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| images above and below by MM |
WE HAD A SURPRISINGLY EASY journey back to the UK from this penultimate sojourn chez nous. It didn’t rain once. Quite unlike our retreat of autumn 2024. We didn’t stick to the route we assembled prior to departure either. And it wasn’t necessary to refer to Michelin at all on day one, Sablet to Sarlat-le-Canéda. The route is etched upon our souls even though we added a long unused stretch (at least, not by us in recent years, it is now considerably improved) through the southern Cévennes. After joining the A75 our route took us over the Viaduc de Millau so here is the obligatory image of our crossing, one of a rapid fire set taken by Mme Melling which she did rather well with……
Likewise, we are well versed with Sarlat to Périgueux roads, and on to la Rochelle; and Perigueux we negotiated with aplomb, whereafter we became aware that we were making just too good a time over this stage of travel that is rather too short in miles, to be honest. We continue to strive to locate more evenly spaced lodgings – but have concluded that seemingly it just can’t be done. So we diverted from the tried and tested, to get in some sea air (the original proposed itinerary being deficient in this aspect of our south–north travel).
From the overnight in La Rochelle, we diverted again from 'the plan', not going via Nantes and Rennes but reusing an often used variation (starting after Luçon – steadfast in its presentation of a quality petit déj) that brought us to St Brévin and the least attractive weather of the return, looking across to St Nazaire. Gloomy. And not for the first time either, over the years…
Over the bridge, then on, through Redon, and at long last, rejoining the N12 in the environs of St Brieuc, to pick up the familiar slog west. Some disorder took place at this point due to confusion regarding the direction of the road we took (which was correct but did not seem so; so requiring two about-turns – or was that three?).
The tedium of returning through Brittany still tends to deaden our senses (strangely, this tendency doesn’t seem to tax us very much at all when fresh off the boat and heading for the Loire) – it goes on a bit. Dashed glad we were therefore, to roll into Roscoff and clock in at our billet at about 1700 hours. The accommodation was comfortable indeed (it always has been at Roscoff) and there were more oysters, for myself at least, not to mention a steaming bowl apiece of moules. We were adventurous: we didn’t go to the Surcouf resto this time but tried another. We liked it: La Moule au Pot.
The voyage to Plymouth next day, Saturday, was smooth, prompt, and entertaining – as some of the youth of France, on organised coach trips to our island nation, paraded round the boat for the full six hours of the crossing, or played cards when smart phones were ill advised due to connection costs, generally reminding one (me at the very least) that they are the beautiful people, with boundless energy and (hopefully) an expectation of living the life for many years to come. They made a happy man feel, er, very old. Otherwise the ship was quiet and thinly populated. It is out of season, as much as it ever is these days…
And so we returned to our home in the country. This one. Not that one.
Less than a month to go before we set out for the last time to 1rueFB.
I am
brimming.
