Our time is up and we are leaving Brittany, desolate. But we are avoiding England for the moment as the weather reports were all of sodden rain. We clung to the coast as we headed north from our home in Brittany. Again, England misses out on much of a summer.
Passing the fishing traps of Tregastel we took our last shots of boat silhouettes on the Locquemeau waters and the mussel fisherman selling off his catch of the day from the deck of his boat.
We stopped for a wonderful night at the picturesque town of Dinan, walking high on the ramparts overlooking the River Rance and the port. Then for hours up and down historic promenades filled with artillery towers, chateaux, gardens, churches and wealthy merchants homes dating back hundreds of years.
We slept in an Aire on the Rance, not far from where the earliest inhabitants, a group of 9th century monks began their mission, while local lords set about building a wooden fortress that was to become the town.
Then, as today, there would have been garden plots and walks backing on to the river; while further downstream the monks might have had little fishing carrelets at the end of rickety jettys, somewhat like the locals do now. The fragile wooden poles at the front carry the four corners of a large net which is lowered into the Rance when the fish are on the run.
On to St Malo where from slits in the ramparts you can see the very sea where corsairs of long ago prospered as they plundered English ships that attempted to cross into these waters. These were pirates of some note, not your ordinary Johnny Depp, for they carried with them letters of royal permission, allowing them to go 'coursing' after enemy ships.
Today eagles keep one eye on the watch.
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