A WEEK IN FINISTÈRE

Finistère is a department of Brittany and a part of France that we had never previously explored.  We were hankering after a seaside break but finding a suitable gîte proved to be tricky as we had left it a bit late to look for one.  Our principal requirements were a decent sized enclosed garden for Hugo and privacy, or at least not having to share space with other holidaymakers.  We would not want a large and very bouncy dog to be a problem for other guests or vice versa!

We found a gîte not far from a little village called Guimaëc, which is just over 1km from the coast.

The day before we went we had intended to do our packing in the morning and take Yvonne to the cattery in the afternoon.  Instead, we ended up taking a delivery of six stères of logs before 9.00 am and spent all morning stacking them.  After lunch we coaxed Yvonne into her carrier using the little pot of tuna method.

Yvonne's usual cattery (called a "pension" in France) was fully booked but I found another one about the same distance from home.  She is not a good traveller and it was not great.  Her pen was very small and the access to the cat accommodation was via a courtyard surrounded by pens of barking dogs.  She was stressed and frightened but we left her there (we had no choice) thinking that the owner didn’t understand cats too well but at least she would be safe and fed.

A humorous display made from hay bales, announcing a wedding, spotted in a field near the gite.

We set off north on Saturday and the journey to Guimaëc was around six hours.  Hugo always travels well and after just one short break to stretch our legs we arrived around 5pm.  We have stayed in many gîtes over the years and some have been decidedly better than others.  This one was spotlessly clean, had a large enclosed garden, good kitchen equipment, endless hot water and very comfortable beds. It lacked a bit of charm and was short of a few minor things but it was fine.

It was a farmhouse built probably early in the twentieth century alongside the original and much older farm buildings.  The owner had inherited it from her grandfather and it hadn’t been a working farm for several decades.  

Whilst the old buildings were low and cramped, this house was roomy and lofty.  It felt more like a barn than a house but this might have a lot to do with the way it had been converted into a gîte.  It had three double bedrooms upstairs, plus a sofa bed downstairs in the cavernous living room, so was able to cater for a large family on holiday.  

With the formalities over, we drove down to the nearby cove to see the sea, returned to the gîte and cooked a pasta dinner, unpacked and settled in.  In my unpacking I discovered that I had entirely forgotten to bring (amongst other things) any knickers, or a hairbrush.  The first job the next day would have to be some shopping!