All Roads Lead to La Turballe

My friend's husband arrived to Brittany by car with their daughter one day later than us, and yesterday we spent the day exploring the farmer's market in Piriac, flying kites on beach Saint-Michel, attending the Medieval Festival in Guérande, and going to a traditional Breton dinner of Galettes and cider at the Moulin du Diable.  These were all a lot of fun, but I missed having my daily randonnée.  I had tried to convince the group to walk to Piriac instead of driving, so I could blog about it, but I was outvoted.  So this morning I got up early before everyone else, to get myself some walk on.  ;)

Last night my friend’s husband had shown me two randonnée paths leading from our gite in Kervin.  One appears to leads South, and the other North.  Since I already explored La Turballe to the South of Kervin, this morning I head out on the little path leading North.  Although my friend's husband had mentioned that this particular path leads to Saint-Sébastien about 1.5 km away, I am not really familiar with the area, and not really sure where Saint-Sébastien is, relative to where we are.  Fortunately, hindsight allows me to prepare this randonnée map.  It turns out I accidentally did a fairly flat 7 km  randonnée... back to La Turballe.   

A few metres from our back gate, I see a randonnée sign labelled “Circuit du Castelli.”  I follow the arrow to Impasse des Tesnières, where a dirt walking trail branches off from the road and heads off to the left. 

It turns into a gorgeous little woodland path that winds back and forth across a little stream.  I love the sound of the songbirds in the trees above me.  No-one else is around and I can feel my tension melting away as my body moves and my mind quietens.  It's a moving meditation.

The path opens to a little grassy field, and I pause until I notice an arrow spray painted onto the grass.  So that’s how they roll in Brittany.  ;)   I appear to be walking the trail backwards, since all the arrows I see point at me instead of away.  This arrow directs me to a classic yellow randonnée sign titled Pont Mady on the other side of the highway (D333).  It says "St Sebastien 1 km."

The path continues along the creek, at one point opens on the left to gorgeous wheat fields, passes a trailer park, then joins a rustic road. 

Another classic yellow randonnée sign titled Le Penker tells me Saint-Sébastien is only 0.3km away, and another more unofficial looking sign titled “Mare Trail” has been added to the signpost.  Soon after this I also see another “Circuit du Castelli” sign, so I keep following the road. I encounter some grazing horses at an unmarked junction.  I follow my randonnée motto: when in doubt, keep going straight.  

The gravel turns to cement at a sign marking the street as Chemin du Ravy, and I have arrived in town.  The little houses have immaculate little gardens, and I can’t help but think of Alex designing his dream house’s yard in Chambost.   

The Chappelle Saint-Sébastien is also at this corner, and I pause to read the informational sign posted on the front door.  It says the village dates to the 13^th Century, and Saint-Sebastien is the patron saint that protects people from epidemics.  The completely restored Chappelle dates from 1543 and houses a wooden statue of Saint-Sébastien.  Of course, the door is locked, so I have to take the sign’s word for it.

I consult HERE maps and notice I am fairly close to the ocean, so I decide to head directly West to it, along Rue de Praillane.  A white arrow is chalked onto the pavement with “M.T.” so I figure that “Mare Trail” refers to the ocean.  The route seems to be marked with both yellow randonnée symbols and white chalk arrows. I follow the path with HERE maps long enough to satisfy myself that the chalk arrows are leading me where I want to go.  Then I put my phone away and trust the path, but of course I wonder what happens to hikers on rainy days.  

At a fork, the chalk arrows lead me to take the left fork, marked Route de Brandu. A woman walking her dog is the first other person I’ve seen out walking this morning.  Route de Brandu disintegrates into gravel and heads back into the trees.  Two joggers pass me in the opposite direction.  The town must be waking up.

I encounter another fork in the road, with a grassy path heading off to the right.  Again, when in doubt, I continue on my gravelly path.  In retrospect, this could be where I made my mistake.

