August 15, 2018
The full Breton.
Today is assumption day, and even though this country is resolutely secular the holiday is observed as a day off. Why on earth there needs to be a day off in August when the entire workforce (excepting hotel and restaurant workers) is on vacation I don't know, but it is. I got up early after a night bothered by sporadic barking from random dogs. Don't the owners of these beasts hear them? I don't blame the canines but their hominid commensals seem not to have risen high on the social skills scale. It was cloudy, but fairly dry as I rode to Ploumanec'h. One the edge of the town I was stopped by closed streets. I was able to find a way around the crowd and came upon the reason for the closures: the annual procession of the statue of Mary by the congregation. A gaggle of priests and acolytes led a ragged parad through the town with statue bearers and followers in traditional Breton costume following.
With no regard for the crowd or the beautiful lace caps worn by some,of the women the heavens proceeded to open up drenching everyone. I got myself into a nearby bar for a coffee and let the more devout carry on with the parade.
As the rain let up I continued my way into the center of town and stopped again at a bakery for pastery and coffee. The local attraction here is the fantastic rock formation along the coast where water has worked its way on granite leaving some wonderful shapes behind.
I went into the interpretive center and the young woman at the counter'turned out to be really chatty. She wanted to know all about my trip and where I was going next, the usual in other words. She tried to convince me to go to a festival in Treguier, and I said I would be headed there next. She then said that the festival would be tonight and that she would look for me. I smiled at that, because I know that a cyclotourist is not likely to stay up late listening to folk bands, but much more likely to be asleep somewhere. And so indeed I was later in the evening.
Getting to Treguier was easy. I spotted a sign for a hotel/ restaurant on the edge of town so I poked my nose in. The owner turned out to be a cyclist himself and got me a room straight away. He, too, had a loquacious streak and he showed me the entire hotel with running commentary. All I really wanted was a shower and a nap, but since he had been so obliging I followed along. Eventually another guest showed up, so I was left free to follow my wishes.
Arising from my nap, I walked into the center of the city to see what I could find.
After taking a few photos and looking around I walked back to the hotel and wrestled with the journal for a while awaiting the dinner hour. As seven o'clock rolled around, I got out the door and walked to the center of town yet again to search for my supper. The crowds for the festival were starting to arrive and the restaurants had suspended their normal menus for faster service of the crowds. This meant only having two choices, meat or fish, being served "family style" that is sharing tables with strangers, and hustling through the service. I was seated next to a spanish couple and our conversation was necessarily limited. I had the fish plate (choucroute de la mer) and a glass of wine.
Leaving the restaurant, I walked across the central square and a Breton bagpipe band was warming up. Bretons, being celts, like their pipes and they play them loudly and often. The Breton version of the bag pipe or cornemuse is very similar to the Scots version. There are three drones and one melody pipe. They are tuned differently than the Scottish pipes and sound a bit sweeter to my ear, although the range of both of these instruments is limited. As the band marched through town they played the same melody over and over. At that juncture, I thought it best to go back to the hotel and spend the rest of the evening contemplation the inside of my eyelids.
Today's ride: 46 km (29 miles)
Total: 747 km (464 miles)
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