


Finistère: Best for wild coastline
A soft wind is stirring through the heather on the Pointe du Van, carrying with it a chorus of ocean sounds – cackling seabirds, rolling waves and booming surf. Overhead, gulls and gannets ride the thermals or roost in noisy colonies on the cliff faces. Along the coast path, walkers stroll through thickets of gorse, stopping occasionally to raise their binoculars skywards or peer gingerly over the cliff edge into the foaming waves 90m below.

Reaching out into the open Atlantic, this rocky finger of Finistère (literally, “the end of the land”) is as far west as you can go in mainland France. Battered by swells and gales, its coastline traces a zig-zag contour along France’s western edge. The coast is stark and wild, a place of fissured cliffs, lonely headlands and hidden reefs. It’s also infamous as a ships’ graveyard: hundreds of vessels have foundered here, from tiny fishing boats to oil tankers, and the area now has more lighthouses per mile of coastline than anywhere in Europe.

For Thomas Joncour, a surfing instructor born in the fishing village of Penmarc’h, it’s the frisson of wildness that sets Finistère’s coast apart. “Bretons are an ocean people,’” he explains, “and our coastline is precious to us. Even though we know the sea can be dangerous, unpredictable, even cruel, we respect it and understand it. It has claimed many lives, but it’s part of who we are.” As he talks, he watches white-capped waves wash in past the Pointe de la Torche, breaking onto an arc of amber sand and marram-spiked dunes that disappears north towards the shimmering horizon.

Unsurprisingly given its treacherous history, Finistère’s coast is alive with myths and legends. On All Souls’ Day, the spirits of drowned sailors and suicidal lovers are said to gather on the sandy cove known as the Baie des Trépassés, while the mythical drowned city of Ys is believed to lie beneath the waves off the nearby Pointe du Raz. On still evenings, some say that you can hear the tolling of its church bells carried in on the ocean breeze.

These days, Finistère is better known for its fauna than its folklore. The cliffs are home to some of France’s biggest seabird colonies and to endangered species such as the chough and the guillemot, both of which can often be seen gliding around the bird reserve of Cap Sizun. In summer, the headlands light up with pink thrift and plum-coloured heather, attracting rare moths and butterflies. Sometimes, dolphins and seals can be spotted around the more isolated headlands, such as the Pointe du Millier and the Pointe de Brézellec. Thomas never tires of Finistère’s coastline. “I’ve followed waves all over the world, but there’s nowhere like this,” he smiles. “No matter how far I travel, I’m always drawn back home. The coast has a spirit of its own.”

Where to eat
The Bistrot de la Cale in Douarnenez, 20 miles east along the coast, serves no-nonsense seafood such as fresh langoustines and grilled sardines in a rustic setting near the harbour (00 33 2989 23705; closed Mon and Jan–Feb;  mains from £11).

Where to stay
Housed in a former presbytery just behind the old port of Tréboul, Hotel Ty Mad blends old and new: rough beams and rustic wood meet modern art and contemporary sculptures. There’s a peaceful bamboo garden and hammam pool, and dinner is served in the light, elegant conservatory (closed mid-Nov–mid-Mar; from £70). 

Carnac: Best for ancient history
“Welcome to one of the ancient world’s greatest construction projects!” announces local guide Véronique Martin, as she tramps out across the grass. It’s a foggy day, and a grey veil still hangs over the land. Pines rustle gently in the breeze and droplets of dew sparkle on the fields, reflecting watery sunlight filtering through the clouds.

It’s then that the first of the Carnac stones materialises from the mist: a waypost in the steely gloom that seems to point into our own long-forgotten past. France has plenty of prehistoric sites, but Carnac is in a league of its own. Sprawling out across the duneland of southern Brittany, the site is on a stupefying scale. It’s been compared with Stonehenge, the Parthenon and the Pyramids in architectural ambition, but despite the efforts of archaeologists and academics, its purpose remains a mystery.

The main alignments consist of more than 3,000 granite menhirs, arranged in rows between 3300 BC and 1500 BC. Each of the blocks was carved at a local quarry and transported for miles, even though the lightest weighs in excess of three tonnes. The menhirs cover 40 hectares and stretch for four miles, making Carnac the largest prehistoric monument anywhere on Earth.

“There are many things we do know about Carnac,” explains Véronique, running her hand across one of the massive blocks, its surface fuzzed in yellow lichen, its contours rutted by centuries of rainfall. “We know where the builders quarried their stones. We have ideas about how they transported them, and some of the techniques they might have used to erect them. But the one thing we can’t answer is the most important question of all – and that, of course, is why.”

Theories about the monument’s function are as numerous as the stones themselves. Some believe the alignments commemorate important warriors or tribal chieftains. Others think they mark out an astronomical clock or celestial calendar. One outlandish theory even maintains that they may have been a kind of seismic detector, used to predict earthquakes. The current consensus is that the stones served a religious purpose, probably related to the summer and winter solstices, and possibly involving ritual sacrifice – but the truth is, no-one knows.

“Carnac is one of the great riddles of the ancient world,” continues Véronique. “In many ways, we are so close to the people who built it, but in other ways they seem very distant to us. We know almost nothing for certain about their language, customs or spiritual beliefs – and we probably never will. It’s that mystery that makes this place so fascinating.” She turns and disappears into the ranks of stones, a ghostly figure swallowed up in a wall of silver fog.

