I have just returned from a brief visit to Roscoff, in Finisterre, which any Latin scholars among you will recognise as being derived from finis terrae, the end of the earth. The purpose of the trip was to deliver Kim to the Brittany Ferries vessel `Armorique` crossing to Plymouth yesterday afternoon. So as not to make too much of an ordeal, we went up as far as St Brieuc the day before and stayed in the Formule 1 hotel nearby.
I must admit that I really don`t mind making this trip. long though it is. The roads are not busy in northern France,with the possible exception of the Nantes périférique, and Roscoff itself is I think my favourite French town.
It is an odd mix of a sleepy French fishing port and a modern ferry and freight terminal, luckily separated by half a kilometer or so. The old town is a charming warren of narrow streets, with loads of little shops and restaurants rendered prosperous by the presence of the passengers arriving and departing to catch the ferries.We always try to arrange our arrival to leave time for a meal, often choosing the local speciality of crepes and cider.We always used to frequent the Creperie de la Poste, but in recent years have transfered our affection to another restaurant Le Bigoudan, which served a copious meal often with chips... What was our horror on arriving this time to find it had changed hands and had gone all up-market with quite different food. We tried instead the creperie next door ( the Poste was having a day off), which we found excellent.
All this talk of food has made me hungry. Bye for now, I will tell more in another blog!
Aucun commentaire:
Enregistrer un commentaire