We left the Hotel du Port feeling pretty rested and well fed. To minimise our contact with others, I took a short walk in the cool of the morning to the bakery so we could enjoy another breakfast in bed before getting going.
The road was quiet and the temperature just right as we joined the Velo 4 long distance cycle route that travels across the top of France and into Belgium.
After passing enormous lock gates that held back the water in the port, we soon left town and followed a small trail along the estuary.
There were some long downhill sections and in the low light, I almost ran straight into this fallen oak. Initially, we thought we’d have to push back up the hill as the entire path was blocked and thick, steep forest was either side.
But with a bit of care, we found a route though, under the trunk.
The trail emerged from the woodland at a beautiful estuary. The tide was out, so we didn’t get the full effect, but it looked really picturesque.
We stopped a few times as we rounded the headland to appreciate our arrival back at the sea side - this time of the northern coast of France.
The further east around the coast we traveled, the deeper the blue and green of the sea became and we were constantly pulling over at little inlets and ports to take in the views.
When we reached the wide sandy bay of Tregastel, we stopped and went for a swim. The tide was far out, but the water looked so inviting. And despite the size of the beach, there was no one around. We left our bikes on the promenade that we were cycling along, got changed, then walked straight down the beach. The water is cooler than the south coast, but still nice for swims. By the time we’d walked back up the beach to the bikes, the warm wind had dried us off.
We were already quite tired, so went over to the campsite our on the headland, but having peddled you the hill to reach it, arrived only to discover that it was full. There are seemingly no hotels around these parts either, so although we would have liked to have stayed, we had to move on. The next village was called Plougasnou. The small square was actually quite bustling, so we pulled over for a drink and to assess our options. They turned out to be quite limited. We tried a few hotel, but they were either closed or full. Our only option seemed to be the ominous looking ‘Hotel du France’ which could probably be best and generously be described as ‘dated’. Some might say vintage? It did however have a room free (several in fact!), and the prospect of being under cover during a wet night and morning was enough for us to check in.
Inside it was as good as we had expected and retained many of it original features from it’s refurb in 1950. There was even a place on the hessian lined walls to leave your cigarette!
Old and faded it was, but it was also a clean and private space where we could freshen up and take stock of our situation.
The cafe in the village didn’t take our fancy, so we purchased a fine spread of foods from the village shop and had a hotel room banquet instead, cooked up in the balcony, with the tent laid out drying in the sun behind me.
After a burst of evening sunshine, the forecast was spot on and we were glad to be indoors for the wet night and subsequent morning rains.
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