clairedavieswriter

Here’s my domestique looking a sight for sore eyes as our slow boat to St Malo was preparing to dock this morning. His startled expression may have something to do with Brittany Ferries’ uncompromising wake up methods: an eruption of static-distorted Celtic violin music, delivered at top volume to the speaker in our cabin. There was no off button, so the performance is presumably controlled centrally by a tone deaf sadist in the bowels of the ship. On the plus side, the sudden dose of adrenaline first thing in the morning ensured that we got up in record time and were in the bike storage room before anyone else – just as well, since our bikes were last in.

Capitalising on our pole position, we were also first off the boat, and by 8.15am were already pedalling through the streets of St Malo in the chill of a grey morning. It was all very tranquil – apart from the spell on a busy dual carriageway in rush hour. As a cyclist, it’s never a good moment when you realise you’re on the on ramp to a major road… We double checked the route, and it seemed we had no option, as it was the only way to cross the Rance. Fortunately, we were given a wide berth by lorries and cars alike, and even earned what we decided was a friendly toot from a passing cycle race support vehicle.

Near Dinard, we came upon a peloton of chisel-calved retirees in matching Lycra shirts and jerseys, getting ready for a ride. They swept past a few moments later, and one by one wished us a friendly “Bonne balade” before they zoomed away up the hill.

About a quarter of our day was spent on voies vertes. Aside from the joy of riding away from traffic, the added benefit of these former railway tracks is that the hills are never steep.

By 11am we were in the lovely old walled town of Dinan, which seemed strangely quiet, until we discovered the weekly market in a huge square. As is often the case in a French market, you could buy anything from garden shears and garlic snails to pancakes and pants. We opted for cycle friendly consumables: pasties and bananas.

As always on a ride, some sights caught my eye. You could perhaps categorise them as:

Liberté:

Egalité:

Fraternité:

A key lesson from Lejog was that I needed to eat more, and I am nothing if not a diligent student – though it has to be said that our nutrition today has been mostly in the form of carbs; that is to say, pastries. But when in France, right?

It’s also important to sample the local specialities, so in addition to the croissant for breakfast #1 on the boat and pain au chocolat for breakfast #2 in Pleurtuit, I followed the advice of my French teacher and tried a Kouign Amann – see below – essentially a whirl of thin pastry soaked in sugar and butter. It came from an outfit called Steeve (sic) Mc Kouign, which gives a useful clue as to pronunciation.

Speaking of lessons, it seems that my recent weekly attempts to blow the dust off my French were insufficient to enable me to order a cup of coffee the way I like it. But they did at least mean I could ask the café owner to explain exactly what I need to ask for next time. What will tomorrow bring?