The day's itinerary focussed on the Ile de Bréhat. But the day's touring
prospects were soon cast into doubt. The weather was wet and visiting the Ile
de Bréhat is an outdoor event. Half an hour was spent sitting in the car park
watching the rain trickle down the steamed-up windows wondering if it was
worthwhile paying a fiver to get the ferry to the island just to be soaked to
the bone. I made reference to the Michelin travel guide. It said that the
island enjoyed an unusual, almost semi-tropical micro-climate benefiting from
similar warm air currents to the Scillies and having very low rainfall
averages. Not surprisingly, no-one was willing to entertain this description
in the face of what they could see with their own eyes; it was pissing down!
Anyway, in Dunkirk spirit, and having garnered waterproofs, umbrellas and
hats from the cars it was decided to take a risk and pray that the weather
would improve. Dressing for the battle with the elements meant Nige was
besporting a rather tilty tweed cap that I thought looked quite "grousemoor"
in its aspect, but one member of the entourage remarked bluntly that he
looked like a ferret fancier.
Boarded small ferry and started a very choppy crossing. Henri retained his
composure on this occasion; the crossing only taking about ten minutes. The
first thing that was apparent about the Ile de Bréhat is that it is too small
for cars to be used. The principal mode of transport is light tractor which
pull a variety of different trailers around the four kilometre-long island
ranging from sewage tanks to plush upholstered taxis carriages which were
very expensive but did offer a tour of the island in complete comfort. We had
been told that it was possible to hire bicycles to travel round on so we sent
Henri and Andrew to do some market research. At ten quid a day these were
just ordinarily expensive. So we resorted to Plan C - shank's pony. At least
the rain was clearing. Downside though was the bizarre reappearance of Otto
and Wilhelm making their ashore from the other ferry. Small place this Cote
d'Amour.
After wandering around the gift shops for a while we took our maps in hand
and started our exploration of this intriguing little island. Nigel was
quickly setting a gruelling pace as we headed off down a maze of narrow lanes
and alleyways. It was fast approaching noon and there were calls aplenty to
suspend the route march in favour of lunch. Certainly it made sense to
lighten the weight of the chill boxes several of us were carrying by eating
their contents. It was therefore, decided to find an appropriate spot to
picnic. Nige seemed to be familiarising himself with the map so we placed our
faith in him to lead us to a clean, quiet spot on the island suitable for
eating lunch. Placing our faith in Nige's sense of direction we all trailed
behind him compliantly. It was difficult to see much of where you were
heading as most of the lanes were surrounded by high walls or hedges.
However, a less than keen sense of smell was all it took to establish that
the place we had arrived at was in fact the island's sewage works. Nige was
batting under pressure to fend off the hostility being voiced about from the
unsuitability of this venue as a picnic site. Though the next location was
hardly any more suitable as we rounded the next corner and walked into the
local graveyard.