Crêpes, Galettes and Breizh-Cola

Now, the Brittany. Now in the bright summer, a sea of flowers in all colors, sun yellow, crimson red, snow white, cobalt blue. Fragrant hydrangea balls in every garden, in front of old granite-colored houses, in front of every little wall, so not just invented by romanticizing crime authors.

Small villages with oversized churches and even higher church towers stretching far into the deep blue sky, wind-tested stone houses, megaliths, dolmens, menhirs, storm-tossed lighthouses, notable vegetable fields with potatoes, onions, cabbage, and above all artichokes. On a bumpy track between two villages, we follow an artichoke bomber who takes the curves typically French fast and loses one of his precious fruits. I am already preparing to jump out of the Kangoo to collect the lost goods. But the artichoke guard is vigilant and fast, nothing is left lying on the road here.

It would be too much to ask the small camping stove to cook the extremely healthy and low-calorie vegetables for about an hour. On the journey, we have to be content with the pickled supermarket goods instead.

We have now reached one of the destinations of this tour: the pink granite coast and the rocks of Le Gouffre.

Here we find the most photographed house in Brittany, built between two thick pink granite rocks. People live in it, which is why the discerning photographer can only take pictures of the building from a distance, with super zoom and always two vehicles in front of the door. It seems that the streams of visitors have increased so much in recent years that the residents can only protect themselves from the paparazzi with consistent barriers over long distances with high fencing.

So, we also take the picture from a distance and follow the stream of people further to the rocks of Le Gouffre.

From here, you have a great view of the pink rocks scattered picturesquely everywhere in the sea. At low tide, they offer a fascinating picture of an unreal-looking, evocatively exciting landscape. Unfortunately, the Azores high is not with us today, nor with the many other tourists who, along with us, are tumbling, laughing, and shouting on the granite under gray clouds. As I get older, crowds of people stress me more and more, the photos just don't come out right. The atmospheric light is missing, there is only a dense atmosphere. This quickly moves me on, I cannot relax here.

On the way back to the car, Zappa accidentally exceeds the only 20cm high barrier of the path to stabilize his crooked posture while taking photos. And immediately, Madame La Ranger in her police uniform is there and whistles him back. No trespassing! Bird and plant life must be protected from the masses of visitors.

Zappa obediently and politely obeys, but behind him stands Monsieur Important far behind the low fence. Madame reacts immediately and wants to enlighten him about the meaning of it all. But Monsieur is not interested and wants to push her aside by the shoulder. However, he did not reckon with Madame! She folds him up according to all the rules of art, crossing borders is not allowed, and touching is even less allowed. With unprecedented authority, she explains to him why, what for, and why. Monsieur becomes smaller with every letter, the show-off has quite passed him, but the final bonne journée as well.

We have seen enough and slowly we have to start looking for a place for the night.

This is becoming a challenge.