Soon I am back on pavement.  I reach a campsite called Le Refuge. A man in a traffic vest stands guard at the corner next to all the location signage, ruining my chance at a photo, and flustering me into choosing my path without carefully reviewing the signs.  It’s a little strange to see him there, but I assume maybe he is some kind of security guard for the Refuge.   I say “Bonjour” and keep going.  Soon after passing La Refuge, I start to doubt my path.  It seems like I should be at the ocean by now.  Plus, the signs have changed from white to red-and-white, and the arrows from white to red.  I consult HERE maps, but can’t believe it is reading my location correctly… I am nowhere near where I expect to be.  I use my phone data to check googlemaps, just to be sure, but it confirms I am at the location HERE maps indicates.  I consider retracing my steps, but instead take the risk to go “off the marked path” and follow the map directly to the ocean.

I take a right turn from Chemin de Close des Simons onto Avenue de Colonel Max de Geloes (don't ask me to say that five times fast), and within one block I can see the sea.  A camper van is parked next to the beach access at the corner of Boulevard de Belmont and Chemin de Ker Elizabeth.  I think of my brother-in-law Matt, and his dream of taking his VW van to park by the beach.   There is a confusing map posted on the little grey cement hut beside the van: La Turballe Beach Map.  I am confused.  Am I near La Turballe???  I zoom out on HERE maps.  Yep.  The little strip where Betty and I had dinner is only a few blocks to my left.

Fed up with trail markers for the day, I decide to travel back along the beach.  My friend’s husband had told me that you can walk the entire way along the beach, so I feel pretty confident about my choice.  I start out on the walking path, but something is nagging at me… The entire time I’ve been in Brittany, I’ve been aching to get in the water, but the timing has never permitted.  This time I have my bathing suit in my bag, just in case, but this early in the morning, it is windy and cold.  I decide to test the chilly water with my hand, and a large wave comes, nearly soaking my feet.  It’s like the sea is trying to pull me in.  The decision is made. 

Although it is really too cold for me to strip down all the way to my bikini, my tights and shoes come off, and I am in bliss walking in the surf.  My teal sweater gives me some relief from the wind.  A little Jack Russel Terrier runs up to me, then away… leading me on, then looking back for me to follow.  Even though I can hear her owner whistling and calling behind me, the little dog accompanies me for three beaches. 

As I get closer to Kervin, the soft sand gives way to perfectly round pebbles and tiny snail shells.  I collect a few.  I start alternating between the trail and the beach, depending on the state of the beach. Suddenly, a diver in a wetsuit pops out of the water a few feet from the beach.  Where did he come from?!

I bid adieu to the beach as I recognize the exit to Kervin.  I start to head up the familiar Route de Kervin, and just pass the Parking de Lerat, when I notice three joggers emerging from a grassy path and turning onto the road.  As I approach their location, I see a familiar sign tacked onto a post: “Mare Trail.”  Since I have a good idea of the immediate area, I decide to go for the path instead of the road.  Very shortly another jogger is approaching.  She is wearing a race bib.  I muse:  “Does M.T. actually stand for Marathon?”  I want to tell her “Jiāyoú!”  (加油) but then realize that is Chinese, not French.  Another group of runners approaches me and I say “Bonjour,” but notice how difficult it is for them to pant out a “Bonjour” in return.  I decide that when future runners approach, I will simply get out of their way and smile encouragingly. 

The path splits, and I take the left fork, which will keep me off the road the longest.  Eventually it does drop me back onto the road (Route de Kervin), and I recognize it: it’s very close to our gite!   Two more people in vests are stationed at the closest intersection, where Route de Kervin meets Impasse du Petit Palud, and I finally clue in that they are there to guide the runners in the race.  

I challenge myself to remember the location of the other randonnée path my friend’s husband had shown me.  An “aha! Moment” leads to me finding the other trail a few metres along the Impasse and, feeling quite victorious, I stroll back to our gite.  The path leads past very fruitful backyards, over a little bridge, and right to our garden gate! 

I walk in the back door to our kitchen just as my friend walks in our front door with a bag of croissants.  She tells me to come over to collect a cup of coffee from her place, and while I'm there she offers me a package of Breton gallettes.  I sit out on the terrace overlooking the garden as other runners ramble by.  A wonderful ending to a lovely early morning randonnée.