Our holiday in France was absolute bliss – 2 weeks of lazing around reading (can’t believe how little time I have for that these days), exploring towns and villages (Dinan, Dinard, St Malo, Vannes), visiting some of the ‘must-sees’ (standing stones at Carnac, Mont St Michel) and eating lots and lots of lovely French food at friendly little restaurants, markets and the infinitely superior French supermarkets.

I don’t want to go on endlessly but highlights were:

The Abbey at Mont St Michel.  Top tip – get there early, before the coach tours, and try to find a back way up to the top as otherwise you end up in a hellish slow-moving procession up the incredibly narrow main street.  The shops on this street just seem to sell tourist tat and the restaurants are expensive and not very good although the Lonely Planet guide recommends a few.  When we left it was hooching with people and I wondered how many of the actually made it to the Abbey at the top – a lot looked as though they’d struggle without the assistance of a cardiologist.

Dinard – gorgeous early 20th century French seaside resort.  Not tacky; cute stripy bathing tents on the immaculately clean beach; sand with flecks of iron pyrite in it so it glitters; lovely beachfront cafes including the one that produced the best ice-cream in the world. 

Vannes and its wonderful market on Wednesday mornings.  Great shops too and I managed to spend a peaceful day distracting myself from the rain.

Concarneau was definitely Magnus’ favourite as he got to have his picture taken with a Jack Sparrow (Pirates of the Carribean) lookalike.  And when you’re seven-and-a-half what’s not to love about that?  Aside from pirates, it’s a small fortified town on an island and terribly pretty. 

The heavenly cottage that we rented for the second week of our stay – the first week’s accomodation was lovely but Ty Neve was idyllic.  Run by a delightful British family who really are living the dream so many of us have of moving to France, Ty Neve is set at the head of a wooded valley and one can sit by the pool or on the terrace in the evening and gaze across the cornfield at the trees.  So quiet and peaceful.  They also have three children, the older two being about the same age as Magnus and they chummed up straightaway and played for hours in the woods and gardens.  We will definitely return in the next year or two – masses to do around there within an easy drive but a lovely place to potter around doing nothing.

Food!  Our favourite meal was at this lovely little place in the pretty village of Jugon les Lacs.  We chose the Prix Fixe costing 15 euros each (approx £11) and feasted on moules farci, Coquille St Jacques and the most perfectly cooked rabbit Malcolm’s ever tasted.  Little restaurants like this were a regular occurence and really brought it home to us how expensive the UK is for really very average grub.  Simple, local incredients, beautifully cooked and reasonably priced – why is it so hard to find that back home? 

Food – part 2.  Shopping for food in France was a revelation.  The markets were fantastic places to buy fruit and vegetables, cheese, meat and olives but French supermarkets (which Malcolm got very excited about) were so different to British ones.  Instead of being greeted by racks of pierce-and-ping ready meals, there were fish counters with every possible offering and so fresh – when was the last time you could buy a lobster cooked while you waited?  There were tempting deli counters and the groceries were fascinating.  The veg sections weren’t full of plastic packaging and Stepford Wife identikit apples, but produce that was fresh and tasty and smelt good – the tomatoes were wonderful!  The ethos seemed to be that if you were in a hurry, you’d buy some bread, maybe throw together a salad and accompany it will some charcuterie, rather than throw a curry in the microwave.  Magnus also discovered pots of chocolate fondue which are utter heaven and we’ve brought some back with us.

Driving.  French drivers are stereotypically seen as impatient, erratic and downright dangerous.  In fact we found them to be courteous, patient when these British drivers felt the need to go round a roundabout twice before deciding which exit to take and generally rather laid back.  There wasn’t a lot of speeding, people didn’t hog the outside lane of the dual carriageway and you didn’t get lots of people in fancy SUVs harrassing everyone else because they perceived themselves to be more important.  And I saw some of those cute old Citroen vans and some Renault 4s.  I’ve always wanted a Renault 4.  Or a 2CV.

Worst bit:  dog pooh – I don’t mind dogs in restaurants or shops but I cannot understand why the French don’t scoop the poop that their animals leave liberally on the pavements of their beautiful country. 

Despite my assurances that I wouldn’t witter on for too long it seems I have so apologies for that.  We had a lovely time and I can heartily recommend the cottage we rented to anyone who fancies a similarly relaxing time in Brittany.

Now, I’m back at my desk, opening a foot high pile of post, dealing with hundreds of emails (and is it just me or is spam especially bad at the moment?) and itching to get cracking with some of the projects we discussed on our hols.  More on that later though.

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