In a not-so-scandalous coup
, our new friend Anne
kidnapped us from the farm, Daddy Warbucks
|Adieu, Wwoofing farm #3!|
Her kids had missed us after we parted ways the week before
(luckily the only requirement for being liked by a kid is to make funny faces
while you fail at communicating with them), so she invited us over Thursday for
sight-seeing, dinner, and a sleepover. We stole away that morning, leaving
the farm behind with a mild sadness—we would surely miss the fellow volunteers
and the goats. The potatoes? Not so much.
|Our final sunset at the farm--this was how the evenings made it up to us for the consistent daily rains|
Thursday’s adventure brought us to Camaret
, a lovely coastal
town with lots of shops and general touristic things oriented toward fish. It was raining, but you know what? When you're being driven around coastal France for free instead of doing farm work, you take what you can get.
|Camaret coast and the Notre Dame de Rocamadour, notice the church's nautical themes, which make me giggle a bit|
That night, Anne made a locally-caught crab, her daughter Amelie
and I made chocolate chip cookies, Yannick
made crepes for all, and bedtime brought us to a contented and deep sleep.
The next morning, just when you thought Anne couldn’t get any nicer, the
woman decided to bring us to our next rendezvous in Rostrenen—an hour away. AND she
gave John and me 2 Brittanese-style scarves (with stripes)!
|Boiling water flavored with Herbs de Provence, French sea salt, and....crab|
I want to point out that all of this began with our simple attempt to speak French with Anne. Sure, our sentences might not have made any sense, but she understood that we were nice people who were open to her culture, and that's how the genial doors to her home were opened. Don't underestimate the power of being culturally aware—a few blundering sentences in a foreign language is sometimes all it takes.
I can only shake my head when I think of all the stories you hear about French people being rude to tourists...
But then again, maybe Anne isn’t just one of the “French people”—maaaybe she’s an angel?
|Amelie and I model our matching Brittany-esque stripes and Yannick shows his crepe-making skills|
|A lunch-break bike ride brought us to the|
churchyard of the Chapel of St. Germain
|Chapel of St. Germain, constructed circa 1530|
|Kind of a big deal? |
Chapel of St. Germain
Chapel of St. Germain|
|That's what I call an organ.|
Chapel of St. Germain
|Walking around the farm|
|Oh my stupid, stupid sheep friends|
|An apple compote cake made to celebrate the birthday|
our host, Jean-Yves. Of course it displays the farm mascot,
a goat, to entice you to chow down... (John was the artiste)
|We did go out to eat one day to what was supposedly the bestcreperie in Brittany, Le Stirwen. John's sausage & compote |
crepe was sub-par as it lacked enough compote, and my pate,truffle, and pate ice cream (!) crepe was absolutely divine.
|Last sunset picture, I promise. Maybe.||
|John got artsy on us|
|Et voilà! (please ignore john's hideous shorts)|
Next stop: visiting Couchsurfing friends
in Rostrenen! No farm work! Yippeeee!
Love the pics! Try to get less of John in them next time.ReplyDelete
yeah he has an internal sensor that tells him to to jump in front of the lens whenever i pull my camera out. What a ham.ReplyDelete
that horse has hair like rick JamesReplyDelete