Roscoff, gateway to Plymouth.

   On Saturday, as Kim was en route to spend a few weeks with our daughter Alyson, we drove the 560 kilometres to Morlaix, where we had booked in to spend the night in the B and B hotel. Normally, we break our journey at the Formula 1 at St Brieuc, an hours run South of the ferry terminal at Roscoff. However, after my previous traumatic experiences with the infamous Bonnets Rouges, who blocked the road and prevented me from catching the ferry, we had decided to install ourselves at a nearer spot, which would be nearly impossible to barricade.

    We spent the night fairly comfortably at the B and B, which does have the advantage of en suite bathroom, rather than than in the corridor  like the Formula 1. After a lavish and very copious breakfast (I try to eat at least the cover charge for the unlimited breakfast) we drove on the few k's to Roscoff.
 Roscoff is an amazing town; people who arrive at the ferry port , which is located a kilometre away from the little town and port, and just drive off towards their southern destinations miss a real treat. The town is a little gem, granite houses, some with amazing carvings, narrow cobbled streets and a thriving fishing and leisure harbour with a huge tidal range so it changes from lapping water to an expanse of weed and sand in a few hours. It is a prosperous little burg, too, mainly based on servicing the trade brought to it by Brittany Ferries, so it supports loads of restaurants and little shops. The country round about is charming also, little ports and inlets many with sandy beaches and several offshore islands. I always enjoy a visit even if it is to put Kim on the ferry. I shall be back to fetch her, and to make a short crossing to Plymouth myself in a few weeks!

Note the onions for which Roscoff is famed!