Bastille Day!

Wednesday 14th July

A quiet relaxing day, with some reading and some local exploration.

The weather could not quite seem to make up its mind and it had been raining quite heavily overnight. But Iona and I headed out just after a heavy shower to explore the village of Tredion. This was not a difficult task.

Tredion is a beautiful little village with pots and troughs of flowers everywhere. As we walked across the moat of the Chateau we heard the sound of a trumpet playing the last post. Today is Bastille Day and the villagers were remembering the dead of the area in the garden of the church where they were laying a wreath.

Then we headed to the Boulangerie to buy our daily bread ration. The Post Office was closed however, because it was Bastille Day. Stamps for the post cards I have yet to write will have to wait until tomorrow.

After lunch we decided to explore a little further afield. Once again, following the recommendation of our Chateau notes we decided to drive to Malestroit where there is a Resistance Museum. The Sat Nav has now been re-named MiMi, but she can only do so much. She managed to bring us safely to the centre of Malestroit, but sadly did not know where the Museum was to be found.

As soon as we got out of the car, the heavens opened and we sheltered under a tree wearing our waterproof coats until it eased off. Some cheery music which had been playing in the town square nearby ground to a halt and I assume those who had been playing ran swiftly indoors. But, as had been happening all day, it was only a short shower and the sun soon re-appeared. The music started again and we headed in the direction of the sound. The town square in Malestroit had obviously been hosting some Bastille Day celebrations for there were rows of tables and chairs set out in the square and totally soaked with rain. A barbeque was still going at one end of the square and the entertainer had emerged again in the hope of better weather. The square had some beautiful buildings which must have dated from the 14th or 15th Century and a beautiful old church.

The woman in Tourist Information was very helpful and I was quite proud that I managed to ascertain that Le Musee de la Resistance was four kms out of town on the Vannes Road. I also understood that the weather for the Bastille Day celebrations was normally lovely and everyone would normally be eating outside at the rows of tables and benches. I must say I was very impressed at the fact that the whole town seemed to be gathered in the one place to celebrate and eat together.

As we came out of the Tourist Information a group of men and women dressed in traditional Breton clothes with an accordion player were about to start dancing. Initially they danced as a group and then more and more people joined them – one woman sadly had her skirt tucked into her pants! Is it only me or does everyone have an irresistible urge to help out in such a circumstance? I suggested to Alan that he pulled it down. Strangely, he declined.

We decided to go and find the Museum even though it was a bit late to actually look around. Hopefully we will get the chance in the next couple of days. It looked quite interesting and seemed to have enough to keep the children interested. It also boasted a Créperie and as I fancied a little crepe… we headed in that direction. This is where my French showed something of its limitations. I ordered café au lait and also thé au lait as well as crepes avec le sucre and le beurre, but Alan’s teapot arrived full of milk, with the teabag in the pot. I can just imagine the waitress saying to her colleague out the side of her mouth, (in French of course) “Look what yer woman’s just ordered, she wants milky tea – how do you make that?” Still the crepes were delicious – what I had of mine as Sam and Iona scoffed a large portion.

Then it was back to the Chateau to feed the pony and donkey’s, play football and take some video footage before tea. Time’s just going too quickly.

Le Mont St. Michel

Tuesday 13th July

Headed off to see Le Mont St. Michel today. Getting two small children and a husband determined to learn the phrase, “Je ne parle pas le Francaise” before the week is over, out of the apartment before 11am was impossible. Not good for a journey which was going to take four to five hours for the round trip. We also stopped to get some sandwiches at the supermarket to make up the picnic I had already prepared.

The roads around Brittany are so good that there seem to be few places to stop and picnic. So we pulled off and drove around looking for a suitable grass verge on which to place our tartan rug. A mere mile off the auto route such a place presented itself. No idea where we were, but there was a small shrine just across the road and hardly any cars at all. At least there were no cars until Iona and I decided that we needed to go to the toilet and then lots of cars appeared from nowhere. Iona delighted in trying to hit far off leaves with projectile wee, while I tried to keep her upright and away from prickly branches.

The picnic was lovely, as was the chosen venue and after the rain of yesterday, the sun was shinning. It reminded me of those days when as a child I used to picnic with my parents and brother on holiday in France on the way down to camp on the Costa Brava for two weeks. Only in those days random French men seemed to delight in piddling about three foot from ones picnic spot.

