Seeing as it's summer, the time for road trips, and my next trip isn't for a few weeks, I thought I'd recant a tale of old.
Once upon a time, some gal pals and I took a jaunt through France. Somewhat by design, and somewhat inadvertently, it was the perfect combination of pace and lack thereof. And it all went down in a stylish purple Twingo. (That’s a super small Renault car, for those who have not had the pleasure of renting in Europe before.) The itinerary went something like this.
Start: Paris. Two of the four of us resided in Paris back in those days, so there it began. Since Frank no longer has her divine little apartment in Montmartre, a current adaptation would involve charming Paris hotel of choice.
We rented a car, via Europcar from a location near the Bois du Bologne and set off. Note (and this is a all-encompassing note for foreign car rentals): European cars have funny little tricks to make the gear shift go in reverse. Sometimes it’s a button on the top of the stick shift. Sometimes it’s a little thing around the shaft that you have to slide up. Sometimes it’s a little button on the bottom of the knob at the top of the shift. Yes, this is as obscene as it sounds. So, anyways, before attempting to get out of a parallel parking space on a Paris city street, identify the funny little trick.
First leg: North to Normandy.
Start: Paris. Two of the four of us resided in Paris back in those days, so there it began. Since Frank no longer has her divine little apartment in Montmartre, a current adaptation would involve charming Paris hotel of choice.
We rented a car, via Europcar from a location near the Bois du Bologne and set off. Note (and this is a all-encompassing note for foreign car rentals): European cars have funny little tricks to make the gear shift go in reverse. Sometimes it’s a button on the top of the stick shift. Sometimes it’s a little thing around the shaft that you have to slide up. Sometimes it’s a little button on the bottom of the knob at the top of the shift. Yes, this is as obscene as it sounds. So, anyways, before attempting to get out of a parallel parking space on a Paris city street, identify the funny little trick.
First leg: North to Normandy.
So we headed due North and did a fly by of the Normandy 
beaches, which were quite dramatic. Plus one of us was in a serious post-Saving Private Ryan WWII buff phase then, so Normandy was a must see. Lacking a place to stay that night, a combination of French proficiency and divine providence landed us at a little inn on the way to Mont Saint Michel - Hotel de la Croix d'Or in Avranches. A cute little Tudor inn, arranged around a courtyard of hydrangeas with a tasty traditional French restaurant. A find that could not have been duplicated if we tried. Plus it appears to still be well under 100 euros a night.
beaches, which were quite dramatic. Plus one of us was in a serious post-Saving Private Ryan WWII buff phase then, so Normandy was a must see. Lacking a place to stay that night, a combination of French proficiency and divine providence landed us at a little inn on the way to Mont Saint Michel - Hotel de la Croix d'Or in Avranches. A cute little Tudor inn, arranged around a courtyard of hydrangeas with a tasty traditional French restaurant. A find that could not have been duplicated if we tried. Plus it appears to still be well under 100 euros a night.The next day we crawled out of bed at an ungodly hour and beat the crowds to Mont St Michel. Ever since the seventh grade, when I spent long hours in French class staring at a poster of the same, I'd been rather intrigued by the town and church piled onto a little island just off the west coast of Normandy. Unfortunately, the day we were there it was pouring and freezing. But we soldiered our way up the hill, did the requisite church and abbey tour and then huddled over cafe cremes in a cafe.
Leg Two: Brittany.So for a variety of complicated reasons, we didn't plan too far in advance for the Brittany leg and through some combination of my bad French and perhaps some misrepresentative advertising, the four of us showed up at the B&B where we were supposed to be staying to find out that it was basically an extra bedroom in this old lady's house. So, after the better-French-speaking of us suffered through a night of hearing about this gentlewoman's various extremist separatist views, we cut our stay short and moved on to Concarneau. The last minute replacement lodgings bear no special mention, but Concarneau is a quiet seaside town with excellent oysters, ramparts to climb on, and good paths along the water for jogging and strolling.
We spent a day in Quimper, seeing the cathedral, wandering through the covered market and buying lace from the little old ladies in their shops. Then it was on to Pont Aven - town of artists and former abode of Gauguin, now filled with shops selling watercolors and galettes (tasty buttery cookies), but all still scenically perched over the Aven river. A good day trip, especially for the rainy day that we had. We hit some shops, checked out the contemporary art museum, and had a whole lot of chocolat chaud.
Luckily, the next legs of the trip, to the Loire Valley, Bordeaux, and on to the South got a little warmer and drier.
