Partir á Roscoff
The last day. Our journey nearly complete, we set off from Morlaix to Roscoff by an alternative route to normal. The previous evening S had been randomly gathering informational leaflets from the hotel reception and had discovered amongst these that a marked cycle route extended all the way to Roscoff. Against my better judgement we decided to give it a try on the basis that:
1. It could turn out to be a nice flat scenic alternative to our nice flat scenic regular route.
2. If it is crap then at least we would know never to go that way again
Initially it proved complex to get out of Morlaix, requiring that we first climb the big hill to the gare, and then the disappearance of the cycle route signs which necessitated a period of guessing until they appeared again. Not to be deterred we soldiered on, tacking back and forth across our required direction, sometimes going completely the opposite way, over a motorway footbridge, and eventually a relatively smooth but hilly route alongside an estuary. This terminated when the route took us through what was effectively a ploughed field, then over a beach, someone's back garden . . . you get the idea. Eventually we emerged on our regular route amongst the artichoke fields just outside St Pol de Leon, whereafter the cycling signs were firmly ignored. I leave it to you, the reader, to decide which of the two above outcomes I have decided upon.
So, arriving in Roscoff somewhat later than originally planned we made straight for the harbourside restaurant where S got her plateau de fruits der mer and I my moules et frites, and where we could while away most of the aftenoon before departing for the ferry.
And Home
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