Combourg

In Combourg on the eastern edge of Brittany, on Chateaubriand's literary trail. He grew up in the castle here.

"C'est dans les bois de Combourg que je suis devenu ce que je suis"

Nantes-Brest Canal

I never tire of the Nantes-Brest canal, despite writing two books about it and doing many talks, walks on the subject. My favourite part is the Aulne in Finistere, where I walked this morning. Hope one day I'll find the time to write a little guide Along the Aulne, because it is one of the loveliest rivers in Brittany.

Festival Fisel

At the Festival Fisel in Rostrenen yesterday to hear some music but mainly to see the dance competitions, underway after a long delay which the packed hall didn't even seem to notice. The danse fisel, product of this area, is one of many variations of the gavotte. The children's event was impressive partly for the incredibly crisp clean movement of the boys' back-flicks and their timing, but most of all for the assured future of Breton dancing into another generation.

Day off

Went to Douarnenez for a relaxing day off. Still too warm for comfort, but we had a good meal on a shady terrace at La Trinquette, my usual lunch spot overlooking the fishing port (in photo). I had a scallop, bacon and tomato kebab with saffron sauce and my companion a fillet of lieu jaune in shellfish sauce, both followed by chocolate fondants. Then we walked right along the Plomarc'h in glorious greenery to see the extensive remains of a Roman garum (fish sauce) factory above the water. Next stop the famous Boat Museum hoping to see the exhibition of the Viking ship excavated on the Ile de Groix (a recent visit). Unfortunately another hot dog issue, so I had to stay outside with Tex in a shady spot, but was delighted to find bargain of the year in the shop: 100 prints by Mathurin Méheut, my favourite Breton artist, for 13.50 euros. As each one can be torn out and framed, this is fantastic value and a very satisfactory souvenir of a lovely day when for once I had nothing to do but enjoy ...

Wolves

No, not the football team I supported so fervently in my youth, but the real thing. I'm writing about wolves in the final section of my chapter on the Monts d'Arrée and made yet another visit to the Musée du Loup at Cloitre-St-Thégonnec this week. I do their book fair every year and an occasional walk from the village, so it's familiar territory. This time we walked in blazing sun right up onto the Landes de Cragou, a typical terrain of the Monts d'Arrée's distinctive landscape.
An unpleasing irony is that the wolf museum does not allow dogs in, so it was a fleeting look on a very hot afternoon. I just wanted to get a bit of the atmosphere of the days when wolves were common in Brittany and look again at some examples of the oral tradition. It was ill-advised to call a wolf a wolf in those days: Yann and Willy were apparently preferable modes of address. Hard to imagine the circumstances - it makes me think of Ogen Nash:  If called by a panther, don't anther.

Go away in the name of St Hervé if you are a wolf,
In the name of God if you are Satan.

Day out in Pays Bigouden

Pleased to take my friend Jeanne out for her birthday on a leisurely trip around Pays Bigouden. First we visited the Menhir of the Rights of Man, named after a ship wrecked here in the 18th century, with a commemorative inscription put up by Major Pippon from Jersey who was one of the survivors. Lunch at Pors Poulhan consisted of moules frites (J) and delicious fresh sardines (W), followed by a strange yet ultimately yummy concoction of chocolate and salted caramel. Time for a stroll along the coast at Penhors and a paddle for me and the dog. Beautiful day, all well with the world.

Quiet time

As I seem to be the only person on the planet who does not like hot weather, I'm having a few weeks at home with no trips away until September. This fits in with work, as I'm now on the chapter Moor, which is mainly about my own area - the Monts d'Arrée. Today I visited the Maison du Recteur at Loqueffret for some research about the rag-and-bone trade that characterised certain communities for centuries. Next door is one of the very few churches in Brittany dedicated to a female saint - Jenovefa in this case, sister of Saint Edern who has his church at nearby Lannedern.
Lots of interesting and varied work outside the book lately, with a fun interview with my friends from Spotlight Radio (who are very good at editing, and needed to on this occasion as I forgot the thing I most wanted to say about Morlaix and had to stick it on at the end). I've written an article for the Brittany Ferries magazine winter edition, started a leaflet for a local commune and finished my commissioned Nantes piece. Wish I'd taken the time to write the Nantes section for my book at the same time, but it will have to wait its turn.
This week I did a tour of Quimper for visiting Canadian academic Chris Andersen and his wife Nish. That was a very interesting encounter as Chris is working on a project about nationalism and identity involving Brittany. We had a stroll round the town and then  (yet another) delicious lunch at Chez Max.
Other than that, I've been to a couple of festivals, including jazz at Chateauneuf-du-Faou in pouring rain, and walked a lot. Despite how this may sound, there have still been many hours at my desk writing, with Barzaz playing in the background.

