About tank rides and superlatives

The next morning we have less time to start the day calmly and relaxed, because to Ida's and my joy there was something almost Bretagne-Special given to me for my birthday.

Driving tanks...

No, of course not. But during our research for the planned event, despite Lena's still almost sufficient French knowledge, Google Translate often had to assist. Which is why beach sailing in Saint Malo quickly turned into tank driving in the dunes. Why, no one knows.

So, planned and booked are two hours of beach sailing at one of the widest beaches here in the region, with a view of Mont St. Michel.

Our French companions received a 15-minute briefing, during which Lena got out as soon as it was about Beaufort, wind directions, and specific sailing tips. Not a big deal, we should hear the same thing again in English afterwards. After the others were allowed to start, there was such a brief explanation in Frenglisch that I only understood "Pull the rope therrrre," "Release the rope herrre," and "Extremely dangerous."

Well, it will go wrong anyway, we have helmets on!

Although Ida could drive alone according to the regulations, she understandably (still) didn't want to, so we both got a two-seater car while Lena got a vehicle for herself.

And what can we say...it's incredibly fun. We didn't always manage to position the sail in the wind so that we moved, so we either had to manually get the wheels back in motion or one of the staff members pushed us from behind with a quad bike. Once it starts rolling, these vehicles, lovingly referred to by Ida as pissing pots on wheels, can reach speeds of up to 80 km/h. At some point, we also figured out when the sail needed more and when it needed less tension. Then it feels like flying at times. A few times I even took off. They ran over Lena for that (apparently we weren't the only ones having trouble controlling the irregular south wind). Nothing happened to her, but the collision had caused the steering of her rolling pissoir to give out, so she raced into the dunes at full speed at the next turn ("Wherrrre is she goiiiing?").

After two hours, our time and strength were exhausted, but we were sprinkled all over with mudflats and had a big grin on our faces. That was reeeeaaaally cool!

Unfortunately, the Breton streets are quite a challenge for my passengers (the French love roundabouts anyway, but here they also like road narrowing and speed bumps. First we raced at 80 km/h over a narrow and winding country road lined with high hedges, then we were forced to slow down to 30 km/h only 50 meters behind the entrance sign of the village, followed by traffic constrictions made of red-and-white plastic that the French skillfully drive through with the accelerator pedal pressed to the floor), so we didn't want to make the journey in that direction unnecessarily often and added the planned visit to Dinan, allegedly the most beautiful city in Brittany, to the end.

Generally, the Bretons are extremely proud, which can be recognized, among other things, by their descriptions: in Brittany are the most beautiful beaches in France, the wildest landscapes, the oldest monasteries (actually, at the Côre d'Amor with the Abbey of Beauport, the cradle of Gothic architecture is located), the most legendary forests, the prettiest cities, etc. Everything is a superlative. We definitely agree, although we would complete the list with 'the most challenging roads,' 'the most changeable weather,' and 'the most overcrowded region.'

Because, like almost everything in July and August, Dinan is extremely overrun. Instagram, with its glossy idylls, has certainly not done this region any favors. But as the three of us are famously not at all fazed by anything - neither by traffic jams, nor by closed crêperies (shit, when you promised the starving child authentic French crêpes), nor by jam-packed narrow streets - we spent a very pleasant and relaxed three hours in this enchanting city.

Sarcasm mode off: we definitely go along with the superlative for Dinan; crooked half-timbered houses, narrow alleys, an impressive city wall, and the coolest toy store of all time, topped off with three crêpes laden with syrup, ice cream, chocolate sauce, and cream, completely convinced us. This city is a must and worth every effort.