The following was written a little over a year ago, as we began our travels in Maryvonne's land of bread, cheese and wine.
Dispatch 1
August 29: Dinard
Our drive from Paris was about 200 kilometers in a VW Polo. It is a tiny economy car, not much related to the Golf. I was a bit taken aback when I got into it at the airport, with my sleep deprived brain. But like riding a bike, I was soon crashing through the gears in Paris on our way! Our first night was in a small hotel in Hourdan. We slept the sweet sleep of those who have been traveling for 24 hours- a real pleasure. This morning was petite café (espresso) in a bar, and en route! We traveled the Route Nationale, which are side roads, a mixture of two and four lane highways that generally connect small towns. It is like driving in Texas, with a lower speed limit (110 KPH), quite pleasant and scenic.
The town where we now are is situated on the Cote d' Emeraude, where Normandy becomes Bretagne. It is a tourist town now, as it has been for many years. You are as likely to hear English- english spoken here as French. The local cuisine is dominated by Norman butter, crepes, gallettes (crepes made with buckwheat four and suited to savory fillings like ham and eggs), & cider. The history is dominated by the Celts & English. It is a bucolic region, with towns built up around the ancient walled farms. The age of structures still in use is striking. You have to admire the inginuity and creativeness of the workmen who adapt successively new technologies into buildings hundreds of years old.
The cost of living here is quite high, more than I remember. Everything is priced in Euros at the same amount they would be in dollars, only the Euro costs about 28% more. This aspect will be interesting. By the way, our first baguette was delightful, just as we dreamed.
Dispatch 2
August 31: Dinard
Here we are, in one of the famous tourist destinations of northern France. The visitors here are generally older, and promenade in the town dressed up at all hours- white beach sets at the beach, white pants and blue jackets in the restaurants, women in high heels day and night, all dressed to the 9s. The few youths here are even well dressed, or at least as well dressed as kids can be. Still vital, the atmosphere is nonetheless reminscent of the Catskills to me. Overall, Dinard has retained to a remarkable degree the feeling of the classic French beach resort. Cabanas, bars, beach vendors, day clubs for children on the beach where parents can drop them for a few hours or the day, strollers dressed well, evening soirees, a casino, and a calm slowness.
Yesterday we bought postcards (carte postales) for everyone we have on our address list. Good idea till we went to the Poste to buy stamps- $1.15 for postage plus the $.45 for the card- letters and phone calls (of one minute or less), are cheaper. An email would be great, but alas, no cybercafe, nor any open wifi networks.
You may wonder about the food,one of the aspects of France central to it's identity. We have discovered the motherload of great bread, and are in danger of over-indulgence! I will take a picture, but that won't convey how crunchy-crispy the crust is. Otherwise, we are eating very simply, dining alone in a small kitchenette in the basement. We are visiting Maryvonne's Grandmere who is 101, and ailing. As a result we stay quiet, and take care not to disturb her or overtax her. This is part of life anywhere, and one of the reasons we came here, but may not be the experience you may have been expecting to read about.
We went for a walk today along the beach and through the town. Most of the central town was built during the Belle Epoch, before WW I. Houses are granite, brick and steep slate roofs, most of 3 stories and many bedrooms, to house the extended families of the rich. New homes built since WW II are similar, with the well to do trying to replicate the old architecture. The houses of grey granite and slate are well decorated with abundant flowers of red, blue and yellow.
This coast has rugged granite outcrops interspersed with "pocket beaches" of nice sand, and water the color of emeralds. Along the coast here, as everywhere in France, German blockhouses are seen, as little surprise reminders of history. History is important here, a few kilometers east of the base of the Cotentin pennisula. This is the beginning of Bretagne, a region with a distinct heritage. Settled by the Celts, the language that is still taught here is Gaelic, similar to old Irish. This is the Texas of France- a place that sees itself as separate and superior. Fiercely proud, conservative and Catholic, Bretagne has resisted change through it's history. Kings had to compromise to gain peace and allegiance, then the revolution had to prosecute a special violent campaign to bring "Liberty, Fratenity, Equality" here. Later, the Republics continually battled the dissent and Royalists from here. The national drink of Bretagne? Cider. National colors? Black and white. You are more likely to see the Bretagne flag on cars than any other in this region. Even a separatist movement. See what I mean about the resemblence to Texas?
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