We eventually arrived in Le Mont St. Michel to much “ooing” and “ahing” as you get a great view of the island a few miles away. It is spectacular, seemingly rising up out of the sea. I had a vague memory of a previous visit back in 1991, but obviously things had developed since then and there is a huge car park below “Le Mont” with ominous warnings of the oncoming tide. We were to be sure to be back to the car before 7pm or it would certainly be washed away by the tide!

There was far too much to see with a four year old and a nine year old. The French take their museums almost as seriously as their Chateaux. Sadly we made the mistake of buying a ticket for all four museums. About five minutes into their first all French guided tour, Sam decided that he needed the toilet. I managed in not great French to ascertain from the guide that the only toilets were at the bottom and the top of “Le Mont”. However, she cheerily informed me that “Les enfants” could go in the garden in which we were currently standing. Obviously this was how French men could quite brazenly wee up the tree one was picnicking beside; they were trained at an early age. Needless to say there was no convincing Sam of the merits of this, as he spotted a woman on the wall above who obviously was training a telescope on him and his toileting intentions.

We escaped the total French guided tour, through the dungeons, which were pretty awful. Those implements of torture were rough and there was some poor man in a wooden cage barely tall enough to let him stand up. Admittedly this was only a wax effigy, but still… The next 10 minutes were spent finding the toilet for which we had to pay €1.60 for the four of us to go. That is serious inflation considering that it used to cost 1d. Having paid for tickets for the four museums we felt it important that we at least saw one more, so headed for the nearest one which appeared to be about ships. Can’t really think of one thing that stands out about that museum, except an audio visual which showed how fast the tide came in. Once again all were in French.

Sam and Iona enjoyed the museum shop and Iona purchased a rubber inflatable spikey white cat/lion which she decided to name “Debbie”. I have no idea why. Sam at least purchased something that bore some relation to the island – a small dragon, although I may have missed the bit about the dragon because I don’t actually know the French word for dragon. It’s good to know your children have learned some culture from their trip to such an ancient place. (Dates back to 709 apparently).

Having climbed hundreds of steps (and I have to say that Iona did a great job, with almost no complaining). It was time to return to claim back the car before it was sucked away by the invading tide.

Alan had spotted a sign for a German cemetery for the dead of the Second World War, so we drove there. It was a moving place with over 11,000 buried there. It was built in 1963 and is circular in shape with graves on two levels set into the walls around the circle. There were a number of wreathes and one grave with a cross and a poppy on it. Many of the men had died in August 1944 and, many were very young. A lot of the graves bore only the phrase “A German Soldier,” some had names, but no date of death.

La Plage Adventures

Monday 12th July

Off to the beach today. Praise the Lord for the Sat Nav. The beach at Carnac was one recommended in the Tredion folder of information for those staying at the Chateau!

It wasn’t sunny, but it was still very warm and there was less chance of getting burnt to a crisp by the sun. To my delight, even though we parked right at some trampolines and a bouncy castle, the children ran straight past them without a word and onto the beach. They were much more interested in using their buckets and spades and playing football.

Once a great sandcastle had been built and Iona had appropriately decorated it with some carefully selected shells she had gathered, she decided that Badminton was the game to play. The fact that it was extremely windy and she had no hand to eye co-ordination yet did not put her off at all. As she attempted to hit the shuttlecock, I had ample time for some people watching.

The lifeguard seemed to be actively discouraging people from going into the sea. It didn’t look too rough, but something sinister was afoot. The beach is fairly long and there was one life guard and two other people wearing a uniform which I assume made them the Beach Police. So no sooner had they blown their whistle and removed one hapless bather from the water, but another one was in further down the beach. They were up and down, up and down. There had to be an easier way.

Meanwhile, at the back edge of the beach, a rotund woman was carefully preparing to go for what must have been a daily swim. She seemed oblivious to the fact that the water held some inexplicable danger. With great precision she donned her black bathing suit, folded and placed her clothes in a blue flowery bag and took of her watch and placed it in the bag. She then removed a string of bathing floats and a combination lock from the bag and proceeded to lock the bag to the beach railings. No one was in the water. She took off her shoes and placed them one by one, suspended between two railings just above the bag. Then she took the floats and placed one strap under her breasts and the other under her ample tummy, so that the floats were on her back. I couldn’t help but notice that she had already whitened her lips with some protective ointment – had she also greased herself up while my eyes had strayed to Iona’s valiant attempts to hit the shuttlecock?

She headed down the beach carefully and into the water. I had a sudden urge to tell her about the unknown danger that lurked in the water and that she must not go in, but I was transfixed and didn’t have the French for it anyway. She swam out and out. No Lifeguard appeared, no Beach Police blew their whistle.

