A most unpleasant swim

The day before Melanie arrived back Woody and I went for a bike ride to explore an area of salt ‘farm’.

In the middle ages this area to the west of Vannes became wealthy from its salt resources. There is a low lying area behind a peninsular well protected from the sea that the tide just covered at very high tides. Myriad little dykes were made to trap the salt in rectangular ‘farms’ then subdivided into little pools. The trapped water was then evaporated off in the sun until the salt could no longer stay in suspension and it settled out; the salt was then scrapped from the bottom of the pool, allowed to dry and barrowed off.

You can see the salt settled out in the picture to the left.

Incredibly this is still an industry today, done exactly as it was 500 years ago using the very same pools, beautifully maintained. This is the sort of thing you expect to see in the rice paddies of Asia, not first world France! Still, it must make them a living. Many of the ‘farms’ seem to be private, a few of them selling salt at the side of the road at £1 Euro per kg – hardly gold dust!

I picked up Melanie from the train station in Vannes on Friday and we went to explore the city of Nantes. It was rather disappointing after some of the beautiful old places we have seen so far in Brittany. 

There was however this rather supper castle built in the 1500’s that took over as the base for the final years for the dukes of Brittany.

France has an odd attitude to dogs. The majority of people shy away from Woody and we heard one mother telling her child to keep away from him. We guess because they are worried about rabies. No dogs on beaches, no dogs in castles and certainly no dogs in cathedrals. However, we have a solution! Bought to carry Woody on longer walks as puppies should not walk more than half an hour in the first six months, we have a dog ruck sack that has become our Woody smuggling bag. Once tucked up inside you would never know he was there; it got us into the chateaux no problem and has even had Woody inside Notre Dame in Paris – not a lot of dogs can say they have been in there!

We locked the bikes on the dockside overnight as we were going to use them the next day. In the morning my heart sank as we rounded the corner in the dinghy to see my grey bike hanging over the water by the lock and Melanies bike gone except the front wheel still secured by the lock. I had taken the precaution of removing the saddle posts to make them useless to a joy rider. With no seat, no wheel, useless to anyone I decided Melanies bike could not have been stolen but must have been thrown in the dock just for the hell of it. I was very puzzled that they had managed to get the wheel off Melanies bike; I realised later that they had found the spanner in my bike bag and used that. What lengths they had gone to for this mindless vandelism.

The corner of the dock was a smelly mess of froth and rotting detritus. If I was right then the bike was below that lot. The bikes are too precious not to have on board; I knew from the boat depth gauge the water was only about 12' deep, I was going to have to try and retrieve it. Ear plugs in and mouth firmly closed I slipped into the stinking water after brushing a dead eel out of the way. Taking a deep breath I went down feet first, dreading what the bottom was going to be like. I didn’t get very far, I bottled it. Back on the surface I gave myself a stiff talking to, took another deep breath and duck dived down, down – it went dark – my hands touched the bottom - I groped around – nothing – back up. On the second attempt I touched a metal frame – bingo! I tied my rope around it, shot to the surface in triumph but as soon as I started to pull I knew it was not the bike, it was too heavy – I had found a portable railing. Check the spot – down again – more metal – this time I knew I had it, I felt the spokes. Tie the rope on and back to the surface – I had got it.

Back on the boat I cleaned the bike up and all was well. Not so with my bike sadly, the back wheel was badly buckled, it would need a new wheel. Still, if there’s one thing that can be repaired anywhere in the world it is a bike. I soon had a new wheel from the local bike shop, new rear cogs as well because my cogs didn’t fit the french wheel and we were back on the road.

When Woody had been with us for a month or so we went to dog training classes. One of the things we were told about was to brush a dogs teeth from time to time. Yeh right. Can you imagine – open and say aaahh while I scrub you teeth and gums! You can imagine the result, it wasn’t going to happen. 

We are realising that Woody can be quite smart when he wants to be, usually when food is at stake but he must have taken on board some of this talk. A toothbrush is a good cleaning tool to get in awkward places on the boat and I left mine on the deck one day. Woody spotted it and – yes, away he went -top teeth, bottom teeth, molars – !

After a few days with this tooth brush however he decided it was not for him, he found himself a real mans tooth brush!

