Pretty Pornic. Saturday 13th Junee 2009.

The sun has come out to play so we packed our bathers (well, most of us did), AJ decided to leave his on his bed, grrr!

Our destination is the seaside village of Pornic and on the way we stopped for a gorgeously simple baguette picnic in a shady little park with enough room for a bash of cricket.


Pornic was beautiful and shone as bright as the brightest star on this blue sky, sunny day. The port bobbed with small boats, people strolled the shores arm in arm, children skipped and giggled – where else would you be? An artist painted a canvas of the Chateau before him, its foreground busy with small, masted boats.




The same native Indian group we saw in Place Bellecour in Lyon, played their enchanting music by the sea. The sea wall was lined with ice-cream licking spectators. Julie bought a CD to take home as a memory. We walked along the water for ages until we came across Port de la Noeveillard with a small cove-like sandy beach finishing in a wall of dark rocks. JR took off to capture a few shots while the three of us wandered along in the shallows of the cold water and rested in the shade of the rocky cliff wall where we were to meet. Time passed and JR was no where to be seen. Lucky I have good eye sight as I saw him with hands on hips scanning the crowded beach for our familiar faces. Reunited again, and somewhat a little miffed, we headed back into town for ice-cream at Reve de Glace, we all agreed the ice-cream was superb, and so it should have been at $44 Aussie dollars for 4 cones! Ooh la la!

AJ wanted to revisit another beach before heading home. After a little u-turning back and forth we found a little beach lining a bay called Plage des Sablons. The water sparkled with a silver sheen in the late afternoon sun. We began a game of beach cricket much to the disgust of the demure French beach sitters. They gasped audibly with every crack of ball on bat. There was no reason to, we were well clear of most of them and certainly weren’t cutting loose. As usual, we were the loudest ones on the beach. A delightful little girl joined in our game, Alex coaxed her to have a bat and a bowl, he took her hands and helped her hit the ball across the sand, and she giggled with delight. We stayed for ages before returning home completely and utterly exhausted from our fun in the sun.

Watching The Catch Come In. Friday 12th June 2009.

We headed out early today to explore some traditional fishing villages of Bretagne. The fun began on the way when we stopped for petrol. We filled up and drove to the booth to pay. You put your cash in a little dished area while sitting in your car, the lady pulls the money through to her side and ‘voila’ off you go. John had not put the money in far enough for it to be pulled through and the lady was trying to explain from behind her glassed booth. Well, John could not understand what she needed, he knew he had placed the right money there. Booth Lady became exasperated at first, but the longer the car rocked with belly laugh after belly laugh courtesy of Julie, AJ and I, she began to smile and to see the funny side of silly tourists without a handle on the language. I have not laughed so long in ages and boy do I love a good laugh. You should have seen the line of cars behind us by the time we got ourselves sorted out!

Next problem, we seem to have a slow leak in one of the tyres but after a few stops along the way JR is happy it is holding its own as we put it through its paces. Onward we go.

Our first stop is at a typical little village on the coast of Bretagne called Kerity. Kerity was once in the centre of the maritime routes of Western Europe. The weather is not so good today and the tide is out showing the ocean’s sandy and emerald green, weedy bottom. We are lucky the rain subsides while we have a car boot picnic of baguette, garlic laced cheese, coloummiers, tomato, peppered pork and lettuce - almost worthy of the 'picnic from hell' tag. We finish with a sweet wedge of buttery Gateau Breton pur Burre.

Marc, a local sailor is heading out to his sailing boat in his dinghy and stops for a chat, another delightful encounter. He is rugged up against the wet and cold with gum-booted feet. His salt and pepper hair is topped with a peaked cap and frames his smiling face, “Give me your email address and I’ll send you some photos of Kerity on a sunny day” he offers, he is proud of his little home town.

He shares his local knowledge and tells us to head to the village of St-Guenole at 4pm to see the fishing fleet returning from sea with their rich bounty. It was the highlight of the day. Boat after boat arrived at the pier, heavy with tattered nets of green and orange. Every boat was laden with langoustines, squid, sole, lobster, crabs, rays, mackerel and so much more. We watched bins filled with the sea’s offerings get hoisted from the boat’s decks onto the pier, stacked onto trolleys and wheeled into the seafood auction while gulls squawked overhead.








