping cart that willingly turns, but continues sideways in the prior trajectory.

Did you know that you can get season passes to cinemas in France? I'm so hopelessly behind in American film that I will shame my friends on return. I saw the top ten box-office results for this week and the only one that I recognized was Chicago. Did you know that 'The Santa Clause' was translated to 'Super Noël' in France (a pretty good translation playing on père noël being Santa Claus). The sequel was, of course, Hyper Noël'. 'Sweet Home Alabama' turned to 'Fashion Victime', and 'The Bourne Identity' into 'La Memoire dans le peau'.

Did you know that the use of English in French product/business names can be very amusing? 'Candy Up' (flavoured milk drink), 'Mr. Bed City' (hotel) and 'Festy Party' (what the?) come to mind.

The next couple of weekends are going to be action-packed! Stay tuned...