Tuesday - Ste. Anne d'Auray, Auray and Vannes

Tuesday morning brought overcast and gray rain. After a leisurely morning over breakfast (delicious as always) and a stroll around Carnac centre, seemingly deserted although the one bookstore was open and the four of us browsed lazily among the shelves, we loaded ourselves into the Ford (our close companion now, although no DS to be sure) and headed back north, this time in the direction of Ste. Anne d’Auray.

The center of this small town was dominated by an incredibly imposing bulk of a cathedral, which formed part of a large u-shaped memorial park. (photo above)

Directly opposite the entrance to the church was an odd structure even by Roman Catholic standards: a pair of stairs forming an apex at the top of which was . . . nothing. It’s the stairs themselves, the sancta scala, that are the important: they represent the stairs that Christ had to climb to meet his judgment at the hands of Pontius Pilate, and the faithful climb them on their knees, one at a time, saying their prayers, asking forgiveness on each riser, climbing ever so much closer to their God. (The “original” stairs, the sancta scala, are reportedly in Rome, near the Church of St. John Lateran.)

A u-shaped wall of names commemorating the young men from Brittany who died during the First World War dominated the third side of the park. At its center, set back about 100m or so was rotunda memorial and behind it was a life-size recumbent figure of a young man in uniform, surround in a sweeping series of male figures, all representative, it would seem, of those young men who will always be young.

Off to the side on the backside of one of the memorial wall of names, was a large statue of Ste. Anne, mother of the Virgin Mary, standing incongruously in her own park, seemingly oblivious of all that had suffered around her.

As we strolled around these large open spaces, deserted but for us four and a group of teenage boys hanging out killing time between classes perhaps, one got the sense that these structures had all grown up independent of one another, that little thought had been put into designing the space with any plan for integrating the theology of faith with fidelity to country. The light rain of course didn’t make the place appealing either, but still. . . .

From Ste. d’Auray we drove south a few kms to the old port town of St. Goustan Auray. After parking the car along the quai (which should be pronounced "kway" but for some reason is actually pronounced “key”) the fours of us scuttled out of the cold drizzle and into the only open restaurant where we joined everyone in town for a delicious lunch of crepes and galette.

After lunch we walked across an ancient bridge directly opposite the quay (key) and popped into an incredible little shop run bun by a former MOF named Larnicol selling Kuign-aman pastry as well as numerous flavors of homemade caramels touched by the grace of Breton sea salt.

What looks like olives are in fact various types of nuts covered in equally various types of chocolate

Kouign-aman

We took our time leaving Auray. Pointing the car in the general direction of Vannes, the largest city in the area and the place where this adventure began, Richard got us out of town and back onto the highway. Upon entering Vannes he deftly maneuvered the Ford into a parking lot in the city center near the “ramparts,” the remaining part of the ancient wall that once ringed the city. The four of us casually strolled in and through the old part of Vannes. Unfortunately the megalith museum was closed -- the museum houses a large number of artifacts uncovered at many of the sites we had visited -- so we sought out a warm place for an aperitif.

That evening we had dinner at the Brasserie Les Halles, in the old part of the city; the recommendation had come from a young woman working the night desk of one of the city’s hotels. Our server was a young woman who was determined to practice her English and I was certainly willing to oblige. The food was quite good – I enjoyed a thoroughly delicious steak – and the atmosphere warm and inviting but we eventually had to go or rather leave the restaurant and we were soon back on the street, wending our way through the maze of rotaries, a feat that has become second nature to Richard now, and found our way back to Carnac and to bed.

Wish you had been there,

Steve

Monday - Carnac Alignments, Locmariaquer and the Power of the Stones

We awoke to a gray, overcast morning, just like Paris but with less asphalt. Lack of sun, a well-chilled air and marginal drizzle would be our companions during our very short time in Brittany. But the breakfast laid out by our host was delicious: fresh baguette, homemade jams, Breton butter and local pastries, sweetened even more by the lively table conversation as the four of plotted our moves for the day.

(Richard’s suggestion that we tour as many of the nearby Neolithic and megalithic sites as possible before rain discovered our whereabouts proved a wise choice.)

So packed ourselves into the Ford Focus and with Pauline and her trusty road atlas and Richard at the helm the four of us set out to walk among the stones, to stroll among cemeteries older than the pyramids, to see for ourselves the power wielded by some thousands of large rocks.

Our first stop were the series of stone “alignments” just north of Carnac.