More reminders of a terrible war not so long ago

From the Golf of Morbihan I sailed the 30 odd miles to St Nazaire at the mouth of the Loire river where I would pick up Melanie on Friday. The coast is exposed here so there is little option other than marinas; at St Nazaire the 'marina' is in the ship building basin. I had to go through a lock to get in, always a bit of a tense procedure but doubly so single handed. I picked a tide time when there would be minimum water flow in the lock which is what throws the boat around - difficult to control with two - impossible on your own. It passed peacefully enough and I tied up alongside the most enormous pile of German concrete I have seen anywhere.

St Nazaire was the base for the German Atlantic U boat fleet. A massive reinforced concrete pen was built to house the submarines and protect them from enemy air attack; now the concrete is pealing away on the outer service the incredible amount of steel reinforcing can be seen - impressive indeed and quite an achievement to have built it in such a short time. I estimate that each of the tunnels would take 4 submarines.

The docks were ugly and noisy waking me at 6 with the sound of jet washing reverberating around inside the submarine pens. I decided to hop it and take my chance anchoring; happily the wind is northerly unusually so I am sheltered. I anchored in a very shallow bay to get out of the swell and will dry out tonight - an advantage to a lifting keel!

St Nazaire is a sole less town having been bombed to annihilation in the war and rebuilt in the 1950's but it is at least practical with a very American layout. What a comparison with the medieval towns I have been enjoying so much; no doubt St Nazaire was the same before the war. What a tragedy to loose so much history in such a short time.

St Nazaire was the scene of a famous commando raid during the war. The harbour contained the only dry dock on the Atlantic seaboard large enough to take big battleships; the loss of the dock would force any large German warship in need of repairs, such as the Tirpitz, to return to home waters via the heavily guarded English channel. This is a view along the dry dock now used to construct and repair passenger liners, most notably the Queen Mary 2 - it is a BIG dock! The outer gate is at the far end.

The obsolete destroyer HMS Cambeltown, accompanied by 18 smaller craft, crossed the English Channel  and was rammed into the  dock gates. The ship had been packed with delayed-action explosives, well hidden within a steel and concrete case, that detonated later that day, putting the dock out of service for the remainder of the war. This is the mouth of the dock with the now repaired gate-I'm afraid the photo gives no idea of the size. The gate retracts back into the channel in the foreground to open the dock.

A force of commandos landed to destroy machinery and other structures. Heavy German gunfire sank, set ablaze or immobilised all the small craft intended to transport the commandos back to England; the commandos had to fight their way out through the town to try to escape overland. They were forced to surrender when their ammunition was expended and they were surrounded.

After the raid 228 men of the force of 611 returned to Britain; 169 were killed and 215 became prisoners of war. This memorial stands in memory of those who died.

Not so far from the madding crowd

Just as promised there was no beating for a very pleasant 30 mile sail from Quimper to Ile de Groix just off Lorient; we were looking forward to a pleasant evening in a quiet island harbour. What we hadn’t factored in was Bastille day. 200 years later they still go nuts for the sacking of the monarchy and the start of a head chopping fest (all bourgeois pigs of course!) It was 7 o’clock as we pulled into the little harbour in Port Tudy on Ile de Groix and we weren’t the first, I've never seen mooring quqite like this before!  We muscled in amongst the hoards and tied up alongside one of the throng; Melanie put the dinner on and on came the music from some mega speakers ashore; this would be a long night! Partying ‘till the wee hours is not really our thing so we decided to high tail it out of there, passing a battery of fireworks on the quay as we left. We had a lovely evening sail for a couple of hours to the mainland where we arrived in a little anchorage behind the old fort at Port Louis just as it was getting dark to be greeted by hundreds of people at the quay waiting for their fireworks. It was a spectacular display in our front row seats swinging to an anchor. It was a tragedy to hear about the mindless slaughter in Nice the following day.

Next we hopped over to Sauzon on Belle Isle; a delightful island where we were also not the first – we are definitely into peak sailing season for the French, there will be no deserted anchorages for us until we reach Spain! Not wanting to stay in a crowded rather rolly anchorage we headed over to the Gulf of Morbihan, a large inland sea dotted with little islands – and every sailing and motor boat in France out for the holiday weekend!

