June 16, 2022. The place we were staying at was lovely—peaceful, green, and full of character. I wandered around the yard in the morning and ended up chatting with a sweet family from Kaunas, Lithuania. They had a little boy who was all about the animals, trying hard to befriend the skittish dog who wasn’t quite ready for that level of enthusiasm.

Our host, Greg, suggested a few places to check out, so we set off around 11 for the morning market in Dinan—but traffic was a nightmare. I ended up turning the car around right in the middle of the city and heading to Dinard instead.

Greg had told us to park near the tree park and walk to the ferry. I followed the signs, and right on cue, I got a message saying the ferry was leaving in 10 minutes—and the next one wouldn’t be for another hour and a half. So I ran for it… and just made it.

The ferry took us along the Promenade Clair de Lune—a stunning coastal path. We crossed over to Saint-Malo and walked along the ramparts. To me, it kind of felt like Disneyland—heavily bombed and rebuilt after the war, so it all looked too new. Super touristy. Still, the old city walls were cool, with a few info plaques here and there. Watched a guy wade out toward the island where a famous corsair is buried (at high tide, no less). This whole area has corsair history—from here to Honfleur.

Found a beautiful old chapel tucked away, and a cathedral that was, thankfully, open. We waited forever at a bakery next door for some substandard pastries. Disappointing. Shawn wanted to meet for lunch, but by then it was past 2pm and everything was closed. One place at first said no, then yes, to serving us. Ridiculous. Food was okay but small portions and overpriced—I felt bad that Shawn ended up paying for something so underwhelming.

Caught the 4:10 ferry back and landed in Dinard, which was so charming. Old fancy houses from when the bourgeoisie turned it into a summer resort in the 1800s—it had been ducal land. Another promenade walk, and by now it was blazing hot. People were swimming in these amazing sea pools—basically stone walls that trap the seawater at high tide and warm it up. Genius. One of them dates back to the 1920s.

We found an awesome ice cream spot—Vent de Vanille (“Vanilla Wind,” which cracked me up). I texted Shawn and told him. I had three flavors but regretted skipping pistachio. I walked out along the coast, where the wealthy of France had second homes. I was intrigued by the Place de l’Écluse, the “see and be seen” beach. Tons of artists had lived and worked here—Picasso, for one.

Kept walking. Found an old church, got tired, finally made it back to the car. Then we explored Le Jardin Anglais, The English Garden, which was a total gem. Beautiful mansion, rose garden, aviary, donkeys, goats… and a Celtic tree park with a tree planted for each month of the Celtic calendar. So cool. Drove back and got in around 9pm. Another outdoor picnic, then I took Shawn to see the forest I’d discovered—huge, shadowy oaks. Slept like a rock.

June 17. We got some ideas from our hosts about where to go in northern France—they’re from Lille and run a restaurant there—then set off for Léhon. It was a cute town with an abbey and an old fort. We got there around 11:30 and wandered for about an hour before heading back into Dinan. Did a tour of the castle and explored the old town. Met Shawn for lunch by the canal. It was 97 degrees. Everyone was melting.

We ended up staying in Dinan a little too long—till about 4—checking out all the old houses. Planned to head to Saint-Brieuc, but traffic was awful, so we rerouted to Pointe de Roselier instead. Gorgeous. There’s a wide beach below that reminded me of Ipanima—super popular. We walked around, saw a little beehive-shaped oratory and a touching memorial to people lost at sea.

I’d really wanted to take in the coastal views, but the air pollution was so bad, visibility was terrible. Still, it was a great spot.

Drove to Paimpol next, but I wasn’t wowed. Cute harbor, small old town… that’s about it. A jazz group playing in the square was probably the highlight. Learned a bit from plaques at Musée de la Mer about the important role the town played in the fishing industry, including local fishermen cod fishing in Iceland and Newfoundland, and techniques developed to preserve and store cod. Apparently a French prince had lived there for a bit due to the fishing economy.

There were heartbreaking signs about the long waits women endured—six months or more—hoping to see their husbands and sons again. Saw the fish market on the way out, then aimed for Pontrieux but couldn’t reach our host. Ended up in Quintin instead.

Turned out our host was throwing a birthday party for her son in the backyard—big, beautiful house, no A/C or fans, and the heat was brutal. We had to sleep with the windows open, and between the heat and noise, didn’t sleep much at all.

June 18. Woke up groggy, but came down to breakfast and had a nice chat with our host. Her son had just turned 45, and she told us one of her other kids lives in Annecy. We talked about the heat, how her well is almost dry, and this incredible giant sequoia in her yard—brought back on a ship! Apparently, the town had been a major linen manufacturing hub that exported to England, Spain, and the U.S., and sometimes trees made the return journey.

