April 15, Entry 4
13:39
After a quick drive-by near the local supermarket in Nantes, we head towards a cockatoo-filled garden, and grab a quick picnic on the green grass. The bread is stale, but the cheese melts in our mouthes. Stuffed, we depart. But where? Shall we visit a local attraction, or perhaps discover a local vineyard?
France is our chessboard, and all moves are allowed. The bold among us decide to take our chances and search for a small wine-tasting cave, and the rest of us agree. After all, you need to lose yourself in order to find what you're looking for. On the road again!
13:59
"Ok now, we're definitely lost. Ask this woman."
As the vehicle comes to a stop, the Canadian rolls down his side window. A portly woman, clad in pink and showing slight signs of dementia glances toward us.
"Bonjour madame, we're looking for some local vineyards, where we can degust some wine on our way to Vannes. Do you know of any places nearby?"
"Oh, mais vous savez, there are quite a few places around here... In fact I think I might have seen one a few hundred meters ahead. First you take a left at the next stop, and you'll see Port-St-Père... You can ask the tourist center there for more advice. Actually, my son works there. What day is it today? Friday? No... I'm not sure he's working today, but you should still head on, and tell him I sent you. I mean, on days like today, you can find some great wine from small producers, but you have to know where to look. So take the next right toward Port-St-Père, and you'll find it. Actually, once you arrive in Port-St-Père, you'll arrive at that statue, you know? That famous statue of that girl. Oh dear,... poor girl, they found her body a few days ago... So, go past the church, and then you'll find the mayor's office where my son works. I think he's working today, it's Friday after all. Once you reach the..."
"Bon, merci mad -"
"... past the statue of the Christ. Then you'll see a nice big church, where you'll need to turn immediately left, and you'll reach the town of..."
She does not stop. At some point we find ourselves staring at her short beard stubble...
"Merci madame. Bonne journée! Let's roll."
"Oh mais, aucun problème! I hope you find what you're looking for!"
Her instructions lead us on a wild goose chase. Eventually, we come across another sensible gentleman who clearly indicates us the route to take.
14:37
We finally arrive at our next stop, a place called 'Le Domaine Pierre Grandjouan'. We knock on the door, only to be greeted by silence. We walk across the premises, to find two chained-up dogs and three large cattle grazing on pasture. As we approach, the bovines suspect something's afoot, and gracefully assemble in formation to stare us down.
"Watch out, they're about to charge..." says Tudor.
"Just a couple of quick pics", replies Laurent.
"They were hired by the government, finishes Siim. Cows don't normally act like that."
"This place is weird. If this was Texas, a guy with a shotgun would jump out and kick us out. Let's leave."
22:50
Next stop: Quiberon. Our pit stop lies next to the sea, on the west tip of France. We head towards the southmost point of the peninsula to hunt for sea creatures. All is pitch dark, and given that we are each holding a bottle of Leffe in our left hand, performing acrobatics across mussel-infested rocks isn't the greatest idea.
"Hey, I see some crabs down there!", exclamates the Swiss.
"That's what she said." Well played.
A few mishaps and unsuccessful attempts to catch shrimp inside beer bottles later, we decide to end our fourth day in style.
00:00
We fetch the cheese and the wine and head for the beach near our Auberge. The tide is low, and now is the perfect time to enjoy a midnight snack. First through the forest, then over the fence, and onto the sands of Brittany. As our eyes get accustomed to the darkness, we run across the beach towards the water, some few hundred feet. Far away, we make out two other shapes and their dog perhaps engaging in some nightly romantic activity near the shore.
For 20 minutes, we experience one of the most beautiful scenes of our trip so far. The beach extends as far as our eyes can see in every direction, and the only light source is the ghastly moon above. This is Awesome Day Number 4.
April 16, Entry 5
10:48
There's nothing like a good dispute or two to get the juices circulating through the body. We woke up to an angry old chap knocking on our door, lecturing to us that he couldn't get any shut-eye last night on account of our hooligan behaviour. Question: since when do middle-aged couples stay overnight in places called Auberge de Jeunesse, and how come we happened to be lodged right next door to each other when there are 26 other perfectly good rooms?
This raises our rage meter. The only solution lies in a re-enactment of Street Fighter by the beach amongst ourselves. A good old battle between Estonia and Canada is in order, with the winner to win... nothing. Still, morning exercise.
This raises our rage meter. The only solution lies in a re-enactment of Street Fighter by the beach amongst ourselves. A good old battle between Estonia and Canada is in order, with the winner to win... nothing. Still, morning exercise.
11:07
We drive on, and reach an exquisite cliff formation on the beaches on Quiberon spotted with surfers. They seem to emanate from another cultural dimension, and take no notice of all of the onlookers taking their pictures. And great pictures do we take: crashing waves, rad hairdos, wet dogs and a thundering scenery.
"I could stay here, like for... ever." speaks Siim.