Cider making is big in these parts; it is rather cloudier and more earthy than ours but a pleasant drop. Melanie had found out about a cider festival a little way back up the coast that we wanted to see. We hired a car and drove the 50 odd miles to Fouesnant. Bagpipes are so synonymous with Scotland it was something of a surprise to hear their distinctive drone warming up as we arrived. The roots here are in fact very Celtic; the last strong holds of the Celts being Wales, Scotland Ireland and as it turns out Brittany. We watched the big parade with everybody in traditional Breton costume; there were many similarities to the Welsh dress and even the language, still spoken here and on every sign post as well as French, is similar.

After the parade we were treated to a Breton rock concert; check out the guy with the shades. At least the sun was out!

On Monday Melanie headed home for another cough hospital and Mum visit. I went exploring Vannes, a  medieval walled town.

Vannes is still packed with old timber framed houses; its an odd combination, 21^st century shop fronts on the ground floor with medieval timber above. 

A nice touch was  a Mr Vannes (I couldn't find out who he was), who had a portrait of he and his wife carved into the front of his new house!

This morning Woody and I headed out early for a bike ride before it got to hot. A 7 o’clock start had us at the magnificent Chateau de Suscinio long before the doors opened. Built in 1200 it was more of a castle

 than a chateau; it was the home of the dukes of Brittany for several centuries.






The butter is melting at a frightening speed here now – but I gather you’ve got the same at home – it is 32 degrees as I write this. But just as we are thinking its getting hot, spare a thought for this poor fellow in his thick winter coat!

Beware, wherever you go below Woody is watching you!

Head south 'till the butter melts!

For the last wek in June more miserable weather had us holed up in Aber Wrach on the north west corner of the Brest peninsular. We got out for a bike ride and a walk then headed for Paris for the weekend. Our best man Craig and his family were over from Oz on a holiday so we went up to meet them. We had a lovely dinner on the a boat on the Seine and did the usual sights of Paris. 

Not so usual was the Gay Pride parade we stumbled across; 

this gave a whole new meaning to gay Paris!

On the Sunday evening after drinks by the spectacular Alexander bridge on the Seine  we went to the Champs de Mars beneath the Eiffel tower where huge screens had been set up for the football with the tower as a back drop – pretty spectacular – the giant football is lit up with the flag of the country that wins that day. We saw France beat Iceland standing in the drizzle - a great atmosphere!

Melanie then went home for a few days for her cough clinic (she is taking part in the trial for a drug that will hopefully stop the cough – July to August – right through the sailing!) and to see her Mum.

I was joined by uni friend, Nigel, who brought with him …… the sunshine! Wall to wall for 5 days – marvelous – but poor Melanie missing it!

We set off to Ouissant (Ushant in English), an island off the tip off Brittany and the turning point to head – yes, really south – keep going ‘till the butter melts! From here to the med we are promised down wind sailing; could life at 30 degrees really be over?? Sadly we could’t land at Ouissant because of the Swell but we did go ashore on the smaller neighbouring island of Molene, a very pretty little island. We skipped Brest that Melanie and I had passed through on the way to Paris, a rather ugly city that was flattened and rebuilt after the war and found a lovely anchorage at Camaret. A nice coastal walk took us past a huge gun emplacement from the war that had been turned into a museum; outside flew the flags of France, England, America and, which I found rather surprising, Germany. Put the past behind you, kiss and make up and move on I suppose; good for the French, I am not sure I could have done it.

Two cracking days sailing took us through the Raz de Seine, a pretty vicious tidal race where we had to fight a 4 knot tide as we got there earlier than expected and round to the Odet river and the delightful town of Quimper. The were some rather splendid chateaux on the river bank!

Nigel left me here and I picked Melanie up from the train.

Pronounced Compaire (with a french accent!) Quimper saw its hey day in the middle ages and many of the buildings still stand today. Although we have our fair share of these lovely old timber framed buildings in England, France does seem to have them in greater density. These wonderful buildings surrounded the magnificent cathedral.

Its difficult to get you head round this ornate monument to God being built 800 years ago (and even more difficult to get you head around the general poverty when money was being spent like this!)

At the end of any good days sight seeing one should, well, eat ice cream – the blackcurrant sorbet was fabulous!

Woody has truly taken to being a sea dog. He loves to stand with his face into the wind and take charge of the deck; he has taken to doing his Titanic bit keeping lookout from the bows!