Locmariaquer/Lokmaria Kaer

Thursday, June 27:  I’m sitting in a cute little row-house in Locmariaquer, Brittany with a terrace out back and a view of the sea from the second floor bedroom.  We’ve just returned from a walk around the bay to “Annie’s Island”; it’s rather more of a peninsula, but my sister-in-law has claimed the clump of trees as her own private spot.  And a lovely spot it is.  A lovely walk as well, not too hot, not too cold. We were gone for three hours without even realizing it. 

The French are funny in so many ways.  Last night I went for a short walk right before bed, and the neighborhood of mostly vacation homes was completely silent, shut up tight as a bank at 5pm on a Friday.  Shutters closed, no one on the streets.  No lights, no cars, no late-night dog walkers.  Nothing but the distant sound of waves, a wind through the spruce trees, and the gravel under my feet.  They are so very predictable, there’s no wonder why there’s so much crime here, mostly petty theft.  Always up at 8 or 9, always eating lunch at 1, always watching TV and eating dinner at 8, always shut up tight at 10.  Even the thieves are predictable, usually ransacking houses from 2-3 am.  I guess life must be so much more comfortable if you always know what’s going to happen.  You’ll always take your vacation in August, just like the rest of the country.  You’ll always go skiing for two weeks in February, just like the rest of the country.  When you go on vacation, you’ll rent a little house or apartment, fill your vehicle up with everything you need to cook every meal, shower, go to the beach, take walks, etc., and haul it all to your rental house.  You’ll argue with your family while you unload it all after 7 grueling hours fighting with everyone on the motorway who’s doing exactly the same thing.  You’ll unload all your stuff, then your kids will complain that there’s no internet, or that you didn’t bring their favorite snack.  You assure them you will buy it tomorrow when you spend the first half of your first vacation day in the Super U/Intermarché/Leclerc/Carrefour buying all the food you will need for the week, plus all the things you forgot to bring to your rental house, like toilet paper, dish soap, towels and a grill.  Then, a few days later, you’ll pack it all up again, clean the rental house better than you do your own, and drive the hours back to your domicile.  It’s more than a bit nuts.

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Tuesday, July 2:  I started this post after our first full day in Brittany.  Please don’t misunderstand:  this is not to say that I didn’t thoroughly enjoy our stay in Locmariaquer, Brittany, or that I think all French are crazy for their vacation habits.  While much of France’s tourism is steeped in history lessons, battlefields, castles and museums, this corner of Brittany is fresh and green, focused more on nature than history.  Oh, there are still manor houses and chateaux, but the focus is towards the sea, and the history is even more ancient, that of the Neolithic period when the menhirs were erected for purposes not altogether known.  

Neolithic Menhirs at Carnac

The area is friendly; most of the towns were rather sleepy, as the high season of July and August is only getting started.  Thankfully, the sites of interest weren’t crowded, and we were able to enjoy ourselves at a more relaxed pace than usual.  Despite the quirks of the French, I still think they have preserved some of the best treasures—gastronomic, natural, architectural, etc.—in the world.

We arrived Wednesday evening late, and wolfed down a quick supper before going to bed.  I couldn’t see the ocean from the back door, but I could smell the fishy, salty breeze.  Thursday morning we took a trip to supermarket for provisions, and then took the long walk to Annie’s Island.  On Friday we walked to the village of Locmariaquer—a 15-minute stroll—then ventured out that afternoon to explore the neighboring villages of Trinité sur Mer, Carnac (with the megaliths), and Crac’h  (with the factory outlet of La Trinitaine, the producer of the famous Breton cookies and cakes).  We also bought some ready-made crêpes, which were actually surprisingly good.

On Saturday we lazed about in the morning, then took an afternoon boat trip around the Golfe du Morbihan (the Gulf of Morbihan) to see the various islands.  Not really that much to see, but the birds, the wind, and the sun were totally worth the price of the ticket.  

Locmariaquer port at low tide

That evening quite late, Pascal and Annie (my brother- and sister-in-law) arrived to spend Sunday with us.

Sunday morning we went rather early to the extremely crowded Marché de Dimanche at Carnac.  Lucie and Gaël, hating shopping and markets and crowds, opted instead for taking the dog for a walk, then a bike ride around the area.  The market was lively, selling clothes, shoes, music, vegetables, meat, cheese, seafood, fish, puppies, rotisserie chicken, handbags, kids’ toys—you name it.  We spent a great deal of time there, checking out everything possible.  We bought provisions for lunch, a typical late Sunday lunch in France, as well as oysters for dinner.  Pâté de foie gras, champagne, smoked salmon with a sauvignon blanc, a cookout of grilled charcuterie (blood sausage, chipos, uncured thick bacon) made in Pascal’s butcher shop, cheeses from the market (including a delicious smoked goat cheese), bread fresh from the bakery, salad and sautéed new potatoes from Ginette’s garden, fruits.

The family enjoying the bright midday sun in Brittany

After lunch and some napping, we took a stroll to the port in Locmariaquer.  The town and port were quiet and sleepy, only the crêperie and the hotel-bar were open, and the customers were enjoying drinks outside. 

Back at the apartment, the men prepared the oysters outside on the terrace while the children watched the Tour de France on TV, and the women prepared the sauces and side dishes, cut the bread, and set the table.  Raw oysters with a spritz of lemon or a sauce of vinegar and shallots are a rare pleasure for this Midwest girl, and I enjoyed them enormously.

The next morning we packed up the car and made the four-hour journey back to Marolles-les-Braults, with the scent of the sea still in our clothes and hair.

For more photos of Locmariaquer, visit my Facebook page at https://www.facebook.com/joy.garling/media_set?set=a.10201555704158224.1073741831.1345986608&type=1.