A little fast talking secured us all a seat inside the auction with stony-faced buyers solemnly concentrating on what was being offered. They communicated on phones beside their seats to the men with the money, and whoever was the first to press his button bought the catch. The boys out the back were happy to show us one of the stars of the day, a 2.6 kg lobster, a female we are told.

What an experience, between chance meetings with charming strangers on the pier, to side splitting laughter, our time in St-Guenole was an utter delight. Gosh you make me laugh Bugs!



A little further south is St-Pierre. The main street is lined on one side with huts of green, blue and earth, manned by grandmotherly women with crochet hooks in hands, working away. They sell their hand crocheted doyleys, gloves, place mats etc to the brim-filled tourist busses who pass this way. One of the old dears must be 80 is she is a day and began to crochet when she was just a girl of twelve. It is nice to see handmade works of art being created before your eyes, they have an authenticity about them mass produced things lack. Good on you ladies!

South again is Port du Guilvinec, the largest port of the area where all the tourists go. It comes complete with a high up viewing platform where visitors can watch the boats being unloaded but at a distance, much more controlled and clinical compared to the excited melee we have returned from with fishermen, locals, market traders and the occasional tourist happily mingling together, each playing their part in the daily spectacle. In the main street there is a little chocolatier with a window filled with round nougat creations cut into generous wedges, in flavours of caramel, butter and salt, pistachio, and almond; the sight alone makes us drool.



We end our day at the town of Concarneau whose old ramparts encourage anyone considering just passing through to stop. We wander through the ramparts to a charming little street lined with restaurants and cafes but there is no one about and everything is closed for the night. Julie and I are mesmerised by the sight of a guy with hair in golden dreadlocks, standing in a small, timber boat, pulling himself along a thick rope to reach his bigger boat. We stand, quietly watching, snapping photos and enjoying the scenery. As he walks past us to leave, we swivel our heads to enjoy one last look. Behind us stood his lady and she was a little unhappy at the obvious pleasure we had received from her partner’s lengthy floorshow. Oops and pardon Mademoiselle!

We don’t have much choice but to dine at a bar/restaurant in the main square, it was average at best but did the job and got us on our way home. We were all so tired, AJ constantly chatted to JR to keep him wide awake, I could tell what he was doing and it made me smile to think how thoughtful he was being when I am sure all he wanted to do was to close his tired eyes.

Out and About. Thursday 11th June 2009.

Our local Thursday market in Zola is out of this world, fantabulous, super dooper!!! It is so much bigger than expected. Bounties pulled from the sea are definitely the go in Nantes with its close proximity to the ocean. Stainless steel trays are alive with crabs, I would hate to be the ones on the bottom of the pile, and langoustines wiggle their tails in flapping motions. We buy cherries of the deepest red, blushing tomatoes, lettuces, spongy brioche bread, aged Comte cheese, and the local specialty, ‘Fromage du Cure Affine au Muscadet’ which Julie loves and John and I are not sure of.










We meet a lovely lady, Francoise, in the supermarket. She helps Julie choose a sparkling wine and does a fine job of it too we find out later. I think Francoise enjoys the exchange as much as we do and everyone in line at the checkout smiles. The people here are so friendly it warms our hearts.




Julie buys us all a patisserie treat to enjoy back at home, which we do after Julie catches up with loved ones on Skype (gotta love skype!) and cuts a vase of red roses from the garden before we head out to explore again.

We begin at the banks of L’Edre that runs into the city centre. We are amazed to see a hippy-type living on the river in a very permanent set up, consisting of two boats hosting various shelters, smoke was puffing into the blue from the kitchen chimney and pots of nasturtiums spilled water ward. We give him a wave as he went about his daily activity, he looked incredibly busy.

Ignoring him, the pace is pretty slow here and we slow to a more relaxed pace too, the day gently meanders along while we discover the daily marché at Talansac. Not a favourite market of mine, give me the charm of our neighbourhood market any day. To be fair, we arrived around midday when most of the action was over and the stalls looked a little depleted, so did their charges, maybe earlier would have been better. I did however make a new discovery, ‘asperge sauvage’ which I have never seen before so that was an unexpected treat.