Extending over more than 4kms, the Carnac Alignments are comprised of three major groups of stones that may have once formed part of a single group: Le Menec, Kermario. The alignments also include isolated menhirs (large standing stones), as well as individual tombs such as the Tumulus of St. Michel and collective tombs (dolmens), also known as passage graves like the one at Menec:

I’ll have a bit more to say about several other burial sites later, as we visited several of the more spectacular ones on Monday as well. Suffice it to say these are probably the oldest cemeteries I will ever visit in my life (I have no idea as to what I'll be visiting afterwards),

Like the stones themselves, why and how these thousands of stones were literally lined up in rows extending for hundreds of meters and who actually performed such incredible feats long before the pyramids of Egypt were conceived remain a mystery. One thing is certain, the folks who did put them here were certainly advanced socially, their numbers substantial and organizational hierarchies significant, perhaps in the extreme. Today many of the stones are on private property and of course, over the millennia many have disappeared, to be used for building or fencing and a few have even been “Christianized” by having a cross placed on top.

Before plunging amidst the rocks we stopped in at the “Maison des Magalithes,” across from the Menec alignments. Essentially a visitor center, here you can watch an informational video, view a fantastic model of the alignments and get a better grasp of the significance of all these stones. For example, we learned that since these stones were first put up, the water from the nearby ocean has risen 29 meters or nearly 90 feet.

With a deeper appreciation for what we were about to experience, the four of us left the warmth of the visitor center and braved the cold air and sloppy ground to wade among lines of stones put up by people more than 6000 years ago. We walked up to the old ruined windmill, wisely turned into a convenient observation tower, allowing us a powerful view of the sheer breadth of what we had been walking through.

Menec alignment, just one portion of the alignments in Carnac

After strolling back to the car we headed off down the road paralleling the alignments, and pulled off and parked by the Kerlescan alignments. Crossing the road on foot the four of us hardy souls began a trek up a muck-ridden road, past an equestrian center in search of the Geant, a stone some 6 meters high. We found ithe megalithic “giant” sitting in a quiet, open space, all alone, as if waiting for someone to come and pray to bask in its sacredness, to pay it due homage, to feel its power. All we did was take pictures, which I suppose is some form of respect, the best a 21st century man can give I suppose.

A quick stroll back through the mire and muck of rural Brittany and we were strapped into the warmth of the Ford, heading off for the Tumulus of Mt. Michel, at the very edge of Carnac Ville. Constructed between 5,000 and 3,200 BC, this mound grave is roughly 160x120m and some 12m high and is believed to be the burial site of a member or members of the local ruling class. A Christian chapel (a reproduction of the 1663 chapel) sits on the crest, and provides an incredible view of Carnac and the sea beyond. Sadly the actual burial chambers inside the mound are closed to the public.

From Carnac we headed west to the D768 turning south down the neck of land that forms the Quiberon Peninsula. Since there was virtually nothing open along our route we took the first opportunity for lunch and stopped at what probably pass as a diner-cum-truck-stop-cum-family dinging eatery somewhere in the middle of nowhere. Like the location itself the food was unremarkable (although the fish was reportedly inedible). But it was a chance stop, catch our breath and gather our wits about us before forging on to the southern edge of Brittany.

Working as a team Richard and Pauline toured us through the length and breadth of the Quiberon and we could all only wonder at how different the place must look in June or July, when blue replaces gray, heat replaces the cold and large crowds replace the great emptiness that seemed to await us everywhere.

Leaving the Quiberon Peninsula we headed due north then east passing through the lovely and deserted seaside resort town of La Trinite sur Mer in search of more stones. Or rather we were in search of the power the stones once held over generations upon generations, a power only glimpsed in the hints of the rock, the occasional carving whose meaning, and it must have certainly had one, whose meaning is now lost to us.

So, our next stop was Locmariaquer, also on its own strip of land, a finger of rock and dirt pointing to the sea, the site of one of more significant megalithic finds in this part of Brittany: the broken “Great Menhir,” the Table des Marchand passage grave and the Er Grah tumulus. (We also discovered that unlike the other sites, there is a fee to enter this one. The visitor center is worth the stop, however.)

The enormous block of granite today known as the “Great Menhir,” towered nearly 19m and weighed 280 tons, and is reportedly the largest monolith from the prehistoric age in the West. Erected sometime around 4,500 BC it was destroyed either by natural or manmade causes some two or three centuries later. No one knows why, although once upon a time someone knew. Nor does anyone know how the monolith was transported or raised. What is known is that the granite is not native to the Locmariquer peninsula.