You’ll be glad to hear that she did make it back alive and no mysterious creature grabbed her, or current dragged her under. I think the float and the tummy probably would have kept her afloat in a force 9. However, she was about to go back in when the Beach Police arrived and she was stopped in her tracks. I didn’t hear what they said, but she was not happy, “noooon!” She headed towards her padlocked bag and shoes, picked the lot up and then, keeping an eye out for the Beach Police, walked purposely down the beach to another spot where she hoped she could swim undiscovered.

Sam, Alan and Iona (who had just given up trying to hit the shuttlecock) were watching Sam’s sandcastle being washed away by the tide when the Beach Police arrived. They were all fully dressed and did not have any intention of going for a swim. Alan smiled and tried to remember his only phrase of French (Je ne parle pas le Francais) but nerves got the better of him and he was only able to stutter, “Anglaisé”. The Beach Policeman used his English to make sure Alan understood the gravity of the situation, “Do not touch the water. It is dangerous.” At last we knew, it wasn’t the currents or the waves, or indeed a sea monster in the depths, it was the water that was dangerous.

Then it started to pour with rain and the entire beach scattered in about 3 minutes flat.

Holiday musings!

As I couldn't get onto the internet during the holiday, these blogs are out of sinc. But anyway here goes.

Saturday 10th July

Arrival at Le Chateau!

What a fine decision was the purchase of the Sat. Nav. with the European maps. It made getting to our destination a lot less stressful, for me anyway.

We were awakened from slumber in our little pink cabin by one of the actresses from “Hello, Hello”, (I kid you not!) announcing that it was 7.15am and that we would be arriving at 8.15am. They certainly manage to cram a large number of people on that ferry. Our car was on deck four and I think there was also a deck five. The decks were on a lift mechanism and the front of ours was lowered to allow us to roll off easily. The traffic was very quiet at this early hour on a Saturday which made the transition of driving on the right easier. Also the roads seem very well laid out and there are lots of dual carriage ways.

I am sad to say that we stopped after about a hour and a bit at a McDonalds for breakfast and as we had had nothing to eat the night before except an apple and some crisps and grapes it was like nectar.

The Sat. Nav. brought us right to the Chateau de Tredion and it was even more beautiful than in the pictures on the internet. The sun was shining on the water in the moat which was covered in water lilies and the surrounding grounds looked stunning. Sadly though we had arrived very early and had little chance of checking in until the afternoon.

We decided to go to a local café/restaurant for lunch. Looks like no one really speaks too much English here and we paid an extortionate €30 for drinks, two fishy salads and two enormous “sandwich du jambon et du beurre”. Iona’s sandwich was almost bigger than she was. One would have easily been enough for Sam and Iona – in fact two would have been enough for all of us. Ah well you live and learn.

After lunch there was still no sign of our receptionist, so we went to a Supermarket to shop for tea and breakfast for the next couple of days. I was slightly worried that there would be no room in the car for the shopping, but all was well. A French supermarket is very different to those in Tenerife in that there are almost exclusively French products on the shelves. Try as I might I could not find any cheese that would remotely resemble cheddar which was a major “catastrophie” as Iona will not eat any other cheese. France is still as patriotic as ever.

On our return we were able to check into our little apartment and it is small but quaint. Part of our apartment is in one of the turrets – the kitchen to be precise, so it is round. The children’s bedroom is up a wooden staircase into the roof and our “bedroom” is a small mezzanine just off the living room. The bathroom is tiny with part of the bath recessed into the wall at one end. Anyone taller than Alan (five foot eight and three quarters!!) would not be able to stand up in the bath. There is a shower, but it can only be used as a hose for hosing oneself down. Sadly the laundry was indeed compulsory at €17 each for the week! Oh well! The only positive thing to say about our checking in was that I managed to carry it out almost exclusively in French!

As expected the TV has not one English or indeed any other language channel for the benefit of le touriste. The general French attitude seems to be “if you don’t speak French – tough”. But for all that, the site is very beautiful and the area looks really interesting.

