There’s nothing like a bustling French market to awaken the senses after a long….very long in this case….journey to Brittany. UK roads to Plymouth were beset with detours, a hefty storm delayed our ferry crossing to Roscoff by 12 hours, and the sea was full of heaving white horses when we sailed. The Kwells worked; I didn’t throw up, but the voyage is best glossed over.
So a trip next morning to Plestin-les-Greves to browse in the market and pick up the ambience made for a good start to the week. There were flowers, fruit, veg, and food of all kinds to please both eyes and nose. We shuffled along in the crowd of locals and tourists, enjoying the atmosphere and feeling glad we’d finally arrived.
Granddaughter cajoled her parents into buying her a watch from one stall, we each bought ourselves stylish belts from another and husband resisted the temptation to get himself yet another small change purse (he seems to get one whenever we visit France!).
Then we headed for the remains of a Roman villa and ran and played with the children on a nearby stunning beach before returning to the 16th century manor house where we were staying.
Our group of seven was due to expand to fourteen next day with the arrival of another branch of the French side of the family. More on that later.