Travel journals · Brittany

We were invited to a friend’s wedding in this beautiful part of Brittany, so we took the opportunity to spend a few days there—first on the Pink Granite Coast and then in Cornwall. Our friends, who are from the Trégor region, had found us a really nice little gîte in Tonquédec, just a stone’s throw from the coast. It was the perfect base for exploring the area’s iconic sites. We stayed in a lovely little house that combined authenticity, comfort, elegance, and tranquility.

Our first trip to the coast was to Ploumanac’h, a small village we discovered thanks to Stéphane Bern’s show. It’s an adorable little fishing port where we parked the car before continuing on foot along the sea. It’s charming—more than that, it’s magical!



Our first walk, our first hike along the coastal path, and our first photos of these massive rocks bathed in light.





The views change with every turn, and so do the surprises—especially the view of the Château de Costaérès.

The path through the woods leads us to the Chapel of Saint Guirec, which overlooks the beach.





This pretty little beach is famous for its oratory, which sits in the middle of the sand and houses the statue of St. Guirec. In the past, young women hoping to marry within the year would often pray to him—they’d stick a needle into his nose! Today, the statue is made of stone, but back then, it was wooden, which must’ve made it easier.





It’s really charming, well-sheltered, and the water is crystal clear. We noticed that everywhere we went!

I’m a Burgundian—true, pure, through and through. I’d never want to leave this region, which, objectively speaking, is the most beautiful in the world. It’s overflowing with wonders. But—because there’s always a but—I decided to marry a Breton, a true, pure, tough, stubborn one who only talks about that and has a flag in the hallway (tied to the Burgundian flag on the wall). That’s how my life went off the rails, and this is my story!

January 2014 The trip to Kenya was planned for September. We were deep into researching our future route! For once, I agreed to leave my magnificent region. But then, in the middle of a Manau song (cliché #1), she announces she’s got a bun in the oven. Before she could explain what that expression meant, I asked what kind of candy it was... We canceled the trip because the due date was set for September! Though, I could’ve gone alone. What’s that, my love? You say no? But... there’s no but? Alright, my love! Yes, yes, I’m drinking my herbal tea and going to bed!

April 2015 The trip still wasn’t happening this year either. I preferred to spend my savings on my son, whom I’ll call Mister M! One day, while she’s listening to Celkilt (cliché #2) and drinking Breizh Cola (cliché #3) in front of Breizh TV (cliché #4), she gets a phone call. Her family in Brittany invites us because they want to see Mister M. What joy... I loooooove my in-laws... No, I’m kidding. They’re nice. Yes, yes. Stop teasing me. Okay, fine, it annoys me even though I’m excited to discover the region. The only time I went there, I was 3 years old (in Brittany, not with my in-laws), and it rained a lot (cliché num... nooooo, my dad told me that, it’s not a cliché!). My wife, though, is thrilled to go "home" and show me around. Hmm... We’ll see at the end of the month... I’ve got 15 days of peace left.

Day 1 It’s the big departure. The two cats are at the kennel, the little one is ready, but the wife isn’t yet (I hate whoever invented makeup). The Punto is packed to the brim—one more handbag and it’ll explode. Here we go, off on the open road. We’ll stop in Carnac because with a kid, the drive is long, and my luck is that I’ll see my family before the big dive into the in-laws’ place. The one I’ll call Uncle Racist is on vacation in Carnac with his wife, Auntie PSG! So let’s make a stop there and take the chance to visit, even if my wife thinks the alignments are just "piles of stones." She’ll change her mind. In the meantime, I tease her by asking, when I see a sign, if Nantes is in Brittany. I nearly ended up in the eternal box from the sheer aggression. I’m not getting into that debate. Only my Burgundy interests me.

But we chat, we chat, and here’s Carnac. Uncle Racist welcomes us. It’s late, Mister M has already eaten and gone to bed. For us, it’s a good beef bourguignon (let’s be chauvinistic!) prepared by Auntie PSG. A football evening (my wife is delighted), and it’s time to hit the hay and dream of... Dijon. Really, what a beautiful region!



Just one photo for now, but the rest is coming for Day 2. Yeahhhh, I don’t take photos while driving, come on.