Postcards from Provence and beyond

After the last couple of trips being made far too stressful with cancelled trains and having to reorganise routes and even completely change our plans at the last minute – you’d have thought we had learned our lesson- but no!

Yesterday’s trip between Exeter and Plymouth was stressful enough … but today has taken it the next level, despite having done everything possible to make the segment taken by train as simple as possible.

Because of the time pressures of having to be in Toulouse in time for the rugby, we had to do part of the trip by train, . Having pedalled across Brittany twice before, we planned to travel between Morlaix and Nantes, by train. This would mean that we would be able to explore more of the Charente and Charente Maritime areas on the way down.

Surely, we were due a bit of good luck with the network.

After arriving in Roscoff , late yesterday evening, we pedalled along the seafront, watching the bright colours of the sunset setting the horizon on fire. We had expected it to be busy with the Onion Festival, but the marquees were quiet and the final strains of music from a band were fading into the wind.

After the last two weeks, we were exhausted and collapsed into a deep sleep, undisturbed, even with the windows wide open. All that mattered was that we were back in France and we could look forward to starting pedalling today.

Today was always going to be a day of 3 parts. We planned to leave early, pedal to Saint Pol de Leon for breakfast and on to Morlaix, where we would catch the first train to Rennes. Then we would make a connection to the second train to Nantes and from there we’d pedal to the Marais Breton, where we will spend a couple of nights with dear friends.

It all started so well. We woke from a sound sleep, and quickly packed the panniers, loading the bikes up and heading off along the seafront, heralded on by the calls of seagulls, coming to terms wth the new day.

It was delightfully fresh, and the scent of the sea filled the air as we pedalled out of town to join the cycle route that we would follow along the coast

Within minutes, we fell into rhythm of cycling, and enjoyed the sights, smells and sounds of the countryside.

It’s a lovely route, that wingles its way along back lanes, skirting the estuary as it cuts through fields of cabbages and artichokes.

We arrived in Saint Pol de Leon just as the church clock struck 8, and just in time to see the boulangerie open its doors, and the first customers file inside. We joined them and sat, sipping coffee and munching pain au chocolat, watching the town wake up around us. We could easily have had a second coffee (and pastry), but we had to get on, as we had a train to catch.

We took our favourite route along the corniche road that runs alongside the estuary, between Carantec and Morlaix. It’s always a wonderful ride and early on a sunday morning, there were more bikes than cars and we just slowed down a little and enjoyed the peace.

As is always the case with us, we arrived in the town hideously early, so sat by the marina, enjoying the sun on our faces and starting the process of slowing down a bit

Finally, we pedalled up to the station and found our way to the platform, which quickly became busy with passengers and cyclists waiting for the train. At this point our anxieties were off the scale. We may come across as relatively relaxed laissez-faire couple, but in reality we are both very easily, exceptionally stressed, by anything that is out of our control. And after our recent experiences, catching trains with bikes is always a potential crisis point.

We had, of course, done everything possible to make sure we would be on the train we had booked. We had made bike reservations, we had arrived in plenty of time, but it was evident that it would be difficult to get on board, let alone stow the bikes for the (nearly 2 hour) trip.

We found markings on the platform that seemed to suggest this would be where the bike carriages would stop, and sharpened our elbows. We were so stressed that we could hardly speak, both of us replanning the next couple of days in our mind. If we couldn’t get on the train, we would have to replan the route and pedal ( as we couldn’t put ourselves through this again)

The train pulled in and we saw that the area inside the doors was already filled with bikes, but we couldn’t move in any other direction, so pushed the bikes in.

The bike racks are up the steps ( not the best of design for wheels), and there was one bike leaning in the space. The young woman sitting by it said she was getting off at the next station, so she moved her bike to rest against her seat and after a bit of pushing and pulling, Andy managed to stow the bikes in the rack. We were on, and we couldn’t thank the young woman enough, as behind us yet more bikes were being wheeled into the entrance, blocking the doors and gangway between the seats. Everyone getting on was exclaiming that they had a reservation. What we realise now is that you may have a reservation, but that doesn’t guarantee you a space.

But at last we could unplan the contingencies we’d got in our heads and could sit back and enjoy the trip, watching as more and more bikes were loaded at the following stations.

As we pulled into Rennes, we started to breathe a little more easily…. Surely we had done the worst bit.

We sat on a step in the station, eating a sandwich and watching life pass by. There is a joy in just watching people, catching snippets of their lives, as they dash past, or wait for platforms to be called. whether it was a young backpacker, who sat on the floor, leaning against his rucksack eating a simple lunch of crackers dipped in a tub of rillettes; or a group of scouts returning from a trip away, laughing, joking and singing with friends, slipping away slowly one-by-one when parents arrived to collect them. Simple pleasures that come from having the time to sit and watch.

Then our train to Nantes was called and we joined a swathe of people walking to the platform. It was heaving. We spoke to the guard who said the bike carriage would probably be front and rear. We plumped for the rear.

In the end none of the carriages had the cycle marker on the window, so we had to just push our bikes on board, finding space in front of the opposite doors to allow people to board.

And that was where we stayed. We knew that this was a straight through train, and as long as the train left, we couldn’t be asked to get off (even with our reservation), so held our ground. We did get a telling off from the guard, as she walked through the carriage, telling is it was forbidden to travel like this. But then she had to do it the couple with bikes by the next door, and the one after that too.

As we watched the Brittany countryside flash past, we vowed to ourselves that this is the very last time we will travel with the bikes on a train ( unless it’s an intercity, where the bikes have their own seat numbers too)

By the time we were approaching Nantes, we were looking forward to getting back on the bikes for the 60km ride, out of the city to the wild open space and huge skies of the Marais, where we’ll stay for the next 2 days.

After unloading us and the bikes from the train, we found our way (eventually) to the right exit, and started pedalling out of the city, slipping out along cycle lanes, and quiet back roads .

It was an easier ride out than I had imagined, and before too long, we had left the city behind and were on quieter roads, heading south.

By now though, the sky had turned black and there were ominous rumbles of distant thunder. We pulled in our coats, as the first heavy drops of rain started falling, and pedalled on through the puddles.

We turned off one road, where the late afternoon sunday drivers seemed incapable of doing anything but close-passing us, at speed, which was rather terrifying in the wet and the spray

But before long, we were pedalling through the Marais. The wind in our backs, rain in our faces, and huge smiles too. The vast skies were slab grey, dotted with the white of some of the incredible birds that live here, and we had the scent of salt in the air.

A final ride below the sea wall, and we spotted our friends, standing in the rain, ready to greet us. A really wonderful, warm welcome, to the soundtrack of squeaky disc brakes, complaining at being wet.

We may have been soggy, but the ride had settled our stress from the trains, and the ride had begun. At least we have 2 days here now to relax and enjoy this stunning area and good company, before we head on again, and with the wildlife here, it will be rather wonderful

One thing is certain though …. We wont be taking a train!