My friend knows I am a big rock hound, and promised to take me out
quartz hunting on the beaches of Brittany.
I am not sure what to expect. In
my home province of British Columbia in Canada, I have picked up huge chunks of
snow quartz on the hiking trails of
the North Shore and hunted for clear quartz crystal points on the shores of
Kootenay Lake (BTW, props to http://blog.kootenay-lake.ca for the amazing
photos of Kootenay Lake fauna!) Quartz is
the second-most plentiful stone on the planet, and I have found small quartz
clusters as far afield as China, and dutifully hauled them home in my backpack.
I recently took a frivolous online quiz claiming to tell me “what kind of
traveller” I am. One question asks: “What
do you bring home as souvenirs?” The
only answer for me is: “Photos and rocks.”
:D
Today, my friend wants to take me to Pointe Castelli and the legendary
tomb of Almanzor, a Lord of Lauvergnac who died in a shipwreck on the point
when coming home to his wife after the Holy Crusades. It's 2.5 km to the tomb, and 3.5 km all the way to Castelli. While the overall elevation is flat, the route involves repeatedly climbing up and over rocky cliffs along the shoreline.
We head out on Rue de Kervin towards the
closest beach, Plage Lérat. There is a small marina near the point that
hosts a dozen small boats. As we
approach, a fisherman in full-body Neoprene hauls his morning catch out of the ocean.
Around the first point, a couple tiny sandy beaches hide between rocky
outcrops, and we clamber over huge granite boulders, searching for veins of
quartz. I take the high road while my friend takes the low road. I notice a small vein near the
top of the steep cliff when I hear my friend call from below: “Down here!!”
I lower myself over the ledge and am shocked to see the biggest quartz vein I’ve ever seen. I need to clamber down into the crevasse then back up the other side to pose next to it and give it some scale. We spend time listening to the rocks and selecting a few who "want" to come home with us.
Down at the water line, I find a very strange looking piece of... flotsam? jetsam? (ok, wikipedia tells me it is neither). My friend
tells me it is the carapace of a squid!! I'm no expert, but it seems a lot bigger than the calamari I'm used to eating! I spend more than a few minutes online learning about the amazing cuttlefish. I know Colin would kill me if I brought it home with me, so I gift it to
my friend, who is delighted to add it to her collection. While googling the proper term for my find, I stumble across this neat list of weird things that washed up on shore all over the world. I notice that the motorbike found in British Columbia after the 3-11 tsunami in Japan didn't make it on the list, but it's hard to compete with a life-sized Lego man or a dozen severed feet. ;)
I digress. Traveling up the shoreline, my friend and I search for a few more quartz veins, but none is as spectacular as
the one we found before. We find one
smaller vein that is so aesthetically beautiful, so perfectly lined up, that we
decide not to disturb it.
We are running out of time, because today Betty and I must head back to
Paris. Unfortunately, we don’t have time to get all the way to the Pointe de Castelli and back. We get as far as La
Mine, where tin and gold were mined in the 1800s, and where Uranium was
mined from 1975-1990. From there we can
see the tomb of Almanzor. I snap a photo while my friend tells me the
legend.
On the way back, my friend wants to try rock-running, but I know my balance is not strong enough. So instead we book it back on the trail above the cliffs, while my friend shows me photos of her wedding. She
married her longtime partner last spring, but due to my teaching schedule, I
could not attend. This trip to Brittany
is a kind of “make up” for that trip, and so she has been regaling me with
tales of the wedding, and relating them to the local scenery, so I can feel
like I was here the same time as everyone else.
After returning to the gite, we finish packing up, and I turn off the power, water,and gas. Then, thinking we were running late to
get to the bus, we rush down the Route de Kervin towards the highway D333, lugging our bags. In the countryside, the bus only comes a few
times each day, and if we miss this bus, we will likely miss our train. Of course, you may see what's coming… in my
rush, I trip and do a spread eagle on the cement. Both knees, both elbows, my left palm, chest,
chin, and nose are a mess. I’ve bitten
through the inside of my mouth in two places, but fortunately, my teeth feel
intact. With no time to spare, I simply get
up and continue the trip to the bus. When
I arrive at Rue de Kélarin, there is no bus in sight, and I’m sure we’ve missed it. Then we check the bus schedule posted under the green Lila sign, which informs
us that we are in fact an hour early.
Sigh. My friend shakes her head and slowly walks back to the
gite to get some wet naps to wipe off the blood. I sit in the shade by the side of the road and
try not to pass out. My skirt is covered
in filth.