A few meters from the menhir is the Table des Marchard dolmen, or passage grave. It was built around 3,00 BC and the site is believed to have been in use until 2,000 BC. One of the things that makes this site so special are the carvings on the inside of the tomb itself.

Finally, the Er Grah tumulus, another enormous monument stretching some 140m in length, is a closed—grave burial site and was probably first started around 4,500 BC, and was gradually extended over the succeeding centuries. It fell into disuse and eventually disappeared altogether and was only rediscovered beneath a parking lot in 1991. It was restored to its original condition the following year.

After leaving the Locmariaquer megalithic site, we stopped at the Mane Lud passage grave, which turned out to be almost in someone’s backyard. Light was slipping away and the passage graves were starting to become to dark, dank and filled with water from the recent rains and snows to allow easy access. with so much to see before dark enveloped us we pressed on.

Next up was the massive passage grave Les Pierre-Plat, today located almost on the beach with an entrance facing the ocean. Covered with hug slabs of stone the passage was too water-filled to permit us to explore, although I did manage to get a few interior photos.

The slab roof of the passage grave is on the left

As the sun dropped below the horizon, the temperature went with it. Since all we had was one tiny flashlight (“torch”), our explorations were fast coming to a conclusion. We did manage a couple of more quick stops, though, one at Mane er Hroech, before darkness took over.

So it was back to Carnac, and dinner once again at the Casino – the menu was pretty much the same but a different server; still, the same quality and the same professionalism. The company was, as it was the night before, warm, the conversation lively and the evening quietly remarkable.

A wonderful way to close out an incredible day of exploring southern Brittany, of feeling the weight of all those stones on my soul, the stilled voices trying to tell us what they once knew and that the mysteries they left behind really weren’t mysteries at all, once upon a time. . .

Wish you had been there,

Steve

Sunday - Paris to Brittany

About mid-morning we left the apartment on rue General Renault with bags in hand and headed off to the no, 5 line at Richard Lenoir, which has become  our line of choice this trip, switching to the 6 at Place d'Italie (Place "Deet") to the Gare Montparnasse:

 

We boarded our TGV train along with what seemed like 30 or 40 thousand other people -- end of the holiday we supposed and many were were returning home. Anyway, there were two trains leaving for Brittany at the same time; one going on to Brest and another, our train going to Quimper. Our assumption was they would probably remain together until we reached Rennes, the first stop after leaving Paris.

After walking the length of what seemed like a mile, Susie and I found our car (voiture) and our seats, and settled in for the 3-hour journey. Leaving Paris on time, the train slipped quietly out of the city and before you could say Jacquie Robinson we were zipping through the rural French countryside at an amazing speed, every so often leaning first one way and then the other. The leans were, quite honestly a bit disconcerting at first, but we quickly found our "train legs" and soon became accustomed to both speed and the train's movements.

A little after 4pm the train pulled into Vannes, our destination. Located in the "Morbihan" area of southern Brittany, Vannes appeared at first to be a rather characterless choice, though the train station was an attractive bit of real estate:

 

Since we had about three hours to kill before meeting up with Richard and Pauline -- they had left St. Albans by car  early that morning -- Susie and I walked decided to spend a little time exploring the old part of town. So I slung our rolling bag on my back -- we've both become quite adept at disguising ourselves as pack mules -- and headed off toward the city center.

Naturally most places were closed; this was, after all, not only Sunday but a Sunday during a long holiday weekend as well. Still, one could get a sense of the holiday spirit around town:  lights were up and many of the store windows decorated. You could see that some folks in Vannes had developed a curious notion about Santa Claus and his helpers:

I'm still not sure what the woman in the stockings is doing with the hammer and how that involves a dog and a penguin. Anyway, the city was quaint and fun to stroll through:

After about a half hour of walking in the numbing cold we both started to feel the need to unwind someplace warm, and frankly I was growing a bit tired of carrying a small house on my back.We no sooner made that decision than we saw a small bar with its sign lit up: "La Bodega." We popped inside and slid onto stools by the wall facing the bar itself. After unloading my portable shed, I ordered two aperitifs and then walked back outside to call and check in with Richard and Pauline. Pauline anwered straightaway. I asked where they were and Pauline said, "We're about 20kms from Vannes."

