Looking for the "Essence" of Brittany and the Darkest Dark

the public "shower pan" with starter blocks to sprint outta there
see all photos »

Saturday, October 6.

Today is a travel day, a LONG travel day. I have an 8 hour drive from the Dordogne region to Brittany. I get on the super highway and only stop twice. Once at a road side stop where I bought some potato chips. They were so delicious; I didn’t realize how much I missed salt. That is not the way they season their food here. Often there aren’t even any salt or pepper shakers on the table. The second stop was to use the bathroom, and if you have been reading my blog you know how I feel about the public toilets here. Most of them have no seats, or the seat has been removed and is propped up against the wall. Many of them are unisex, so I suspect this is a male driven response to our insistence that they put the lid down. Ah, but this one is different, so I have taken a picture for you. It looks like a shower pan with a hole in it, and two little foot shaped gripper pads to show you where to put your feet. Little pipes stick out all the way around, and when I flush, water shoots out. I think the gripper pads are really starter blocks so you can sprint out without getting your feet wet.

I am almost out of gas...this makes my eye twitch

margie in Brittany!
see all photos »

I am zooming along about an hour from Lamballe, where I have an appointment at 6pm to meet the caretaker of the mill I will be staying in. I suddenly realize I am almost out of gas! (gas here is “essence” which is totally appropriate since it is the essence of what makes your car go). The larger roads have service stations pretty regularly along the route, but you do NOT want to run out of gas in a rural area. The local gas stations seem to have their own personal rules about when they will be open or closed. This makes my eye twitch. I see a sign for a “Super-U” which is the equivalent of a Wal-Mart, and often have gas stations attached. (there are also “Intermarche’” and “Casino”, all grocery stores plus services…sometimes), so I follow the signs off the road. It is much further than I wanted to go, and when I get there it is a station without a cashier. This makes both my eyes twitch. I haven’t figured out the “non-cashier” stations yet. I think you need a French credit card (with a different chip inside) or some sort of ticket. I don’t know where you get the ticket, there are no written clues anywhere. I see a little old man pumping gas, so I try to convince him to buy my gas and I will pay him with money ( this is an interesting combination of charades, pseudo-french, and waving euros around). He looks at me like I am crazy. He keeps saying “rien” (none, nothing) so I figure he doesn’t have a ticket either. I get lost trying to find N12, and get a lovely tour of some small villages, which I am not in the mood for. Not long after I rejoin my route there is a station/mini mart where I can fill up. My twitches go away and I can breathe again. I also buy a 6 pack of Breton beer, Bonnets Rouge (red hats), with a picture of red scarfed revolutionaries winning a battle. I feel like I have won my battle too: gas for the car, and beer for me. I have found the “essence” of Brittany!

All this meandering about has made me late, and I am now following the final directions to the mill at dusk. Let me say that the interior of Brittany is very rural. I am now on unmarked roads and my GPS says “unmapped area”. Swell. I am driving through identical corn fields, past cows, sheep, horses and ostriches! There is no cell phone signal here, and I have a sinking feeling internet service will be hard to find. I know I am close because I have passed a huge reservoir, and there is Ian, the caretaker, standing in the middle of the country lane, flagging me down. Whew!

The mill was built in 1670, and is a long stone “L” shaped building with about 15 doors, gardens with deep burgundy hydrangeas, a gurgling creek, and moss covered steps. Very pretty, and very remote. Every room has two doors, and this place is huge. There are old skeleton keys hanging on hooks next to each door because here you have to lock them from whatever side you are on, inside or outside. This was a linen mill, and the wheel is in my bedroom! It is fragile and I am told not to touch it. Too bad, I was going to spin some gold out of straw in my spare time. I close off some of the round topped wooden doors to make my own wing of the kitchen, living room and one bedroom. The bathrooms are WAY down the hallway at the other end of the mill. It is going to be a long walk in the middle of the night when I have to go. The nearest bigger town is Lamballe, about 9km away (5 ½ miles), and I can see I will have to drive to get anything I need. It has been gray and damp all day, so I unpack, turn on all the electric heaters and bundle up in an easy chair with a blanket and my guidebooks to plan my next day. I’m glad I lived in an old house in New Jersey for many years, because the mill creaks and groans and there is a subtle background noise of owls? Pigeons cooing? Ghosts? I sleep well, but every time I roll over a musty smell wafts off the outer blanket. It is the darkest dark and the quietest quiet here. When I turn out the lights it is like being in a void. It is not my favorite place.