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.

The art of Nantes

In Nantes last week for a commissioned piece and some research of my own, as the city and the Loire will figure in the River chapter of my book. I took three trips on the water, the best being a three hour journey to St-Nazaire stopping at various works of art that are part of the Estuaire creative project. Nantes never does things by halves, and this is an extravaganza by any standards, from the house half-submerged in the river to a huge serpent on an estuary beach.

The city itself is full of visual jokes - like the 'grey men' of bureaucracy - and surprises, many with light effects designed to be viewed after dark, like the Nymphea by Corsican artist Ange Leccia. A permanent fun piece on the 32nd storey of the Tour de Bretagne 70s tower block is Le Nid, where the eponymous nest is a bar and the elongated white bird encloses broken egg tables and stools.
Nantes is a dynamic place at any time of year, but it's positively sizzling in this July heat. I came home exhausted, overloaded with art and ideas. Good excuse for a rare day off work today.

Huelgoat guide

My little tourist guide to Huelgoat is out now in both English and French editions, and doing very well. It was designed to meet the requirements voiced to me by many French and British visitors over the last few years, and to provide exactly what they need for a short visit and a few varied walks. I often meet people lost in the forest because of a dearth of proper, accurate (i.e. GPSed) walking maps and am frequently asked about the history of the town, the mines, the war, etc.
I tried to respond to all this in a format that was cheap, attractive to look at and easy to handle - something that any visitor would think worth a 5 euro punt. As well as the walking maps, which at last enable people to make their own circuits, there's a good town map with facilities shown as well as sights/sites.
I'm very grateful to Red Dog Books for agreeing to publish it and my good friend Monique Le Bouhellec for her translation of my original text, and her ability to reconcile the completely different styles of the two languages for this type of production. Having a separate French edition has proved a successful gambit and one I hope to repeat next year for a different location.

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

The Empress Eugenie's chamber-pot...

It's always amazing what strange stories appear during a forage among the archives of any place, anywhere. This week I've been in Pontivy (once Napoleonville and famous for its imperial town planning), before and after a welcome interlude with friends in Arradon on the Gulf of Morbihan. I'm looking at 19th century politics in this piece, and a very tedious subject this can be, but every so often something ridiculous or amusing turns up to brighten the long hours.
The allure of royal, or imperial, souvenirs is not a new thing. After the brief visit of Emperor Napoleon III and his wife Eugenie to Pontivy in 1858, the 'vase de nuit' (chamber-pot, rather than 'night-jar' which you sometimes see in translations!!) used by the Empress during her night's stay, became a much sought-after item, and not merely for its quality English porcelain. But the very nature of 19th century politics is seismic shifts. Fifty years later, the pot was on sale in a second-hand shop in Vannes.
The Empress was good enough to promise funds for a new church in the town, having been asked pretty bluntly by the priest during the celebratory banquet organised for the imperial couple. How pleased she was to be represented in gargoyle form on the facade, we'll never know. And sometimes it is better not to know things, especially endless detail about the lives of people in whom we have no interest at all.

Qui voit Ouessant voit son sang

Just back from a working holiday on the amazing island of Ouessant. Managed to complete the coastal walk started on a previous trip and highly recommend it: for me it is far the best of all the Breton islands, being harsher and more remote than much vaunted, pretty Belle-Ile. That sense of being far out in the Atlantic (with weather to match - from hot sun to a wind force I've never experienced), and the lengthy, often rough, journey to get there adds to the experience.

Qui voit Groix, voit sa croix

Trip to the Ile de Groix in very bad weather yesterday. Whilst walking for hours in sodden clothes is not my favourite occupation, it turned into a great day thanks to my companion, a geologist - an essential on this island once tortured by tectonic plate movements that have left the most spectacularly dense folding and the coloured stones for which Groix is famous. Garnet dust turns many sands red, and tiny garnets stud the deep blue/green glaucophane.

My other goal was to visit the haunts of one of my favourite poets, Yann-Ber Calloc'h, a tragic loss to Breton literature at the age of 28 in WWI. To hear his moving lines about his beloved native island read aloud in Breton beside his memorial on the cliff-top was an experience that saturation could not spoil.

We left in a brief of spell sunshine, past the very unusual convex beach of Grand Sables, Groix gleaming greenly in our wake.

