The weather forecast had deteriorated further and we were due to be hit in the morning, and throughout the day, by stormy downpours. Our night’s sleep hadn’t been great as the tents were pitched on a slope and we’d both slid down as the previous night’s showers hit the canvas with a loud impact. But after a late breakfast of sliced bread and apricot jam we hit the track. Mercifully the sun was shining.

We felt that we were well in the firing line as black clouds dropped rain either side of us all day, leaving us in a corridor of sun and light cloud. We expected to be soaked and ended up with red faces. Literally!

It was also a great day for views – again.

The first town we came to was Erquy, where we had coffee outside a cafe in the sun, then bought a baguette, pate and a jar of gherkins and ate them on the end of the prom. 

The clouds kept looking ominous, but we escaped! 

After Erquy we followed the coastal path down to Pléneuf Val André. In parts it was domesticated.

And in parts it was wild.

In the end, there are so many beautiful, empty and inviting beaches and bays that you become almost to accept it as the norm. 

Clean as well. No plastic on them. Eventually we arrived at Pléneuf and Tone warned me that the next road name would make me snigger like a schoolboy, happy to oblige. Pronounced ‘rude prat’. 

We got the tent and tarp up on another decent site and in a sheltered spot. 

This is what it’s like inside Wilson.

Yes, it’s open to wild animals, insects and spiders but generally I haven’t seen many. Although in a couple of places I’ve woken up during the night with my head covered in slugs when it’s been raining. Not nice. But that’s extreme and mostly just breathe deeply and enjoy nature around you.

We got showered and then walked down to the front looking for a shop to buy dinner. Not a one. Great beach though.

And we ended up having mussels and chips again, with Britanny cider. A great day.

Night night. 

The weather forecast was so grim that we decided to get as far ahead of our schedule as we could before the rain falls in. That meant moving fast and shortcutting in a sensible way. My priority is making sure I walk a continuous route from John O’Groats in northern Scotland to North Africa. The GR34 is a lovely route but I’ve got nearly 1,800 miles to do before I’ve finished and I want to complete it before I’m so old that I piss my pants every time I have to lift a rucksack. Oops. Too late! Dry pants please Maggie.

The weather was holding up and as we left the village a car came past and the woman passenger leant out of the window and wished us good luck. It was the woman who I’d phoned the previous day! 

We headed down to the coastal path, following the red and white striped waymarking signs.



The route dropped down to a long inlet, with an amazing, ancient ruined settlement, with a wall the shape of a ship.

And here’s the bow.

The coastal path scoots out on the other side of the long inlet and back, for three kilometres which we saved by climbing up a steep side and over the back to St Germain, where there was this great, chunky old church.

We crossed the bottom of the next bay on a main road and, as we were halfway across a car hooted us and a woman leant out of the passenger window smiling, shouting and waving. It was the woman who I’d phoned the previous day. I hooted with laughter and waved my walking poles until they disappeared round a corner. We carried straight on across the Fréhel (pronounced Frail) peninsula through the village of Fréhel. Antonia couldn’t resist a photo of a Fréhel old man. Ha bloody ha. 

Rocking on to Sable d’Or Les Pins (Golden Sands) we pitched our tent and tarp before walking into town. And hiring pedal go cart type efforts. Great fun! Even if old Tone had to steer with her unbroken hand. 

The views were great, as usual.

And then we had oysters for starters in a nice restaurant, and mussels in cream with really nice chips for main course. An angel was crying on my tongue. Fantastic. 

The rain had started whilst we were in the restaurant but we had beaten it to the campsite and to the pedal karts. Good timing.

Night night.

The storm had cleared in the morning but there were a few trees damaged and down which we would see along the way. To save time we got a cab back to the airport and set off to walk the same route we would have done the previous afternoon, had it not been for the storm, in addition to the walk scheduled for today. Even pulling some short cuts we were looking at 32 kms, a good 20 miles, with our rucksacks. But the weather was fine.