We explored Quintin—a petite cité de caractère—on market day. A couple of guys were playing Celtic and medieval music in the square. Checked out a big chateau (not open to the public till summer), a pretty cathedral, a pond, and lots of signs with historical tidbits about architecture and religious orders. Learned about the Carmelites and their gardens, and an alley where kids hit cobblestones with clogs to scare away evil spirits. Also saw the “Belt of the Virgin” in the church, which was supposed to protect women in childbirth. I was intrigued by the folk superstitions.

We were running out of time, and left for Honfleur. Got in around 2:45pm and, surprise, most places had stopped serving food. One sketchy place was still open, but full. We decided to split up and walk until dinner. I went up a hill across town—just residential—and then down to grab a map at the tourist office. Tried to use the library bathroom, got a “no,” but used it anyway.

Ran into Shawn again, and we walked around the old port. Around 5:15, we went to two museums next to the old port—Musée de la Marine, and Musee du Vieux Honfleur. The marine museum, based in a tiny ancient church, boasts a collection of model ships, objects and souvenirs of the town’s maritime history.  I liked what I could see of the remnants of the old church. The museum of old Honfleur had cool artifacts—bed warmers, jugs, clothes, an old shop setup, even a printing press and prison display.

I walked to the other side of the harbor—it was much more historic and had been where artists like Satie and Monet had stayed. Though I love hiking up hills and was tempted to climb towards a tower, I was intrigued by the historic buildings, and instead continued exploring the old town. A local told me to take a slower pace and pointed out a carved head in the beam of a half-timbered home. He had a point. I tended to run around like a chicken trying to see all I could and wished I had more time to take in the place. I enjoyed reading the story of the mermaid and appreciated signs indicating where various artists had lived and painted.

Honestly though? I wasn’t impressed. It was smoggy, 96 degrees, crowded, and kind of ugly that day. Just not the vibe. Shawn had found a restaurant for 7:30, but it was full—as were all the others. At 7:45, I suggested going to the next town. He called the hotel we’d be staying at and asked something I didn’t catch. I took the phone and explained we’d be there in 30 minutes.

Cue the drama: I (or rather the car) was running on fumes. The low fuel light was flashing. I didn’t want to get off the motorway—there were a lot of bridges and industrial areas making it difficult to get back on. But somehow, miraculously, we found a gas station near our final destination that was open after 8pm on a Saturday. I had been driving with no A/C, windows up, no passing—just trying to coast.

Grateful to not have run out of gas, we unpacked and had a fantastic dinner… and then didn’t sleep at all. We had to keep the window open because of the heat, and between loud neighbors and cars racing all night, it wasn’t the quietest spot.

June 19. Shawn had to be at Orly, the airport just south of Paris, by late afternoon. He’d mentioned taking the train, but by late morning, it was clear I needed to drive him.

It was pouring. I managed to load most of our stuff before the worst of it hit, except for the two big suitcases. I really wanted to see the Roman theater nearby, but Shawn wasn’t up for waiting until it opened at 1pm. I also wanted to vacuum the car—Shawn thought it was pointless, but I did it anyway. In the rain.

Back in town, we passed a small museum that turned out to be open and free—national holiday, perhaps in honor of resistance fighters during WWII. We ducked in and saw a fantastic exhibit on the Gauls and Romans. This was a strategic area at the mouth of the Seine—huge for trade. Finished the museum just in time for the theater to open. I’m so glad I insisted—it was worth seeing.

I’d hoped to swing by Giverny or Rouen, but we didn’t have time. The drive into Paris was grueling—end of a long weekend and a Sunday. Traffic everywhere. I kept silent but felt super stressed. He’d asked me to keep it in, so I did.

Finally crawled into Paris and dropped him at Orly. Since I was driving, I couldn’t research which towns to visit on my way to Belgium (I was headed to Ghent to visit my friend Hendrik), and asked Shawn to help. He came up with Reims, Arras, and Lille.

I arrived two hours later in Reims. I headed to the cathedral just before closing—literally 20 seconds to spare before being shooed out. Everything else of note was closed. I was hungry and ordered a pita from a questionable spot—asked for veggies instead of fries, but didn’t get them. A kind man helped me place the order though. I asked where he’d recommend camping for the night, and he suggested that I might find a nice forest in the nearby Champagne region.

After driving some distance, I found a small wood and parked. I could hear people nearby. Then the skies opened up. It poured. Water came into the car. Curtains soaked. Couldn’t lock the doors. I tried. Between the rain pounding on the roof and the water seeping in, sleep was… nonexistent.