We hadn't expected to see them until about 7pm (1900hrs) and figured we'd have to consume the better part of a bottle of wine before they arrived so this was good news indeed. After finishing our drink we grabbed our stuff and headed back to the train station, our rendezvous point. No sooner had we arrived than so did they. After loading our bags into their car the four of us headed off for Carnac, southeast of Vannes. But getting out of Vannes proved to be a bit of a challenge.

Between incredibly bad traffic, folks attempting to flee the quaint inner city, poor signage, and trying to find our way in the dark through and out of a place none of us had ever been to before, I'm amazed we aren't still driving around Vannes looking for a way to get out of the endless rotaries. But get out we did, and a half hour later we pulled into Carnac-Ville, looking for our bed & breakfast.

It always amazes me how one can spend so much time driving aimlessly around in such a small area, but if it's dark and you have no clue which way goes which direction -- and the French have seemingly developed an incredible fondness, perhaps obsession for rotaries, you can spend hours looking for what is probably right under your nose.

Of course we eventually found our B & B, the Rivages Carnac.  After unloading our bags, Susie and I in "Petit Mer" and Richard and Pauline in "Afrique" all four of us were back outside, climbing into the car and into the pitch darkness of Carnac to find a place to eat. Curiously, our host seemed somewhat ambivalent about places to eat on a Sunday evening over New Year's weekend, but somewhere we got the idea to try the local casino.


Naturally we got lost again. But between Pauline's navigation and Richard's astute driving skills learned from years of driving through the French coutnryside we found ourselves pulling into the rather busy parking lot of the Casino Barriere de Carnac, near the waterfront of this very deserted seaside resort town.

I know what you're already thinking: "A casino?" For food? That was our very thought as we walked inside. We were very quickly disabused of any preconceived notions about dining "a la casino," and all four of us were equally amazed and pleasantly surprised: the food was not only well-prepared and exquisitely delicious, the service was professional, reasonably priced and the ambiance remarkably comfortable and relaxing. Indeed, the food was so good -- and our choices limited greatly by the time of year -- that we would return the following night.

Three hours later we were back in the car and driving through the dark strees of Carnac, looking for our lodgings. By now we, or rather Pauline and Richard, were developing a feel for the place and we soon found our way home and in bed.

As I slid into bed and between the covers, listening to the quiet of a city in deep sleep, I was already starting to feel the power of the stones. . .

Wish you had been there,

Steve

New Year's Day in Paris

A gray, overcast morning eased into a gray, overcast and chilly Saturday afternoon. This weather has become pretty much routine here by now. But it is winter and we are, if you recall, at a higher latitude than Boston, Massachusetts. (Paris is at 48 degrees, Boston at 42 and New York City at 40.)

Accentuated by being up so late last evening ringing in the New Year  our typically leisurely morning risked becoming a leisurely afternoon. But frankly that's just fine with us. Many places are closed today anyway, so our agenda was slim indeed.

Event though the weather promised some form of annoying precipitation,  Susie and I left the apartment about 2pm and headed over to rue Chemin Vert for a short 10-minute walk up to Pere Lachaise. We crossed Boulevard Menilmontant right at the Père-Lachaise Metro stop and entered through the small, but highly popular entrance nearby. (My favorite map vendor was still there, right outside the entrance. selling the what is still best map to the cemetery.)

Anyway, the place was packed; it was as if every tourist in Paris had decided simultaneously to visit one of the cool things to see in Paris that happened to be open. And we were no different, of course. So we wandered for a couple of hours, taking time to pay our respects to Chopin in division 11, and two of my personal favorites, Jane Avril in division 19 and Sophie Blanchard in division 13.

Leaving Père-Lachaise by the main entrance we walked down rue de la Roquette, heading in the direction of Place Leon Blum and Place Bastille. Two blocks from the cemetery we passed the pretty Square de la Roquette on the right. It's hard to imagine that on this very same spot of green space stood a women's prison, and that directly across the street was the city's prison used for those convicted to be deported to Devil's Island or to be executed. (One can still see the slots in the street that held the base for the guillotine, according to a nearby historical marker.)

Anyway, the plan as to head to rue du Perche in the 3rd arrondissement for a free piano concert at the Armenian Church (Ste. Croix), a venue we've been to several times before.  The church was a bit chilly inside but noticeably warmer than outside and we settled in for an hour or so of Mozart, Schumann (Robert) and a half dozen or so ragtime tunes a la Scott Joplin. Quite entertaining.