Where to eat
The Bistrot du Marin, at the port in La Trinité-sur- Mer, three miles east of Carnac, serves Breton cuisine such as cotriade (fish stew) and mussels in cider (00 33 29755 7323; menus from £15).

Where to stay
There’s a distinct scent of the seaside at this Lodge Kerisper in La Trinité-sur-Mer. Bedrooms feel like ships’ cabins, with blonde wood, porthole windows and blue-andwhite colour schemes. Downstairs, there’s a lounge bar with deep leather sofas and coffee-table books to browse (from £85).

Mont St-Michel: Best for walks
Haze rises off the sands as Patrick Desgué treks out into the great bay of Mont St-Michel. As always, he walks barefoot. He has worked as a guide here for years, but takes no chances.

“The conditions in the bay can change in hours,” he explains. “What can be a safe place to walk one day can be treacherous the next. But if you respect it, it’s safe to explore – as long as you travel with a guide!”

Patrick spots a new patch of quicksand. He stamps on it, conjuring up a pool of viscous sand that bubbles around his feet, drawing them inexorably downwards.




Where to eat

Where to stay

Camembert: Best for cheese




Dressed in protective boots and a fabric snood, she demonstrates some of the key stages of production: the shaping room, where the freshly separated curds are set in plastic rounds and turned by hand; the drying rooms, where a natural mould (Penicillium camemberti) forms a white rind on the cheese; and finally the boxing room, where the finished cheeses are packaged in wooden cartons produced to the same design for the last 122 years.

Later, we drive through the dairy meadows. Green fields and gentle hills unfurl, broken up by thickets, oak copses and timbered farmhouses. In the distance, the spire of Camembert’s village church pokes above the hedgerows, and a herd of black-and-white Norman cows munch steadily through the daisies and dandelions.

Where to eat
The choice is limited around Camembert, so it’s worth taking a trip into Falaise, 17 miles to the west, to dine at La Fine Fourchette. It’s a thoroughly Gallic affair, right down to the razor-sharp tablecloths and rich French dishes (closed 15 Feb-2 Mar; menus from £15).

Where to stay
Lost in wooded countryside to the southeast of Falaise, the Pavillon de Gouffern was originally a hunting lodge, but it’s since been converted into a smart country hotel. The best rooms are in the main manor and overlook the rolling grounds. Others are in a converted stable block nearby (closed Nov & Dec; from £120).

Route du Cidre: Best for cider and calvados
Apples are everywhere in Normandy. Orchards carpet the roadsides and fields. Pollarded trees fill every back garden. Rosy fruits gleam on market stalls. Yet most of the crop isn’t destined for the fruit bowl: it’ll be smashed, sliced, mashed, pulped and squeezed to make Normandy’s most celebrated alcoholic exports – cider and calvados, the region’s fiery apple brandy.

Normandy’s cool temperatures and clay soils are tailor-made for apple trees. The region has been known for its orchards since Roman times, but Benedictine monks were the first to experiment with fermenting the fruit to produce an alcoholic brew, kickstarting an industry that now employs thousands of people and has earned the region numerous AOCs (appellations d’origine contrôlée).

Few names command more respect than that of Pierre Huet, one of the most prestigious producers on the Route du Cidre, a signposted trail that meanders for 25 miles through the rural Pays d’Auge, passing between swaying cornfields, sleepy meadows and poppy fields.

At their half-timbered manor house in Cambremer, the Huets have been producing cider and calvados for five generations. ���For me, it’s not a passion, it’s an obsession,” says Cyril Marchand- Huet, ducking into one of the manor’s dimly lit cellars. “Every year is different: the climate, the crop, the soil and the sunshine all affect the apples’ taste. That’s where the art of the cider maker comes in.”

He strides off into the depths of the cellar, past rows of oak casks that disappear into the murky darkness. Pipettes on the outsides of the barrels show how the colour of calvados changes over time, from honey-yellow to a rich, chocolatey brown. Vintages are mixed together once a year to create the perfect blend, before being boiled down to a crystal-clear liquid in one of the manor’s antique copper stills. Some of the calvados is mixed with apple juice to create pommeau, a popular aperitif, while the rest of the apple crop is used for making cider.

Cyril stops and pulls a cork out of one of the casks. The musty air suddenly fills with fruity scents: sweet apples, aged wood and citrus tangs, blended with a heady undertone of 80 proof alcohol. “Ahhhh!” sighs Cyril, breathing in the aromas. “Now that’s the real smell of Normandy.” He heads out into the estate’s orchards, where the putter of a lawnmower mingles with the drone of bees at work amongst the wildflowers. “I love this time of year,” he says, casting an experienced eye over the rows of neatly trimmed trees. Above Cyril, bathed in buttery spring sunshine, the first of the year’s apples are beginning to bud. “Every year is a different adventure, and we never know what the new season will bring. But like all the best things in life, half the fun is in the anticipation.”

Where to eat
Expect hearty country cooking at Le Saint Melaine in Pont l’Evêque (00 33 23164 0164; closed Nov and some weekday evenings; menus from £12).

Where to stay
Parisian Patrick Kuchly left the capital and a career in banking to open Closerie des Millets near the village of Blangy-le-Château, in the heart of the Pays d’Auge, to guests. It has been renovated with impeccable taste: the rooms make a feature of the house’s rustic beams, wonky walls and brickwork, but the décor is all monochrome tones and minimal clutter while retaining that elegant château style. Evening meals are available on request (from £105).

The article 'The perfect trip: Brittany and Normandy' was published in partnership with Lonely Planet Traveller.