Breton insights

After 3000 kilometers, three weeks, and a third of our travel time, we are now leaving Brittany.

It took longer than planned because we really like the coastline of this French region. Incredibly clear, shining turquoise water, white sandy beaches, and bright, unspoiled light leave lasting, deep impressions. It almost feels like the Côte d'Azur, just with fewer people.

The changing tides constantly change the scenery. Just a moment ago, you could admire oysters, mussels, and snails on the hard granite rocks and collect them for cooking at home.

After hiking along the customs officer's path, which offers new, uplifting views of gigantic rock formations and deadly cliffs along the Brittany coast for over 2000 kilometers, the small bay is now completely flooded upon our return. Not a single stone is visible anymore, and there is only enough space for a beach towel left, causing the remaining bathers to huddle together.

Charming towns with impressive churches or small fishing ports invite you to stroll around.

We save many sights for next time. For example, Mont Saint Michel, Saint Malo, the stone rows of Carnac, or the westernmost point of France. We drive to Point du Raz, hoping to have a view of the famous, wave-breaking Ar Men lighthouse. But eight euros just for parking the vehicle alone discourage us, so we decide not to join the crowd marching to the headland.

In Étretat, in Normandy, we only catch a glimpse of the famous hole in the rock out of the corner of our eye as we pass by. The town is overflowing with people and vehicles, and parking is not possible, not even on the square two kilometers away from its gates. Instead, we take a detour to La Hague and admire the reprocessing facility, from which Castor transports occasionally arrive in Lower Saxony and 500 cubic meters of radioactive water are discharged into the English Channel daily. Quite interesting.

We of course try some local specialties. For example, the famous Breizh-Cola, reminiscent of Fritzz, it's drinkable. Or the galette made from buckwheat flour with mushrooms and egg, it tastes great!

One thing that will stay in my memory is the Andouille. It can be admired and exorbitantly expensive in all shops, markets, and butchers. So we decided to try this meat creation. A round sausage, rolled and smoked.

It's not my thing, that was my first thought, it tastes very strongly of beechwood smoke. Eventually, Zappa googles what we are actually eating here: a type of sausage made exclusively from offal. So it's made from pig intestines and stomach, carefully cleaned, cut into strips, bundled, rolled up, smoked for three weeks, and hung after soaking in water.

Well, you can have it, but you don't have to...

Many vacationers find their way to these regions on the Atlantic. The Bretons strictly regulate the influx of campers with regulations and requirements, and after the experience with Monsieur Policier, we don't want to push our luck and test how the various parking, overnight, and camping bans are enforced. We always find a place for the night, but the search is not always fun.

Here and there, we take the opportunity to conduct social studies within the camper community.

For example, we observe the different types of motorhomes. Firstly, the classics, which can also become unexpectedly large and equipped with every luxury imaginable. Mostly used by financially secure retirees who are reluctant to leave their chic abode and thus not easy to observe.

Then there are roof tents, various types of vans, self-built or ready-made, VW buses of various qualities, from old and rickety to brand new and luxury class. There are also a few mini campers of the robber's den type, but not as common as they used to be.

We increasingly meet solo female travelers with dogs or cats. They are usually very communicative, friendly, and cheerful.

For example, Madame Sympa. She is parked together with us on a parking lot with access to the coastal hiking trail in her slightly elderly Hymer motorhome. In the evening, she stays in her four walls, and we only suspect that we have a neighbor when she lowers her blinds.

The next morning, I wake up to eager chatter. I hope it's the local dog group, which will soon be on their way. But unfortunately, that's not the case. The chatter just continues, with laughter and giggles as well. There's no more sleep to be had, so we climb out of the Kangoo. Madame Sympa and Monsieur Charme have found each other in front of the Hymer and chat away. We set up our breakfast and watch them with interest.

Their dogs don't get to interact with each other, the black mutt is not particularly interested in Madame's small scruffy mixed breed. However, Madame is clearly flirting with the young dog owner, who repeatedly makes her laugh in a very gallant manner. This goes on for quite a while, and I am amazed at how much two probably completely unknown people have to talk about. Unfortunately, they are out of earshot for details.

We finish our meal, and the two of them also say goodbye. Finally, when the robber's den is transformed back into a vehicle, Monsieur Charme races back onto the scene, squealing his tires and raising a cloud of dust. This time, he carries a butter-drenched bag of croissants from the local bakery and a bottle of cider, starting off modestly.

We suspect that Madame Sympa rents out her apartment to tourists in the summer and spends the hot season of the year in her mobile home on the windy coast. And making acquaintances for the cold season, can't hurt.

We also observe different types of vanlifers, such as the vegan, sustainable, ecological young rebels with dreamcatchers on their mirrors. Or the mostly quite prudish Pössl couples.

But Zappa will tell you about his insights. So be patient!