Ile de Sein

On the Ile de Sein today for my chapter on Breton islands. It's eight years since I was last here but not surprisingly it seemed pretty much the same. Strange experience, as nowhere is more than 8m high, and the surrounding seas, even on a quiet day like today, were rough.
Not sure yet what theme I'll rest on, but women and/or death are sure to figure. Admired Mathurin Meheut's drawings of women at work in the museum, which also has an extensive section on the war. I think enough has probably been written already on Sein's contribution there, de Gaulle's admiration and the illustrious honour of the Ordre de la Liberation.
High recommendation for the restaurant at the Hotel Armen, where I had the best cod fillet in seaweed sauce (one of my favourite dishes) ever, plus good homemade bread and home smoked fish with salad to start.

Guided tour

I was pleased to do a guided tour for the association AIKB today, highlighting some of the great sights covered in my new Saints Shore Way book. First we visited the remarkable crypt in the church of St Melar at Lanmeur, followed by a quick look at the Romanesque church of Kernitron.
Onward to the coast at the Pointe de Primel (pictured above - with those of the group who wanted a bit of exercise after lunch) where we had a picnic and some walked out to the gouffre or chasm between the butte and the culminating rocky pinnacle. This was an Iron Age éperon barré, or fortified peninsula, where the natural landscape was enhanced by artifical ramparts to form an impressive defensive position, occupied over later centuries by the Vikings, the English, the Spanish (Wars of Religion) and the Germans in WWII. Finally to the neolithic cairn at Barnenez, a site I cannot visit often enough, for a glimpse into the life, death and values of people in Brittany around 4700BC. This monument was called "the Parthenon of the neolothic" by culture minister André Malraux in the 1950s when it was classified as a matter of urgency to stop a predatory developer who had begin dismantling several of the eleven passage graves under the cairn.

Great day for guiding work, with those three top criteria - quality sites, lovely people and kind weather.

La Paimpolaise

My latest research trip was a few days in Paimpol as I'm writing something about 19th century Breton cod-fishing in Iceland. This incredibly arduous, grim and frequently fatal endeavour was elevated into a kind of super-heroism by popular culture of the time, notably the novel Pecheur d'Islande (1886) by Pierre Loti and the song summarising its whole story in six verses by composer Theodore Botrel a few years later. The latter has a simple and hence infuriatingly catchy lilt that keeps it going round and round in my head ...
J'aime Paimpol et sa falaise
Son eglise et son grand Pardon
J'aime surtout la Paimpolaise
Qui m'attend au pays breton

There are no cliffs around Paimpol, but that rhyme's an irresistible gift ...

This is what Loti dubbed the Widows' Cross, sighting point for the return or non-return of the ships. The excellent Musée de la Mer tells the whole painful story with a variety of documents and artefacts. Well worth a visit, and nearby is the unmissable Abbaye de Beauport. I've been numerous times and it was not on the agenda, but it's just too good to pass by, especially on a sunny May morning...

Tréguier

I've been in Tréguier, one of my favourite places in Brittany, for some research on the rationalist philosopher Ernest Renan, and more specifically the clash between the religious establishment and progressive Republicans in 1903 when a statue to the great man, flanked by Athena, goddess of Reason, was provocatively erected opposite the entrance to the cathedral. This building is associated with Tugdual (or more accurately Tudgual), one of the seven founding saints of Brittany from the Dark Ages, and later with Saint Yves, whose tomb and grinning skull lie there. The latter is the patron saint of Brittany and was an historical figure from the 13th century (d1303). His reputation as a priest and ecclesiatical judge was that of one predisposed towards the poor and disadvantaged. Odd that he is now the patron saint of lawyers, who come from all over the world to celebrate the Pardon on May 19th. Yves is also that rare thing - an 'official' Breton saint, canonised by Pope Clement VI in 1347.

Both St Yves and Renan are sons of Tréguier (600 years apart), offering me a profitable juxtaposition for the new book. Renan's great sin was to present Christ as a 'very remarkable man' (and not the divine son of God) in his lectures and book The Life of Jesus, published in 1863. This led to suspension from his teaching post until the Republican govenrment of 1870 reinstated him. The vicious caricatures of Renan with the Devil's horns and pictures of armed soldiers trampling good, honest citizens to the floor during the confrontations of that wet day in 1903 reflect the often violent polarisation of state and church during the later part of the 19th century, resulting in the final separation in 1905.
The immediate response of the Catholic Church to Renan's statue was to commission the last great calvaire in Brittany, erected on the quay of the Jaudy river at the foot of the hill leading up to Renan's family house and his statue. This lavish monument (complete with lists of donors) is called both the Calvaire of Reparation or the Calvaire of Protestation, depending on your religious stance. Renan's earlier spiritual advisors - for he had been intended for the priesthood, only experiencing a crisis of faith at the very last moment - refused to join the outcry about his book in the 1860s, retaining their affection and respect for him to the last.