The going was hard as Antonia not only has a broken hand but she developed a problem with her heel during the day. For my part I hadn’t done any training and the rucksack was digging into my shoulders. But then we’re as hard as nails!

The first stage was to get to the coast and we did that effectively, once we’d established where we were!

Doesn’t our Antonia look lovely? Before we reached the coast the heavens opened up and it belted down, whilst me and Tone dived into a coffee shop and ate pain au chocolate and a coffee eclair. The rain cleared as we stepped out and made good time for our first view of the sea, in the distance.

The headland on the left hand side of the photo above is St Jacut de Mer, and forms a thin peninsula. We cut across the land to the other side of the bottom of the peninsula, with a great view of the sea.

We walked down to Le Guildo, with a stunning perspective on the bay, just as a woman drove her van up and tipped hundreds of live crabs into the sea from the wall in the picture below. Tone reckoned that she hadn’t sold them at the Saturday market and put them back to keep them alive and for her fisherman friends to catch later.

To explain where we were, in the photo below we had cut across from the airport south of Dinard to the sea just south of St Briac. We’d then cut over the bottom the St Jacut peninsula and started walking up the coast towards St Cast. Simples. The inset, darkened map of France shows, with a red dot, where this area is. 

I love walking on my own but I really love walking with my missus and my kids. Preferably individually so they don’t gang up on me. 

We were now on the GR34 coastal path which runs for 1,250 miles (1,800 kms) around Britanny,  which is that big lump sticking out to the left of the red dot. A lot of miles I know for a small area of land but it bends and weaves around bays and peninsulas. And it climbs up and down to tiny hidden creeks and coves. A tough but beautiful route to follow.

The weather forecast for the next few days was grim, with stormy showers expected, so we wanted to make good ground whilst the weather was fine. The route was great with lovely opportunities for shots.

And finally turning up at the start of the bay before St Cast.

Every turn around a cape of land revealed another beach after beach after beach. Empty at this time of year.

We found a bar in St Cast that cooked us Croque Monsieur and chips, a great bread and cheese concoction, then we headed for the local supermarket, stocked up and aimed for a campsite on the western coast behind St Cast. I rang to let them know we were coming. Halfway there a car pulled up and the woman passenger asked if I had phoned them half an hour ago. She was the woman I had spoken to and she told us the quickest way there. Tent pitched, showered, dinner of bread and Camembert cheese and an early night. A bit sore and weary but a great day. And a great view from our dining room, despite Tone pulling her tongue out at me!

Night night. 

That’s a world long jump record boys and girls! Friends say, “Dave, we know you’re walking from John O’Groats to Africa but why do you keep jumping from Spain to England to France, and filling in the gaps later?”

I of course reply, “Something here inside cannot be denied.” This is a photo of me saying that.

Any road up, I want to walk some of the north coast of Britanny now and for the next two weeks, and I’ve got company. Antonia, our middle daughter, is joining me for the first week and Georgie, our eldest, for the second. Three hundred kilometres of coastline walking and we’re back under canvas again. A tent for the girls and a brand new tarp for me. I’m calling it Wilson. Hooray! Wilson is back. 

I took a train to Antonia’s place in Cambridge and we got a flight yesterday from Stansted to Dinard. We were landing into Dinard when the plane suddenly powered fully up and climbed rapidly back into the sky. There was a massive tempest over the airport and within seconds the runway was flooded so we had to abort the landing. I of course took this in my stride as a seasoned flyer, and shat myself. We circled round and round for over half an hour and then finally landed smoothly onto a wet Britanny. 

We had planned to walk a fair trek that afternoon to a campsite on the coast but the wind was wild and the world was soaked, so we walked up towards Dinard on an old railway line.

Even with the ropey weather we passed some beautiful sights.

We got a cheap hotel room and went to a local supermarket for our dinner. Antonia got side tracked!

Nevertheless we had some decent scran and turned in for an earlyish night.

Night night.