Itchy Scritchy Scratchy

I can't belive it! It never happened when I was at school. Managed to get through my entire schooldays without a single nit. Now I'm sitting here with some stinking stuff on my hair which has to stay on it for 12 hours waiting for it to be dry enough to go to bed.
My delightful daughter, who has long hair and has to be held down to get it brushed - has nits. the Bees Nees is to blame of course - although I suppose it could be the Girls Brigade. She's always hugging her lovely friends and all that hair is bound to just beckon to little nits looking for a new home.
Well, if brushing Iona's hair is difficult - you should have seen my attempt to put this lotion on and get a nit comb though it. I haven't even told her what it's for because she would have gone totally mad and shrieked hysterically. She merely thinks that we are making her hair extra healthy and killing germs.
Sam on the other hand keeps trying to get me to nit comb his hair because he loves it. Luckily he seems to have escaped as does Alan. But Mummy was called into her bedroom a couple of nights ago and the rest is history.
My what a host of nit products are on the market. You can even buy an elecric nit comb now that appears to electrocute the little blighters as you comb. The nit comb that we purchased today was an eye watering £9.99, but purports to be an all singing and dancing nit remover.
This is were I wish that I had lovely fine hair that the comb went through with ease. Sadly my thick and wiry Crystaltips -Like hair has been almost removed by the roots this evening and oh how I am looking forward to sleeping with this delightful odour permeating the room.
Ho hum. Let's hope it works.

Nice Photo

Well, I'm pleased to see you're still at the blog & while it's certainly been a while, it's good to know you're making the effort. It's been such a long time since I've been on either blog although saying that I started mine last week, is there anyone else apart from us 2 bothering to post on you blog. I think you should rally round & give the rest of them a good shake, that's not a McDonalds one of course.

I'd better go, roasting here in apartment & need to get out for a walk, those were the days eh, a walk from Fairfield Court to your place. Anyway, take care & lots of love.

Markie Mark

Stress Busting

Oh what a day - or is it what a week! It's not that I know how to do relaxation, but actually carrying out the various actions to relax - ....breathing regularly and deeply for example it's just hard to actually do it when under a lot of pressure.

Sometimes I wonder if we actaully have control of our lives now - or whether our lives just control us. Of course, if I was a hugely organised person I would just ignore the emails that pop up every other minute while I am trying to get another piece of work done, or learn to say the word "no" a bit more often. Then at home - where does one find solace and quiet - certainly not even in the toilet in our house. "MUMMY, WH-ER-E A-R-E Y-O-U?" shouts Iona smashing through the broken lock on the door and exposing me reposing on the throne to the rest of the family in the bedroom.

But today was one of those evenmorestressfulthanususal days (hope the spell checker isn't on). I've put a restful picture at the top of the page just to help me begin to relax before I go to bed - to be honest this is a new computer and there are no pictures saved on it to this is one of the only ones I could find.

First there was the launch of CCWA NI which for the sake of Margaret Ritchie's important diary as at 9am. I'm not used to comuting to Belfast in the rush hour - 45 minutes. Thank goodness I live and work in Newtownards. But at least we got to sit and listen to speeches for a good 45 minutes - not the most relaxing way to spend your morning - but beggars can't be choosers. Then it was off to the Community Relations Council Live Issues conference at which I was speaking - couldn't get parked - but a lovely man guided me into a spare space only about 2 miles from the Ramada!! Then I managed to go into the wrong conference and realised my mistake which Sam's P1 teacher asked me what I was doing there. Mmm ... it was some education resource conference.

Anyway all was well eventually and I even managed to bend Duncan Morrow's ear about the (non stressful) fact that the salary for my post runs out today - not to mention the core costs for the Community Relations Programme. He's the second Chief Executive to say "I don't know how this has happened" in relation to The Link funding in the space of two weeks.

I decided to write a "to do" list while supposedly listening to another contributor's input (God forgive me!) and it had a slightly calming effect except that there were 15 things on it that need to be done in the next two days. Then headed home so at least I got a chance to see my lovely children at some point today.

Mowing the lawn could be termed stress busting, I suppose until you see the height of our grass and the small size of our hover mower. It would probably need to hover about a foot above the grass as this was the first cut. Still I got about half of the back lawn cut and filled the brown bin.

The Community Forum meeting tonight was in the main quite encouraging, but I still find myself grinding my teeth and clenching things that probably shouldn't ever be clenched when dealing with issues in the Forum. I was taken aside by a member of the Loyalist community afterwards (always a nervous moment) and in muted tones asked about the possible sources for the funding of a table tennis table. Sighs of relief all round. So here I am at home blogging in a valient attempt to de-stress and only feeling more stressful becuase I haven't sorted out the washing and made the lunches in preparation for tomorrow.

Oh well .... time to book my Mother's Day massage I think......