Cornish trip

Great trip to Cornwall, walking the Saints Way with a friend (the Cornish artist Haddow, www.haddow-art.com) and publicising my own Saints Shore Way book, which details a long-distance walking trail on the north coast of Brittany conceived as an extension of the Cornish route.
The Saints Way (Padstow - see Camel estuary above - to Fowey) took form in the 1980s from the discovery of ancient granite stiles in a valley near Luxulyan. These were probably part of an old drovers route but they gave the idea of a north to south coast path that earlier migrants may have followed to avoid dangerous seas around Lands End. The path today connects many Celtic crosses and churches to give character to the saints' theme. From the harbour at Fowey, these Dark Age pilgrims set sail for Brittany, or ultimately for Jerusalem or Compostela.

Our two day walk was slightly marred by driving winds which made lingering on the heights of Saint Breock Downs an unattractive prospect, but we had a restorative night at the excellent St Benets Abbey hotel/B&B. I had quite forgotten the old problems of walking in England with dubious directional arrows across fields, farmyards to avoid and bulls in waiting. We don't have any of that in Brittany, which certainly simplifies matters. Give me track walking any day for ease of nagivation and that welcome give underfoot - there was too much road slogging in the Saints Way for a fairly short route (42 kms).
Also managed quick visits to Penzance and St Ives in the rain before a very welcome meeting with John Fleet of CERES (Centre for European Research within Cornwall) in Truro. Overall it was a fine experience and I added a couple of days in London with my nearest and dearest thanks to the overnight sleeper train from Truro to Paddington. Have to say though, it's good to be home in France.

Out at last

My new book The Saints' Shore Way is out at last - a project with the Baie de Morlaix tourist board supposed to last three months that has in fact taken up eight and caused me all manner of hardships. It has certainly been an eye-opening experience to see how tourist organisations work in terms of project development.
The guide gives maps, directions, sights and themes for a 133km route between Roscoff and Lannion, via Morlaix, mostly on the coastal path. It's a week's walk, accessible without a car as it starts from Roscoff ferry port and there's a good train service back from Lannion. The cover, designed to say sea, summer, dramatic rocks and lonely paths away from it all, has been a hit. Even the English distributor emailed to say it made one want to be there at once. The whole book looks and feels great, so all that meticulous work on the page lay-out and design was worth it in the end.
As I've sold my rights, very cheaply as things have turned out, the sales are not a direct concern, but I've done a great deal of publicity here and in England to help things along. Pity it is quite late in the season for planning holidays, especially with Easter so early. I'm doing a tour of some of the highlights for the AIKB in May and publicity in Cornwall, because of the connection with the Saints Way there, before that.

Celtic punk

I'm enjoying a chance to get on with the new book - cultural history of Brittany - without distractions, apart from finishing the Huelgoat walking for the little guide coming out in April. Yesterday I was able to write all morning, get out over lunch-time on the high hills on a cold and grey day perfect for walking and thinking, and then read all afternoon.

As I have already accumulated a veritable moutain of books (all in French, so inevitably a bit slower to get through) for research, that reading time is vital. Ended a very productive day listening to the Ramoneurs de Menhirs, my favourite Celtic punk band. Actually I don't know any others (yet) but I'm determined to get them in somewhere. Their wit and energy are inspiring, a sure antidote to the heavy literary mob who will also figure here and there in the book. And I like their music.

The tallest menhir in France

The Menhir de Kerloas - slightly taller than me ...

Le Conquet trip

Had a great (too short) holiday in Le Conquet. Stayed in a very cheap but perfectly functional chalet in the holiday village run by the mairie. Two minute walk into centre and five minutes to coast path, so well placed for walking, eating and drinking. I rarely drink alcohol but it seemed the height of civilised behaviour to wander into town for an aperitif before supper. Just as well I revisited the Pointe de Corsen, westernmost point of France, where my new book opens - it has been heartily sanitised with a manicured path and pristine table of orientation. No more signpost to Moscow, Morocco and London. Maybe not such a great loss. Let's hope there are no plans for a tourist circus like at the Pointe de Raz.
Fabulous walk one day down the coast path to the Pointe St Mathieu with its ruined abbey and lighthouse on the cliff-top. Few better sights in Brittany than that, no matter that I've been there many times before. The fort has been transformed into a memorial to those lost at sea, the walls covered with photos of each individual. It's a disturbing and uncomfortable experience.
Partly also on the quest of Michel Le Nobletz, the 17th century missionary who did so much to galvanise Catholicism in western Brittany and invented the taolennou, sheep-skins or wood painted with biblical or allegorical scenes to revive notions of keeping to the straight and narrow in order to attain the ultimate reward in heaven. Some illustrations of these powerful documents in his little chapel above the port at Le Conquet and in the parish church where his tomb rests.