August 2010
We had been in France for a fortnight, staying at Apremont, a little village about an hour’s drive from Nantes and had just one day left before we would have to start the long, long drive back to Boulogne and from there to England. We both felt we had to do something a bit different on that last day, particularly as the weather up until then had been fairly indifferent for that time of year,
Since we had a French book of walks (printed in French) we thought we’d try one of them, though not too long, as the weather had grown much warmer. The one that appealed to both of us was the seaside town of Bretignalles sur Mer, as we’d never actually been there before, despite it only being a short drive away from Apremont. Also, it was a comparatively short walk, compared to some we’ve done in England.
When we got to Bretignalles we found it was market day and we wandered through the stalls selling mussels and other seafood as well as clothes and fruit, trying to find the starting place for the walk – i.e. the Tourist Office. This was easy enough to find, but sadly the next port of call mentioned in the book, a side street, was not.
We proceeded in the direction seemingly indicated in the text but this proved fruitless, so I felt compelled to ask a lady sweeping out the front of her shop. Despite the fact I was able to actually understand her French (I can speak it and write it much better than I can follow spoken French), her reply was disappointing. She lived outside the town and didn’t know the town that well!
Because of the difficulty of starting, let alone the finishing, the walk and as it was getting increasingly hotter, we decided to abandon it and simply have a beer in a cafe by the town church, at the edge of the market. The only problem was that the service was just finishing and the bells were rather loud! Shortly after we left the cafe, we caught sight of a town map on the wall and it turned out the two streets we were after were over the other side of town! The book had neglected to mention that two roundabouts had to be negotiated to get to them, nor did the author feel it necessary to mention the Market Square or the church. I thought English books of rambles were often inadequate in their instructions.
Anyway, we had decided against re-starting the walk and simply made our way to the sea-front, where we walked along the beach over rocks and sand, then back to sample the local ice cream, which, as mine had a raspberry sauce over it, spilt over the cornet onto my chin and my clothes. My wife said she wished she had a camera, but I decided not to let on that mine was in my bag!
At any rate, our day at the sea-side turned out to be a success after all.