13:22
Brunch is short and delicious, but (as always) eventful.
"Couldn't find the cups, so we'll have to improvise again."
"It's all good." The Estonian interrupts his pickle-filled, cheese-smothered, chicken-stuffed and carrot-topped sandwich. While still chewing, he opens a vanilla pudding and consumes it halfway. Without stopping to watch our shocked expressions, he finishes the pudding, and begins to fill the cup with water. He cups it with his hand and shakes it vigorously, then releases its yellowish contents on the rocks below.
"Clean. Where's the Muscadet?"
"Genius", I say, while grabbing one for myself.
Meanwhile, Georg skips a few steps entirely and fills his cup with carrot salad over his half-empty pudding.
"You know it's all the same in the end, right?"
No meal is complete without the traditional Estonian rain dance celebration. This is customary in many towns around North-Eastern Europe, as it calms down the fierce gods of the sea and hunger.
Actually, they just felt like dancing.
16:55
Our next pit stop is Dinan, a small Breton town south of St-Malo. With a beer in each pocket, we climb to the top of the clock tower to get a better look.
"Oh nice, the bell is about to ring soon."
"You should record it and set it as tomorrow's alarm", says Laurent.
"Good idea. That'll be a change from the screeching banshee sound from the metro escalators at St-Lazare station or the 600 year-old creaking of the door at Chinon castle.", I reply.
"You know what though, I really don't think this bell will be that loud. I'll get closer.", dares the Swiss.
"I think you really need to fe-
BANG.
BANG.
BANG.
"Woah... That was int-"
BANG.
BANG.
BANG.
BANG.
BANG.
"Woah... That was int-"
BANG.
BANG.
BANG.
Thank you, Quasimodo, for letting us experience your deafening pain.
21:50
The day ends in St-Malo, where we catch the sunset on the beach, and where Siim, or should I say, Flim (the newest addition to his list of nicknames) performs admirably as the law-abiding citizen that he is by witnessing a theft inside a restaurant. Trouble is, the thief is still outside, prowling, waiting...
There's nothing like a good dispute or two to get the juices circulating through the body.
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April 17, Entry 6
10:39
"... and that's why I would never want to become a jet fighter pilot, says Georg. I mean sure, I have perfect vision, but it's because of the traumatizing decisions I would have to make."
"You have perfect vision? B.S.", replies Siim.
"Yeah, I'm telling you. I would tell the doctors what letters were written in tiny print on the wall even before the test started."
"Ok, so what's written on that sign over there?" points the Estonian in the direction of a street sign.
"Umm... ok hold on, I need to get closer", says Georg.
"Riiiight, perfect vision", says Siim.
As our discussion intensifies, we tread on the castle ramparts of St-Malo, basking in the morning sun and admiring the scenery.
A few moments later, my ears tingle with the sound of a familiar dialect long unspoken, coming from members of the opposite sex. Showtime.
A few days without female company gets to you.
12:30
Midday brunch is always a welcome activity, and today's is no different. Although a change in the menu is in order, the change in landscape is breathtaking. A small visitor joins us.
14:27
The heat is starting to penetrate our every pore. The windows are wide open, the wind blasts past our ears, and even the Red Hot Chili Peppers have trouble making themselves heard. As we drive towards our next destination, Switzerland opens up the conversation:
"Hey look, it's Mont Saint-Michel!"
Fog as far the eye can see.
"Look, Georg, it's OK. We believe you, you've got good eyesight. But maybe today's not your day. There's absolutely nothing there", states Siim.
"But it's right th-"
"Hey look, it's Mont Saint-Michel!", I yell.
Either he was bluffing, or Georg had beyond-perfect vision. Like a faint wisp of smoke in the distance, a small gray discoloration in the shape of a pyramid could be traced in the faraway backdrop. The sceptics among us quickly became silent.
"Actually, I can also see an empty parking spot from here!", continues Georg.
Don't push it, Mr. Hawk-Eye.
19:03
After the pittoresque ascension up Mont Saint-Michel and a few hours on the road, our sneakers land on the famous beaches of Normandy.
The beauty and tranquility is breathtaking. The low tide makes it possible to head out beyond the shore, where the oncoming sunset allows for dramatic pictures. It has been 65 years since D-Day, but the memories of this day still reverberate.
20:38
The gates to the American Memorial Cemetery having closed at 18:00, we circle the premises, and find a metal fence ripe for the climbing. No fence can stop us. After all, we are humble visitors here to take pictures. Apparently not humble enough, as the view unfolding before us leaves us silent.
Graves beyond graves, the smoothness of the marble, all is perfectly aligned. The American cemetery pulses with powerful energy that we can each feel as we lay on the grass, quiet. Although we've entered here illegally, there is no shame in wanting to learn about the 125,000 allied troops who gave their lives for humanity. May their stories be told for centuries to come.
The day ends in silence in the car, driving towards a bleeding moon on the horizon.
