And so we leave behind the warmth of the hills, the slopes that link the fields and the narrow back roads, the blue sky, the tree-lined path, the cows in the fields, the horses, le noyer, the walnut tree who showers our path with its hard-shelled fruit, which we pick up and take home, cracking the shells and extracting the nuts. 
Tarn et Garonne
We leave behind the fish in the pond, the hens in their pen, the black cat who lies in the shade on the cool path to watch the fish, the frogs who plop instantly into the pond when I walk down the path, and the newly planted roses.
Saint-Antonin-Noble-Val
All are memories of warmth, of the poplar trees whose leaves have barely turned colour, of the red berries on the thorn bushes by the edges of fields which look out to the church spire.
But the weather has turned, it is chill and misty and soon after we have loaded up the car, it begins to rain. We have a long way to go, from the blue skies of Occitanie, to the rainy coast of Brittany. But with one stopover on the way, in the départment just below Brittany, La Vendée.
We head first for Montauban and Bordeaux. We pass by Saint-Antonin-Noble-Val in the valley of trees, all yellow and rust coloured. The rain showers arrive with aplomb and then they are off again, looking for new excitement elsewhere, like restless children. We stop at the aire de Garonne and after that, it starts to rain heavily again. The wipers race, the rain rattles on the windscreen. And there are clouds of spray from the passing cars. Clouds raggle-taggle unravel across the sky. On the left a forest of colour – red and green and in-between, spots of yellow on the right, then a high hedge of poplars.
A car with a horsebox passes us. Two heads are visible, and four twitching ears. The long river the road follows for a while is Le Gers. A sign says Fin de travaux but actually it’s not the end it’s the beginning, and we laugh at this. We also laugh at a signpost to Cocumont though I imagine the inhabitants are weary of people like us cracking jokes at having cuckold mountain as your address, when it is just as normal to them as, for example, blue sky or fallen archway.
It’s a long day, driving all the time except for short breaks, under a sky that is always grey. In late afternoon it is so dark grey it’s as if night has grabbed a fistful of the day and shakes it so the rain is wrung out of the clouds.
The itinerary is Niort vers Nantes, then towards La Roche sur Yon, Challons, and our destination, Machecoul. Via some wonderful names such as Mouilleron-le-Captif and Montiers-les-mauxfaits.
Vocabulary: la rocade – by-pass/ring road. La bouée – condensation. Bretelles de sortie – slip road/exit road from motorway
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Armor means Brittany in Breton. Côte d’Armor used to be called Côte du Nord but P* said it was changed because it was feared that the word north would put tourists off. Truly. Or so he said. I'm wondering now if he was joking.
The next day is sunny and we lose concentration, we get lost several times through a lack of being on the qui vive, through an abandon to our amazing success in having reached the first goal, Machecoul, and to the warmth of the morning sunshine. We circle around Donges and its roundabouts, get back on the autoroute to Nantes but really, it is Vannes we want and it seems that we are going in the opposite direction. We stop for coffee at a small service station and ask directions. (No, we don’t have satnav, we don’t have GPS, we are aliens from another planet. Which one? Oh, Aldebaran. Thank you so much for your help.) Once more round the roundabout and back, third time lucky, see a signpost for Vannes which is only visible once you have almost passed it. The big roundabout at la rocade around Nantes has several lanes of speeding traffic including huge trucks. It’s the only place in two days of driving across France that I hope never to see again.
We are heading back to Vannes, in sunlight. The road is lined with trees in all the autumn colours. Then it’s pines. Next towns are L’Orient, then Quimper. We are heading for the coast. We are in Finisterre.
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| The coast of Finisterre, Audierne |
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| Finisterre |
At Audierne the sky has clouds fast-moving across the sky. As if after all their travel across the sea, they have not quite adjusted to being ashore. The sea reflects light then darkens. Light stretches across the clouds. The Breton sky is famous for its changeability says P*. He spent his summer holidays here, as a child. It is also famous for its galettes which we sample at a small restaurant by the waterfront.
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| Rain on the waterfront, Audierne |
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| See you later, says the neighbour's friendly black cat |
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