Roscanvel and Camaret-sur-Mer
1-4 June
Roscanvel is about as far west as you get in France and at 7.30pm the sun is still very high in the sky. By 11pm it still isn’t dark and going to bed can seem a rather weird action. Of course, with all the various sorts of shutters, darkness for sleeping is not a problem but I find that the absence of light for waking IS a problem for me and I usually let light into the room if I wake in the early morning. However, that is only an observation, not a complaint. I have nothing unfavourable to say at all about Roscanvel, Camaret-sur-Mer or the Crozon peninsula. It is picturesque, uncrowded as yet and has such familiar vegetation that at times we could be forgiven for thinking we had not left Wellington.
Gwendal, who plays the bombarde (a Breton wind instrument) and did his apprenticeship fixing traditional Breton instruments, now lives in Paris repairing saxophones. He stayed with us in 1998 on a school trip and the two mums stayed in touch. Chris and I spent Christmas there that same year, sealing the friendship. Gwendal was home in Roscanvel when Chris visited in February and the years were easily bridged even if the time spent together was short. Meeting Claude (f) and René, at the bus station spanned 9 years in an instant and I am pleased to report that none of us had got any older. We were all delighted to meet again. Claude manages to travel somewhere every year, most recently Cuba, and before that, Vietnam. Her love of music comes out in the souvenirs she brings back (see photos).
Claude works in Camaret-sur-Mer, their nearest town, about 20 minutes away. This very pretty port is where we went to buy bread and other necessities and here we chose to walk around in the clear air. René told us that Brittany is very polluted because of the fertiliser run-off but I have to say that in recompense, the air is clear. The difference between high and low tide is very significant, with low tide draining the harbour in many places and high tide sometimes coming right up to the edge of the road ( in some photos you will see this difference and we were there at neither full nor low tide). The port welcomes pleasure craft at half the fee charged in England, according to some English visitors we met when out walking, and is well set up with facilities for them. There is also a fort of Vauban’s and a little church whose roof is in the form of an upside-down boat hull, less elaborate than Old St Pauls. The bakeries sell Breton specialities (eg, Kouign Amann, a particularly fine cross between a croissant and a strudel) and crepes by the dozen.
Walking out of the town for 10 minutes or so, (past gardens of familiar colours and plants with agapanthus and ferns by the roadside) we almost stumble upon a whole field of standing stones, relics of a distant past and curious to see in this otherwise familiar territory. Beyond, on the cliff-top, the remains of someone’s extravagance – a manor house, built by a surrealist poet in the early 20th century. The house was destroyed by bombs and the poet died from the effects of the war in 1940. We are no longer in Wellington, despite the gorse and broom. The cliff tops beyond are stacked with gun emplacements, all suffering from the effects of bombardment.
The cliff walk has stunning views, the weather is great. Claude, Chris and I are in our element. And what are those enormous standing objects ahead? Anchors. Anchors? Yes, huge anchors with chains as thick as your arm. They mark the entrance to a very small and amazing museum which acknowledges the contribution and losses of the Allied Merchant Navies during WWII, from 1939 through to 1945. Set up in a gun emplacement 17 years ago by the man still running it but currently looking for a successor, it is packed with photos, letters, graphs, models and statistics of death and destruction and the ultimate success of the ships of the merchant navies in their struggle against the U-boats. I have some photos but I think you will need to enlarge or zoom them to make them legible. The man even reached under the table to find a (French) book with photos of all the allies in action, including NZ.
The Roscanvel area houses several military bases (think submarines, think missiles) and the coastline south of Brest is critical in helping out ships in bad weather. When one of the 5 biggest tugs in the world was anchored off Camaret, they knew bad weather had been predicted. The tug can manoeuvre more quickly out of that side of the bay than out of Brest. Going back in time a little but staying with the sea…hanging from the roof of the church are models of Camaret-designed boats that allowed the fishermen from Camaret to bring back live langoustes from Mauritania, under sail, a journey of 3 months, we were told. There is a special kind of cage built into the boat that allows sea water to flow freely in and out, thus keeping the catch in top condition.
On the sea-front is a stone sculpture, so reminiscent of Maori form that we spent a long time looking at it and talking about it. The common form is the wave for the Breton, and the koru for the Maori. It is certainly a striking reminder of the commonality of human expression.
Photos at
The Cité de l’Espace in 
The MIR space station set-up was great to walk through and see how they managed in such small spaces. Much larger spaces nowadays. Totally well worthwhile – and did I mention the 3D IMAX film ‘experience’ of the space-station? Now that was outstanding!
On the southern coast of 
Lochronan means the sacred place of Ronan and is a village which has stayed relatively true to its original architecture You will find it in films where an old French village is required. But it has adapted for tourism and has some of the most stunning glass objects, hand-crafted, I mean. And a shop with an overwhelming assortment of beers. This is NOT where Chris bought his Monty Python beer. That was in the Irish Shop at Concarneau. But he did buy lots of regional specialities of the chocolate and caramel variety. There is also a church, delightful chapel and a shop with 101 (more, actually) traditional Breton linens, plates etc where Chris struck up a conversation with the quite elderly lady that ran it. But enough of words.
Concarneau must be overcrowded in summer but for us out-of-season travellers it was just lovely. Peaceful port, some old and very picturesque houses and a town enclosed by ramparts rather like Villefranche-de-Conflent down south. Built on an island, the medieval town had been updated several times before our hero Vauban contributed his efforts. Great views, fun ramparts and even some musicians to entertain us with medieval music. Plus a few extras like the Irish Shop, where Chris bought his Monty Python beer and some Rolos. (We didn’t bother too much with the regional specialities, which were much the same as Lochronan, though the chocolate lion was rather unusual.) 
And for those who know and love him, the Django special at
Claude works in Camaret-sur-Mer, their nearest town, about 20 minutes away. This very pretty port is where we went to buy bread and other necessities and here we chose to walk around in the clear air. René told us that 
Walking out of the town for 10 minutes or so, (past gardens of familiar colours and plants with agapanthus and ferns by the roadside) we almost stumble upon a whole field of standing stones, relics of a distant past and curious to see in this otherwise familiar territory. Beyond, on the cliff-top, the remains of someone’s extravagance – a manor house, built by a surrealist poet in the early 20th century. The house was destroyed by bombs and the poet died from the effects of the war in 1940. We are no longer in 
The cliff walk has stunning views, the weather is great. Claude, Chris and I are in our element. And what are those enormous standing objects ahead? Anchors. Anchors? Yes, huge anchors with chains as thick as your arm. They mark the entrance to a very small and amazing museum which acknowledges the contribution and losses of the Allied Merchant Navies during WWII, from 1939 through to 1945. Set up in a gun emplacement 17 years ago by the man still running it but currently looking for a successor, it is packed with photos, letters, graphs, models and statistics of death and destruction and the ultimate success of the ships of the merchant navies in their struggle against the U-boats. I have some photos but I think you will need to enlarge or zoom them to make them legible. The man even reached under the table to find a (French) book with photos of all the allies in action, including NZ. 
On the sea-front is a stone sculpture, so reminiscent of Maori form that we spent a long time looking at it and talking about it. The common form is the wave for the Breton, and the koru for the Maori. It is certainly a striking reminder of the commonality of human expression.