The city streets took us via a model shop which AJ swooned over and then to the beautiful Cathedrale Saint Pierre. Elegant pillars of ribbed, light stone stretched way up to heaven and back. The cavernous inside filled with fingers of natural light washing the cathedral in a pure beauty. We all wandered quietly on our own, the odd glance between Julie and I the only communication of our pleasure.


The Chateau of the Dukes of Bretagne was lovely to wander around and it was a surprise to see a pack of wolves wandering in the area that once was the mote. We stood on the bridge suspended above them watching as they played together, the dark one looked menacing and was a tad scary I thought.

As was becoming the norm, we had left our lunch run a little late (3 pm) so were stuck for somewhere decent to eat. We ended in a little craperie (sorry crêperie) and all had a very average meal of crepes and salad, there was no happy vibe to be felt at all.

Onto le lieu unique tower which sported an oh so average view of the city. I could get higher standing on tippy-toes! It had a spinning platform operated by a wheel so Alex worked up a sweat for a while.


A relaxed game of Boules was in play at Place de la Duchesse Anne, a few of its competitors ditched the game for a chat with some sticky-beaking Aussies, who were momentarily more interesting than the game.

As we made our way back through the heart of Nantes, I stopped at Yves Thuries for some salted caramels. They were light and chewy. Salted caramels are prevalent here due to the close proximity to sea-salt production.


The streets led us to Place Royale, its centrepiece a fountain and its remainder a typical square of vast space. Young girls chatted around the fountain and an artist used the pavement as his canvas.




Just off the square is Georges Gautier, Confiseur whose window is decorated with towers of coloured macaroons so typical of France. Inside is elegant and feminine, softly lit with chandeliers, Berlingots (Bon-Bons) de Nantes are bundled up in clear cellophane, showing off their fruity colours.

Passage Pommeraye is next to see and last on today’s hit list. Alex is wilting and tells me he is only keeping going for Julie; bless his cotton socks and the tired feet inside them. The historic passage is ornate, between each stair tread are flower inlays made of metal, chinks of light separating the petals. Lights are held by cherub-like statues and the ceiling is angled glass panes separated by high archways intricately carved. Each floor is supported by Romanesque columns of aged, white stone. Passage Pommeraye is easy on the eye and I make a mental note to return when I am not so weary.



We enjoy only a fleeting stop at Theatre Graslin whose pillared entrance is dead opposite Cafe la Cigale which is not to be missed. It reminds me of an old Parisian Cafe inside with walls adorned with glittering mosaic works of art.

Girlie Time In The City. Wednesday 10th June 2009.

It’s raining again. Oh well, it doesn’t stop Julie and I from hitting the streets. The tram takes us to the centre of town. At every turn there is something beautiful to see. The cobbled streets glisten from the night’s rain; they shine a dark charcoal sheen. Umbrellas and rain always look great in a French city, don’t ask me why, they just do. Julie is agog at her introduction to France; unashamedly awestruck by her beauty. I remember when the sights were fresh and new. It was hard to believe such beauty existed. The girls in the Tourist Office sell their city well and tell us the places to visit to show Julie a bit of this and bit of that.

We hear a racket down the street and head off to investigate. Banners are painted with crude letters making demands. After speaking to protesters who are casually leaning on one of the many farm tractors, we learn that the protestors are dairy farmers protesting the price they are paid for milk. It takes a while for us to explain that Julie lives on a diary farm in Oz, but when we do, the farmers are delighted and intrigued. We are offered a glass of wine from the cask that sits on the step of the tractor... where else but France!!! Julie and I leave laughing; of course we would bump into protesting dairy farmers on our visit into the city!

Lunch is a simple crepe of fromage, eggs, bacon and champignons, it is simple and lovely. There is a festival on throughout the city, an arty farty festival called Estuaire. One of the exhibits is a pavilion of little birds and electric guitars. As the birds land on the strings they compose music of sorts, it’s funny and cute. Some birds really get going, budding rock and rollers, while others are refined and more suited to Tchaikovsky or Bach.


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