Manoir des Indes

Manoir des Indes

The spirit of adventure and exploration is strong in Breton history, where the sea is an almost maternal element for so many. From Chateaubriand's North American adventures to the discovery of islands in the south Indian Ocean by Kerguelen, the global imprint of Breton individuality on the map of Imperial France is still a source of celebration in contemporary Brittany.
I spent a night to celebrate my birthday this Christmas at the 4* Manoir des Indes, set in a large park, beside Quimper's western ring-road. This manor house was built by René Madec, a son of Quimper from lowly origins, who joined the navy at the age of 11 and later arrived in India on a boat of the Compagnie des Indes. He fought the English under the command of Dupleix (who is also honoured in Quimper, giving his name to one of the quays). Through mercenary activity in the many wars in India, Madec rose to the status of nabob and a fabulous fortune in his own right. He was at the siege of Pondichery in 1778 with 6000 men.
Returning to Brittany the following year, Madec was ennobled by Louis XV. The town house where he settled in Quimper is marked today by a plaque from the local pottery showing him in full Indian dress, and he was a familiar sight on horseback along the banks of the Odet. He also bought up land on the outskirts of the town in Pluguffan and Penhars, building the lavish house now converted into a hotel on the site of a former manoir, whose chapel can still be seen.

rue René Madec, Quimper

At the hotel the theme of oriental luxury is pursued in furniture and decor, with the rooms given names evocative of maritime adventure. Mine (Kerguelen) had an enormous low wooden bed, a rugged A-frame and the sliding bathroom door echoed the screen partitions of warmer climes. The bedrooms are accessed off an open landing surrounding the glass-roofed atrium where breakfast - of exceptional quality - is served. In the basement a spa has been created, with treatment rooms, a sauna and, of most interest to me, the beautiful pool/jacuzzi, under the old stone arches of the original cellars.

Cellar pool

The story of René Madec's rise to greatness is told in a booklet in each room. On his final return to Quimper, he did not live long to enjoy all his acquired wealth with his young wife, dying in 1784 after injuries sustained by a fall from his horse. I cannot fault the hotel (except that I personally prefer a Relais du Silence to dispense with piped music), but the addition here of historical pedigree and local colour made it an exceptional stay; one I intend to repeat.

Citizen

About to cross the bridge and enter the round doorway of the Prefecture

Eighteen months after becoming a French citizen, I finally got to have a ceremony to celebrate the event. Last year I was not invited even though some of these ritual affairs were held and reported in the press. The Prefecture at Quimper failed to answer any of my messages. When I went there to ask directly why I had been overlooked, I was basically told to go and queue up with the foreigners awaiting visas, cartes de sejour, etc., which I declined to do on the grounds I was already a citizen. It seeemed like a matter of principle at the time, in the face of rude dismissiveness from the 'Welcome' staff.
After mulling for a long time over whether this really mattered and deciding it did, finally I wrote to Président Macron - this is easy to do through the Elysée Palace website - and asked for his help. His office replied to me within a week and soon after, lo and behold, I received a letter from Quimper assuring me I would be on the list for the next ceremony. It is a pity that it takes the Président of the Republic to make an administrator in Quimper do their job correctly and politely.
So it happened this week, a grand official occasion, admirably presided over by Aurelien Adam, the new Directeur de Cabinet du Préfet, who was excellent in every way. I was quite moved by his words and the sense of significance he managed to convey. I even had a few personal words with him later on as we both left the building at the same time. There were many people there, more than 150 including those receiving the official decree of citizenship and their family and friends. I really enjoyed seeing some of the palatial rooms of the Prefecture, and singing the Marseillais with a large group of many nationalities of all ages, united by our Frenchness. The only time I heard a language other than French was when two British people saw fit to speak loudly in English just before the ceremony began. I edged as far away from them as I could get.

Monsieur le maire me soutient

I was delighted that the mayor of my commune, Benoit Michel, took the trouble to come all the way to Quimper to support me and share a celebratory drink afterwards. It really added something to the day. At last I have my decree and various texts of edifying Republican values to ponder. Despite having had an ID card and a French passport for a long time, the process now feels complete and I really do feel French. And I say both Vive La France and Vive La Bretagne.

Talich quartet in Quimper

I first went to hear the original Talich quartet in London at the Wigmore Hall about 30 years ago. The dense power, lightness of touch and liquidity that were so impressive then were equally evident yesterday afternoon in Quimper, when the current line-up, including a member of the original family,  performed Schubert's Death and the Maiden and their speciality, Dvorak, (Quartet No.10) at the Theatre de Cornouaille. This was a Sunday 'chocolate concert' with hot chocolate to drink and handmade chocolates to sample before the show. And what a show it was. We were sitting in the balcony, a perfect vantage point for every bowing, facial expression and bald spot. It was magnificent, and a packed theatre would have sat for many more than the three encores we got. This morning I unearthed my recording of the Talich playing Dvorak quartets and quintettes and it is playing as I write. Moving, exciting and so evocative of my long love-affair with eastern Europe and time spent there.

