Our time in Brittany is nearing its end, this is the second-to-last entry on the lovely granite-filled region. We take a trip into one of France’s most lovely National Parks. It begins with a short drive through all-familiar villages, marked with one significant difference; the empty streets are full of people, lining along the roadside with folding chairs and camper vans. The road, too, was full of commotion, not from cars but people on road bikes. We found ourselves in the midst of a bike race. Another change today is that we are carrying an extra passenger. Meeka the Shmeeka. We felt brave enough to combine our touring time with Meeka-bonding and hiking time and paired them together.

After a mere 30 minutes, we reach our first stop, the village Huelgoat. Huelgoat in Breton means “High Forest.” Its a gorgeous natural setting among the vestiges of an obviously ancient forest. The village is set on a man-made lake that was created around the 16th century to supply water to the surrounding silver mines.

With Meeka in tow, we were eager to get out to bound over the massive, moss-covered boulders that seemed casually strewn about. We didn’t get more than a few feet when she had to go potty straight away, right in the center of the street. There was a group of people walking the opposite direction, towards the spot where she went and they were looking at us like we were aliens. I’m not sure what was they were confused by, the fact that the dog pooped in the middle of the street or we were using a doggy bag to clean it up? (I’m guessing the latter).

Huelgoat’s natural landscape includes a few curiosities including Le Chaos de Rochers, or the Chaos of Rocks, is a jumble of hundreds of large boulders below the dammed lake, into which the river vanishes. It requires some steep and wet ladder-boulder-climbing in order to see it in the dark cave, known as Devil’s Grotto. We each took in turns to go down to see the cave, it certainly was dark, loud and cold down there.

The long path opened up into a wide expanse where a group of people were gathered around a man who was serenading everyone on the electronic harp. A family sat in front, watching him play and a few others were standing behind them. We were engrossed in the song as it ended and everyone cheered. The harpist started talking in the direction of the family, speaking French. They said something in response and I was surprised to hear English, they basically said they didn’t understand. The harps replied that he was talking to his friend behind them, and said that he was performing a show this weekend, asking his friend if he wanted to come and see. The kicker about this, is that it was all in French, and I UNDERSTOOD everything! I was in such shock, did I really just register French?

My high spirits continued as we continued our hike through a vast forest toward Le Camp d’Artus, Arthur’s Camp. This sea promontory hillfort is a defensive fort located on a steep cliff and was built for strategic & defensive advantage. It was a place of refuge against Roman invasion in 57 BC and was later nicknamed around Arthurian legend. La Grotte d’Artus, or Arthur’s Cave, is a natural shelter formed under a roof of jammed rocks, just nearby. Can you believe, King Arthur actually walked these paths!?

My attention was brought to a young, 20-something couple walking ahead of us. They stopped, out of the blue and turned toward the forest, and I caught the sight of one of them dropping his pants and moving into a squat. Yes, that’s right, here is another person using nature as their toilet, with no regard for the fact that its a well-traveled path and there are people (us) not more than 10 feet behind. When I realized what was happening I stopped and pulled Jake’s attention to the opposite side, in an effort to avoid an even more awkward situation. He was confused at first until I could explain what was happening. The whole thing seemed a bit absurd, but we laugh and say…ahh only in France 🙂

The hike was peaceful and refreshing. Its like we’ve entered a magical fairy forest with a unique variety of trees and plants. One pine tree caught my attention because it looked fake, shiny, almost like plastic. At the end of the line, we found a bench to sit and have our lunch-snack, Meeka enjoyed her lunch treats.

Parc d’Armorique
The Parc d’Armorique is a large, rural protected land that reaches all the way out to the Atlantic from the hilly-inland countryside. It includes everything from sandy beaches, swamps, high-elevation flora and fauna, fast rivers, strange rock formations and the hills of Monts d’Arrée, all blended into one landscape. The skies opened up all around us. Its a refreshing change from all that green.

The road continued to be lined with camping cars and spectators. A large peloton of bikers were just ahead, we’ve obviously made it back on track with the big race. Thankfully our path turned not too far ahead, and we escaped the long line of people and bikers, continuing to follow the craggy terrain towards the highest point in sight, Montagne St-Michel. A top this height is a small and weather-exposed chapel, which as been there since the 17th century, Mont Saint-Michel de Brasparts.

It was extraordinarily windy at the summit, but the 360-degree expansive view was clear for miles. Trails crisscross through grasses and large reservoir could be seen ahead. This is called the Elez Yeun, a marshy hollow that is often covered in a thick bed of fog. The word “ellez” comes from the root “hell” and this is fabled to be one of the gates of hell. For those who are superstitious, its said that hapless mortals peering into Elez Yeun risk being dragged down by unseen forces. Malevolent fiends can be heard baying at night. It was thought to be a place to confine the possessed, and the only one with the power to save souls from falling in is Saint Michael. The Chapel of Saint-Michel, dedicated to Archangel Michael is stationed perfectly atop the mound overlooking the marsh.

This is one of those places where you could come back again and again, hiking, biking, camping. Its a perfect retreat for the nature-lover in us all.

On the drive back we stopped in a town, Caraix-Plougher, in an attempt to practice our lackluster French skills and more importantly, to pick up some paint supplies. There is a small office supply store called Calipage in this town that is said to carry art supplies. I was in need of an acrylic brush and varnish, to seal the paintings that I’ve spent the summer working on.

Finding the products was easy, but the checkout was what we feared. I am still too novice at French to be totally comfortable but Jake was on top of it and managed to not only make smalltalk with the cashier but communicate in a way that we think he believed Jake to be French. I understood most of what was said, but my brain took longer to process it all. I’m just glad Jake’s high school French Club skills were on their game!