Back in May Mrs A and I took TBW over to Brittany to add France to his list of countries. We’d decided to drive as we we staying in a chalet (read big caravan) on a child-oriented site in the wilds of Dol-de -Bretagne. As the ferry crossing was an early morning affair we spent the first night in a Southampton Travelodge learning just how noisily a nine year old can sleep.
The following day we set off (adults knackered, child well rested) for a nice easy crossing and a couple of hours driving on beautifully quiet French roads. In an unusually forward planning manoeuvre we ferreted out an ace supermarket (Super-U, fact fans) just up the road from the campsite that stocked live crabs (fascinating for TBW), an ace wine aisle or 5 (for Mrs A and I) and a bewildering array of stinky cheese (for me). We loaded up on everything except the shellfish and headed off to check in.
We arrived at the site 10 minutes later and after a further four hours we were still not in our chalet (caravan). The cheese got stinkier as time passed.
Eventually, after haranguing and cajoling we were finally in, the cheese was safely left outside in the barbecue to limit the stink, the wine was chilling in the fridge and the boy was in bed.
The week passed in a blur of moulin rouge style “children’s” cabaret (this is not a joke – evidence below), beaches, castles and further disinterest from staff at the campsite about many tedious problems. Eventually it was time to come home and after a long and fraught journey we were all glad to be back.
We loved Brittany and will almost certainly be back at some point. It will almost certainly not be in a chalet (caravan).