So I managed to bookend my trip to my friend’s with falls: the day
before I left for Paris, I fell in a small 4-5 inch wide hole up to my knee and
sliced up my big toe lengthwise and loosened my toenail. Fortunately, a set of bandaids was enough to hold
it all together. In contrast, when I had
the exact same fall in 2008 (if you can believe it, I’ve fallen into not one
but TWO small fencepost holes in my life), I had broken the ligament of my foot
and ended up on crutches. I’ve got no
time for crutches this summer, when my purpose is daily randonnée!
Eventually the bus arrives, and Betty and I ride the 50 minutes back to
La Baule. We wave goodbye to the beautiful Marais Salantes as we pass by.
Originally, we had planned to check our bags into a locker at the train station and go down to visit the beach area of La Baule, a vacation hotspot. However, today I am just not up for it, and so instead we cross the street from the bus/train station to a brasserie called Le Coralli and eat crepes and drink beer until the pain starts to lessen. ;) To top off my savory spinach Breton crepe, I order a chocolate (not Nutella) crepe for dessert, and it is amazing!! Rich and dark, and not too sweet. Hey, don't judge me for excessive crepe eating: crepe on crepe is actually posted as the "menu du jour." :D
Originally, we had planned to check our bags into a locker at the train station and go down to visit the beach area of La Baule, a vacation hotspot. However, today I am just not up for it, and so instead we cross the street from the bus/train station to a brasserie called Le Coralli and eat crepes and drink beer until the pain starts to lessen. ;) To top off my savory spinach Breton crepe, I order a chocolate (not Nutella) crepe for dessert, and it is amazing!! Rich and dark, and not too sweet. Hey, don't judge me for excessive crepe eating: crepe on crepe is actually posted as the "menu du jour." :D
The train station in La Baule is small and simple. There is one waiting room and only two platforms. Our train arrives on Voie A and we board without a hitch.
Maybe it's the beer, maybe it's just that I am sitting down, maybe it's the Advil I'm eating like candy, but I feel ok during the three hour train ride to Paris. However, getting off the train in Paris Gare Montparnasse, I put on my backpack and go to lift my secondary bag onto my left shoulder as usual, and realize it’s not happening. My left side hurts too much. [update: unbeknownst to me at the time, my rib had broken in the fall.] Betty tries to carry my bag, but barely makes it the length of the train platform. It’s just too heavy. So I toss it up on my right shoulder and we are off to the Metro. It's a winding labyrinth of stairs, escalators, and hallways through the train station to get to the Metro portion, but we follow the signs and find it easily.
Maybe it's the beer, maybe it's just that I am sitting down, maybe it's the Advil I'm eating like candy, but I feel ok during the three hour train ride to Paris. However, getting off the train in Paris Gare Montparnasse, I put on my backpack and go to lift my secondary bag onto my left shoulder as usual, and realize it’s not happening. My left side hurts too much. [update: unbeknownst to me at the time, my rib had broken in the fall.] Betty tries to carry my bag, but barely makes it the length of the train platform. It’s just too heavy. So I toss it up on my right shoulder and we are off to the Metro. It's a winding labyrinth of stairs, escalators, and hallways through the train station to get to the Metro portion, but we follow the signs and find it easily.
We still have a 40 minute ride to get back to my friend’s place in the 18th
Arrondissement. The Metro is mostly empty. We have only one hairy moment
at the Chateau Rouge station, when police enter and haul off a group of
shady-looking characters while our Metro car doors remain open to the platform.
Even though this stop is closer to my friend's place, we get off at the next stop and walk a
couple of blocks to my friend’s house. Again, I don't take photos, but I am excited to report that I found a blog by a balsy Australian lady who has managed to photograph many of the people and sights of the area. Enjoy the view of my friend's neighborhood! :D
We make it to my friend’s place, where her husband greets us with a
bottle of Bactine. My friend had already
phoned him to tell him of my acrobatic activities. I use my cuticle clippers to dig the gravel
out of my palm and knee, and disinfect everything. After completing my “surgery,” I notice a big
stinky stain on my skirt, and realize that when I fell, I broke the seal on one
of the cans of sardines that I bought for my dogwalker Glen. It had leaked through my secondary bag and all
over my skirt. Everything I own smells
like fish. I borrow some detergent and
try to get the stain and smell out. The
dirt comes out but the fish smell remains.
I’ll try washing the skirt a few more times, but it might be toast.
After dinner, I pop some Advil and do some energy work to try to ensure
my rib is not as badly damaged as I fear.
Tomorrow, Betty and I have a three-hour Mediterranean
Flavours cooking class at Le Cordon Bleu, and I want to be able to enjoy
it. I warn Betty there is a good chance I
will not be able to walk to the cooking class tomorrow. Since it is an 8km randonnée, she is happy
enough to take the Metro. I gingerly ease myself into bed, and drift off to sleep.
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