It was dark as we left the church and found ourselves standing in the chilly drizzle of a New Year in Paris. But a short walk up rue Charlot to Boulevard du Temple near the Place de la Republique and we soon found a bar where we stepped inside for warmth and stood at the bar sipping an aperitif -- Kir for Susie, Suze for me). After paying the check we walked outside into the rain and quickly found the nearest Metro entrance hopping on the no. 9 at Place de la Republique  to the Trocadero to catch the Eiffel's champagne lights twinkling on the hour.

Between dodging the hundreds of tourists who were dodging an equal number of men of color selling Eiffel kitsch in the pitch dark, and trying to keep the umbrella up and not stab someone in the back or eye, we managed to see the lights for about 10 seconds, at least giving us hope for a spectacular New Year.

Then it was back on the Metro, taking the 9 to the no. 7 and off at the Pyramides. A quick walk up rue Saint Anne looking for an available noodle bar or Japanese restaurant -- this was after all the Japanese section of the city. The good news was most were open, but we avoided the queues and settled in at the tiny Yamakawa where we feasted on yakitori and dumplings washed down with a half bottle of Tavel.

After dinner it was back on the no. 7 and off at Place d'Italie. We walked down Boulevard Auguste Blanqui to meet up with up with Matt & Susan, Sarra and Andrea and Barbara at their apartment. we all walked up to the Place and found a brasserie for a late night cafe and dessert. The food was mediocre and service slippery but the conversation was lively and a frankly what could be a better way to say adieu than sitting in a Parisian cafe?

Sarra leaves for London on Sunday, Andrea and Barbara head back to the US on Monday and Matt and Susan return to London for one day on Monday before they too head to the US and Providence to begin a new life and Susie and I leave for Brittany on Sunday to meet up with Richard and Pauline.

So, we say au revoir to the group as they walk down Auguste Blanqui and we turn back to the Place "Deet," sliding down into the Metro to the no. 5 to Richard Lenoir and home. Like all travelers, "we each have our own path to take/our own journey to make."

Wish you were here,

Steve

New Year's Eve in Paris

A gray day in Paris; overcast sky with crisp temperatures giving one the sense that snow is in the air (none is predicted, though). This morning was leisurely for us: coffee and a galette for Susie, coffee and baguette and toast and jam for me.

After rousing from a respite of indolence I showered, dressed and headed out the door and down and out the door to run errands, prepping for our New Year's Eve dinner with the group and A & B's apartment.

First off, down to Place Leon Blum (and paying my obligatory respects to the man himself), to Boucherie Thomelin for two veal roasts, then next door to Maison de Rouyer for pastries (getting a start on Saturday morning): Apricot Ornais and a croissant d'amandes; then to Nicolas for wine and finally to Simply Market for juice, milk and water, the last two stops stoking our larder for later this weekend, and for when we return from Brittany.

After returning to apartment and unloading, Susie and I headed down rue Chemin Vert to Gerard Mulot's pastry shop, a quick but not terribly scenic walk to the edge of the Marais, where we stocked up on a raft of desserts for the evening. Our assignments for dinner were now fulfilled.

That afternoon we headed off to the Champs Elysees to the Village du Noel, the Christmas Village that was set up on both sides of the street between the Place de la Concorde and the Rond Pont des Champs Elysees. Consisting primarily of vendor tents selling food, there were some cool crafts to be found, and we indeed found the soap maker that Susie had discovered in the Saint Germain neighborhood some time back. Anyway, it was primarily food that was the big attraction, as one might expect in France:

Smoking salmon on the spot

And of course champagne to go

Chocolate

About half-past six we left the apartment and, carrying meat in a backpack and desserts we walked the five minutes or so to the no. 5 line at Richard Lenoir.

Ten minutes later we were standing outside the door of A & B's apartment ringing the buzzer. Andrea let us in. a few minutes later and I had aproned up and was browning the roasts, preparing them for the oven, while Andrea prepped the salad.

Matt & Susan arrived with the cheese and more wine, and not long afterwards Sebastian (a friend of Andie's who lives in Paris) brought the champagne.

Dinner was tasty, the wines were wonderful and the conversation warm and lively -- although I'm still not sure who "Jackie" is. Anyway, the evening once again slipped into night and then into early morning as we said adieu to 2010 and bon jour to 2011.

Matt

Susan and Sarra

Eventually we had to leave and after saying good night Susie and I headed off to the Place d'Italie and the no. 5. Fortunately, this is the one night of the year the Metro runs all night -- and it was free to boot!

Wishing you a most happy and wonderful New Year!

Steve & Susan