The place names alone conjure up romantic images; in reality, the scenery along the Cotes D’Armor in Brittany is ethereally beautiful. And, like in all good fairytales, Helen Werin finds that a wish really can come true. In fact, it’s as easy as hopping across the channel …
Trégor, the Cote de Granit Rose and the Vallée des Traouïero; surely names to stir the imagination? The sort of names that belong in Tolkein tales. And the landscape? Huge pinkish boulders of curious shapes, jutting out of peaceful pine woods or precariously balanced on the edge of a cliff path, as if flung down by a giant’s hand and all adding to the sense of mystery. Views that change with the tides. Beaches strewn with rocks soon becoming a sea dotted with dozens of islets. This is indeed a dreamscape for anyone with a romantic soul. Incredibly, this beautiful coastline and the picture-postcard countryside and towns that frame it is only on the other side of the channel, right in the middle of the north Brittany coast. It’s easily achievable; you can leave Portsmouth on the overnight ferry and be here within a couple of hours, as we did.
Undoubtedly the best way to experience this stunning scenery is to take the famous customs trail, le Sentier des Douaniers, an easy, pedestrian-only path which winds its’ way for above the coast, sometimes over and around rocks, at other times skirting through the cool woods and, at intervals, coming up to lonely lighthouses and picturesque cottages built into the boulders. The path was established in 1791 to allow the coastguards to watch over the sea in their fight against the smuggling trade. We picked it up here and there between Trégastel on the Cote de Granit Rose (pink granite coast) and Plougrescant, further east in Trégor, from beside deserted beaches and even from our camp sites. We’d chosen two camp sites from which to explore the Cotes D’Armor (the armoured coast); the first, the wonderfully peaceful and well-kept Camping Les Capucines, at Trédrez-Locquémeau, right on the Cote de Granit Rose. The second, an altogether busier Port l’Epine, was in the most spectacular setting, on a promontory on the Cote du Trégor, with immediate access to the sentier. At the picturesque Port de Ploumanach we picked up the sentier after visiting one of the customary fetes, bustling with locals downing moules frites, ciders and the ubiquitous crepes. Our longing as we watched local ladies deftly spreading the batter on the sizzling griddle was interrupted by one expat ‘expert’ who whispered knowingly: “These crepes are 90 per cent butter and 10 per cent crepe.” Another day we walked around the Baie de St Anne to the east, past beaches with wonderful names like Quo Vadis and Tourony. From Tréstraou beach, at Perros-Guirec, we strolled the clearly-marked sentier to Ploumanach, a leisurely hour, with wonderful views to the Sept Iles (seven islands), past rock formations such as the Chateau du Diable (devil’s castle). On the way we passed the much-photographed Ile de Costaeres, on which sits the landmark fairytale chateau which pops up in all the postcards. Further east, at Plougrescant, the coastal path took us past more massive rock formations including le rocher de Napoléon. Local tradition asserts that the emperor’s soul took refuge in this rock as he was being deported to Saint Helena island.
Sophie, our nine-year-old daughter, who is not renowned for her enthusiasm for walking, was delighted. Here was everything she could ever want to entice her onwards; sand, sea, rocks and rock pools, woods in which to hide and cool off, boats to watch and her very own ‘desert island’ to spot off the coast. From the Plage de Sainte Guirec at Ploumanach, yet another photogenic spot with its fabulous views of the aforementioned chateau, we could have hired kayaks for 10Euros an hour to reach one of the alluring islands, with their tiny crescents of sand. But with a complete non-swimmer and a not-very-good one in our party, safety sense got the better of us. A little further on, the path took us to Trégastel, where there is an aquarium built into the pink granite, perfect for rainy days. There are, apparently, only two other examples of this peculiar pink granite in the world, in China and Corsica. As we studied a board advertising boat trips, a fellow Brit urged us: “If you are only going to do one boat trip, do the one to the Ile de Bréhat. He was absolutely right. We took the ferry from Pointe de l’Arcouest, east of our Port l’Epine site, to the Ile de Bréhat, for a 40 minute round trip of the island to get our bearings. The ferries were filled with people with huge luggage trolleys, about to holiday on the island, who were ushered on to a tiny tourist train pulled by a tractor; the only vehicle, besides bicycles, allowed on Bréhat. But for the ubiquitous bikes, our visit to Bréhat was like stepping back in time. We clambered up to the highest point on the Ile, the hill on which is perched St Michael’s Chapel, for a panoramic view that changes by the hour according to the light and tide. The ferries were regularly disgorging passengers but, even though it’s only about three miles long, the Ile has that curious Tardis-like quality. Back down among the covetable cottages, wandering lanes abundant with wild flowers and hearing only bird song and the occasional whoosh of a passing bicycle, we wondered where everyone else had gone.
Back on the mainland, we went in search of some of the Petite Cites de Caractere that, indeed, characterise Brittany. It was market day at Tréguier, one of only a very few hill towns in this part of France. Hundreds of stalls ran down to the port through streets of beautifully-preserved medieval buildings. We returned again one evening, just as the sun was setting, to get a closer look at the architecture, no longer distracted by the tempting wares, most of which I had never seen on a British street.
We tried to walk off our over-indulgence by visiting the impressive Cathédral de St Tugdual at the heart of the town with its very spooky skull of St Yves, the patron saint of lawyers, on show. It’s apparent from the dozens of candles surrounding his tomb invoking his help that attempts to ‘bribe’ him continue to this day.
Pontrieux, a few miles south, is another flower-bedecked town, like so many in these parts and we stood on a small bridge reading a sign proclaiming it to be a town of lavoirs. It urged visitors to take a romantic barque trip on the River Trieux between the hours of 10pm and midnight. But all is not what it seems. Pontrieux’ claim to fame is as a town of washhouses (the lavoirs), not lovers, as another, English, visitor had, rather hopefully, believed.
The French flock to their glorious beaches at weekends and we sometimes found it difficult to park. So, whilst everyone was packed around the beaches a short way below us, we meandered through the Grand Traouiero – the latter is Breton for valley. A Sunday afternoon stroll took us through sun-dappled glades of trees and along tiny, winding paths made even more magical by the sight of ‘princesses’, leprechaun-like creatures and, incongruously, a ‘Viking’ hiding in the woods as part of a treasure hunt for the local children. The paths could have taken us back down to the coast at Trégastel, but up here was a world away from the hustle and bustle of the weekend beach scene.
Evening walks along the coastal path were, for me, the best part of our holiday. It didn’t matter where we picked up the sentier, the views were as different and special as only the nature of the tides could reveal. I’d been told that Brittany makes up two thirds of France’s coastline. We had only touched on a very small part of it, but, wow, what an impact it made. FACT FILE
We travelled courtesy of Carefree, the Camping and Caravanning Club’s travel service on a Brittany Ferries’ crossing. Members benefit from the best prices for ferry crossings. We stayed at Camping Les Capucines (www.lescapucines.fr) and Port L’Epine at Trélévern (www.camping-port-lepine.com) and broke our journey at the popular camp site, le P’tit Bois, near St Malo, which has a fun activities programme (www.ptitbois.com)
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There are so many chocolate-box views there you will be amazed. You will find your dream house almost immediately, then, around the corner, will be another that you will like better; then around the next corner an even prettier one …”
A tip here; do as the French do and eat at lunchtime from the set menus – they are far better value than evening meals. 
All photos © Robin Weaver
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