Festival de Cornouaille

I spent two days in Quimper this week, at the fantastic Festival de Cornouaille. I watched a few bands on the outdoor stages, followed a marching bagad, saw the Breton dance classes for children and adults, learnt how the local dentelle biscuits are made and went to a conference on costumes from Pays Bigouden, an area close to my heart.

The highlight was the Barzaz concert in the theatre last night, for which I had a precious ticket. This seminal group (with the best chanteur in Brittany, Yann-Fanch Kemener) had enormous success in the late 80s/early 90s and recorded two albums before splitting up. This year they have reunited for a 25th anniversary series of concerts. I've only ever heard them on disc before but they are truly scintillating on stage, such depth of musicianship and the compelling voice of Kemener always driving the gwerziou. This is not world sound, not Celtic fusion, not fuzzy folk - this is Breton music in a pure tradition.
After the concert, I walked back through the centre at nearly midnight, head fizzing with excitement. But what struck me was the good order that still holds in Brittany. This is a huge festival and no-one was drunk or loud, the streets were calm, and cheerful goodnights came from all I passed. In Place St-Corentin there were still a few hundred people of all ages dancing in the round to the rhythm set by a pair of sonneurs on the stage. Everyone was happy. Such is life here.

Chez Max - Quimper restaurant recommendation

Love, love, love this newish restaurant on the quay near the cathedral in Quimper. Chez Max is in the house once belonging to the family of Max Jacob, poet, artist and visionary who died in the camp at Drancy in 1944. He was born a Jew and arrested as such by the Germans despite his status as an artist of internaitonal standing and a converted Catholic - Picasso stood as his sponsor. The famous drawing of Jacob by Modigliani is etched below the passerelle erected in 1994 over the Odet river in Quimper centre on the 50th anniversary of his tragic death.
The restaurant has a courtyard for outdoor eating, an upper room for groups and a large, welcoming dining room on the ground floor. You can eat à la carte but who needs to with a 13 euro two course lunch that includes a glass of wine. Plentiful main courses and desserts from a choice of two items each. Today I had pork and chorizo sauté served with aubergine two ways, salad, tomato and their gorgeous home-made chips. The iles flottantes dessert managed to be substantial and light as air at the same time, with a sea of creme anglaise to splash about in.
Chef Christophe Getin has an imaginative way with vegetables - unusual over here - yet doesn't mess about too much with the high quality meat and fish. Staff are young and enthusiastic, the tables well-spaced and the period decor unspoilt.
I won't be eating elsewhere in Quimper for a long time to come.
Chez Max - Cour Jacob, 8 rue du Parc
02 29 40 10 20

Max Jacob

Max Jacob, born Quimper 1876, died at Drancy 1944. Poet, artist, human being.

For every act of crossing
There is a price -
From an obol to human sacrifice.
Simplicity or artifice:
Portrayed by harlequins,
Betrayed by holding on.

Paying what was owed,
Measured by a gold star,
In swoops from perch to perch
Uncertain hands grasping for the cold bar.
Above a dance of prayer
Performed by peasants
Along blurred lines.

To miss the net and fall like that,
Max Jacob, acrobat.

Quimper

This small city, capital of Finistere and the Cornouaille region, has gradually gnawed its way into my heart after our lukewarm first meeting six years ago. It has its quirks in addition to the much-pictured cobbled medieval streets and maisons à pan de bois. The walled medieval ville close was in fact unusually the preserve of the bishop, whilst the duke of Brittany had to content himself with the Terre au Duc, west of the Steir. Each had their own essentials: mills, fishponds, markets and seats of justice. But Quimper has always been a place of clerics, once awash with Franciscans, Jesuits and convents of every persuasion. Standing on the old rempart above the paradisical Jardin de Retraite, the huge Jesuit chapel dwarfs the fortifications that failed to protect this little settlement in the Wars of Succession and Religion. The luminous cathedral is renowned for its crooked axis of choir (13th century) and nave (15th century). Does this symbolically reflect the droop of Jesus' head on the cross? No: some idiot built the bishop's palace alongside inbetween times and there was nowhere else to go. The gleaming spires with their lofty statue of legendary founder King Gradlon are 19th century add-ons.
But if it's symbolism you want: the Max Jacob passerelle, augurated in 1994 for the 150th anniversary of his death in the camp at Drancy, stands almost between the two buildings designed by loathsome Breton nationalist and one time architect Olier Mordrel (born Olivier in Paris, Corsican mother, a late learner of Breton), who was condemned to death as a traitor after the war, and hid out in Argentina before returning to Paris and the same repulsive rhetoric in the 1970s.
The name Quimper means 'confluence' and the fluvial trio of Odet, Steir and Frout has led to some merry flooding, as recently as 2000 when plaques marking the water's highest point suggest that I would have been swimming along the rue René Madec (named for one of lowly Quimperois origins, whose private army in 18th century India won him the title of nabob).