Brittany, Part 3

28th August, 1999

The following day, Sunday, was declared a rest day so that we could watch the Belgian Grand Prix and catch up on our writing-up.  

30th August, 1999

Being so near to the Channel Islands, we had decided to take a whistle-stop tour.   We booked our trip with the tiny quayside office at the port of Dinan with a charming lady who spoke no English.  We thought we had made our plans clear, but when we arrived at the ferry terminal at St. Malo we found she had only booked us a return trip to Jersey and we had to straighten things out.    The boat, a fast catamaran from Emeraude Lines, made good progress but we could see the difficult navigation out of St. Malo, avoiding the various rocks and into Jersey, which has the same difficult approach.   The sea had scarcely a ripple on it as we left St. Malo in the early morning light and had shiny smooth patches that gave it an unreal appearance.  

After a gentle quizzing by 'Bergerac' himself at Customs, we were let in and commenced our tour.  It had been a very early dawn start and, when we arrived, being on British time, they had still not got up in Jersey and it was deserted.    Fortunately, it gave us a chance to figure out the parking regulations - which use scratchcards (?) - and to find a hotel.   Here we had to smile as the entertainment that evening was 'Stan James'.   We found, however, that it was not our Stan James, who is the life and soul of the Northampton Twinning Association, and had kept us well amused on our trip to Poitiers earlier in the year.  

The Islands really are quite small and their lanes are terrifyingly narrow.   We had decided to take the car because Emeraude had a cheap, three-day deal and we couldn't think how to get to the port and back to the camp site without it and didn't fancy leaving it on the quay.   The visit was, however, most rewarding.   The island has some magnificent English buildings and its famous Underground Hospital, built by the invaders of the '40s.   This they have turned into a tourist attraction with features such as the Officers' Mess - above right.

The island has fantastic little bays and harbours and at least one impressive castle.   Its capital, St. Helier, we found to be very busy, even on a Bank Holiday Monday.   Although by comparison it is a most law abiding place, it does have its youth problems and, in the little inlet (above left) we watched Jersey style investigation of a little youthful mischief.   It would seem there had been fireworks on the beach and the fire brigade had been out to a couple of minor hillside fires.   The interrogation technique we saw would not have bothered an average kindergarten in England.

We had been pleasantly surprised at the low price, good quality and convenience of the Swanson's Hotel, but, as with all things, we found there was a catch.   Our room was directly over our 'Stan', who had the biggest amplifier in Jersey.   Fortunately, the entertainment ended quite early and we slept well, although not long enough because someone had forgotten to put the alarm clock back to English time. 

We were getting up early to catch the boat onwards to Guernsey and, as often is the case, it was delayed so we had a very long wait.    This, however, gave us a chance to see the real St. Helier traffic on a working day and made us glad that we had the good fortune to have chosen a Bank Holiday for our visit.  

On arrival in Guernsey, we first booked a room at the Imperial Hotel on the far side of the island at the most helpful information desk.    We then booked a trip to Sark and had just enough time to walk up the high street of St. Peter Port, have a sandwich and locate Gaia's Web, an internet shop we had been told of by our Guernsey neighbours at Dinan.    We journeyed to Sark on a much smaller catamaran and sat on deck in glorious sunshine.   From this vantage point, the many rocky outcrops in the sea looked even more frightening.    Sark, as we all know, has no cars so we availed ourselves of the tractor ride from the port, above left, to what passes for a town centre.   Here, Kate made friends with a waiting horse with its lady driver and young apprentice, and we took the obligatory 'tour of the island'. It would seem that this year had been a bit poor for the tourist industry on Sark and indeed for the islands as a whole.    It may be that 'quaint and old fashioned' is not so much in demand.    That said, we find it hard to see how anyone can spend much time on Sark or the other islands.   Sark, however, is utterly dependent upon tourism and recluse residents and we were surprised that they all seemed a little off-hand, with half the places closed or closing and with ridiculous prices for momentoes.

Our trip over, we walked back to the port, pausing only for a cup of tea and a pastry, preferring not to pay the 65p each for the bone-shaking ride on the tractor.   While waiting, we found the old port, above left, which dates back to 1588, then watched our ferry pick its way through the rocks to wait for us.    Being the last ferry of the day, it was packed. Our hotel, we were assured, was only a 20 minute drive - and so it would have been has they not closed the most obvious road to it, leaving us to battle down tiny lanes with high banks that gave the feeling of a maze.  We were more than pleased when we found the hotel below.

Our room overlooked Rocquaine Bay, where we saw a glorious sunset in the evening.   In the restaurant we had a sea view table and the close attention of the hotelier, who told us of the history of the wrecks around the coast.   The meal was fantastic, but it has to be said that our host disappeared soon after we had asked for Stilton cheese!   (which they didn't have)

We had a lie-in before setting off for a quick island tour - it really is quite small - followed by a trip to Gaia's Web to post our journal.       That done we put our remaining time to good use in M & S stocking up on Stilton, and other essentials for the English abroad.     We had earler restocked our vitamin pills at Boots.

3rd September, 1999

We had found Brittany so demanding that we re-thought our plans and decided not to drag the caravan further west as we prefer to stay put at each site for as long as possible.   It takes roughly four hours to make and break camp and we feel it is not the part of our tour we enjoy most!   So we have moved to just outside Lorient in the south, at a more down-market site on the banks of the River Blavet at Hennebont.   The guide books say Lorient is not too special, but we are conveniently placed for sorties into the hinterland.   We are undecided how long we shall stay, but Kate has booked a coiffe for Wednesday and has photos to collect.    David is anxious about Sunday next as TV is unreceivable and it's Monza!   Unless we find a cafe we shall have to move.

Last updated:  18/03/01