May 14, 2008Under the good, kind guidance of Monique Bramouille and Jean-Louis Morvan, two representatives of the Amicale, we set off on a sight seeing expedition at 9:00 in the morning. Unfortunately another rainy day, but we were not deterred.
I love the charm of French villages and Brittany does not disappoint.
The architecture seems to fit this rather bleak climate. I think of fireplaces.
One planned stop was the churchyard in Plouescat where the crew of The Big Bitch was originally buried in 1942 by the Germans. The story is that the French heavily decorated the American graves with flowers, when the Germans weren't looking. When the Brittany American Cemetery was opened toward the end of the war, all the bodies were returned to the states or re-interred in Saint James. (The families had a choice. I wonder why my Grandmother didn't bring her son home?)
This section of the graveyard is now filled with Canadian sailors killed mostly in 1944. But this is the same section where my father was buried originally in 1942
before the bones were transferred to the American Cemetery.
I was drawn to this end of the section -- I wondered if I really sensed where he had lain. There were many ghosts in this place. It was that same calm and peace of Saint James.
Monique and Jean-Louis didn't speak English and I didn't speak French, but we had a book between us and got along remarkably well.
Ah, vanity! The wind was high and my freshly-coiffed hair soon was deranged again. If it wasn't the rains, it was the winds of Brittany determined to keep me looking my age!
We continued on our drive -- and I think after this it was random. I couldn't
quite keep track of where we were or where we had been, but I just kept snapping photos.
Plouescat is a very, very old village. Some claimed that Plouescat was a parish where they fished herring. The parish was called Plouescat Ploeresgat in 1282, Pleuréesquet in 1308, Ploerezcat to 1330 and 1426 and Ploezcat in 1467.
We went to an ancient "market" which dates back to the 1600's. These "halles" which Monique called "marche" (market) were discontinued at one point
It was very cool to walk across those old cobblestoned floors. Talk about ghosts and "energy."
One could almost imagine crowds of people costumed in their era, buying and selling in colorful throngs, around this place. (American movie makers haven't discovered this?)
Downtown Plouescat was not exactly hopping.
oops, there was a person!
But the maintenance worker was hard at it!
We headed to the coast -- I'm not sure exactly where.
We drove along beach front where vacation homes sat. And boats at low tide.
There was a plaque to honor those same sailors that rested in the Plouescat church yard.
And another memorial to a father/son team of fishermen lost at sea.
The natural rock formations along the coast were beautiful.
I was reminded of some rock formations in Oregon, just north of California.
Can't remember where this church was. . .
And I liked the colors of this rond-point. (French for round-about)
At the ferry in Roscoff, we parked and got out to see the sights.
It was also a fishing and crab depot. And agricultural goods move here too via the ferries.
We watched the boats unload their crab and fish catches.
Tall cranes were used to hoist containers of fresh fish.
The containers were made of plastic and stacked in modern tiers for lifting.
The air smelled fishy and fresh from ocean winds.
The fishing boats looked like sport boats to me. The industry seems very modern now, whereas I still have visions of the old days of manually hoisting squirming nets onto the dock.
Lots of trucks lined up to haul the fresh fish to market.
Unlike downtown Plouescat, the wharf in Roscoff was bustling.
And it was still pretty early in the morning...the fishermen were coming home!?
That's me, saying 'I was here!'
Then we proceeded with our drive into town.
This is one of my snaps to remind me of the name of the town!
This is, I believe, the town of Roscoff where there were many tourist resorts,
beach houses and many more people than Roscoff. This from Wiki:
Roscoff (Breton: Rosko) is a commune in the arrondissement of Morlaix in the Finistère département, in France's Bretagne région.
The nearby Île-de-Batz, called Enez Vaz in Breton, is a small island that can be reached by launch from the harbour.
After lobbying by local economic leaders headed by Alexis Gourvennec, the French Government agreed in 1968 to provide a deep water port at Roscoff. Existing ferry operators were reluctant to take on the relatively long Plymouth/Roscoff crossing, so Gourvennec and colleagues founded Brittany Ferries.
Since the early 1970s, Roscoff has been developed as a ferry port for the transport of Breton agricultural produce, and for car-based tourism. Brittany Ferries' links with the United Kingdom and Ireland provide a boost to the local economy. In the late 1990s people from the South West (of England) began to travel to Roscoff from Plymouth in order to stay for one or two days and import French wines at much cheaper prices than in England.
Roscoff is also a traditional departure point for Onion Johnnies.What is an Onion Johnny, I wondered? Wiki again:
Onion Johnny is the nickname given to the breton farmers and agricultural laborers that sell distinctive pink onions door-to-door in England, Wales and Scotland.
Although having declined in number since the 1950s to the point where only a few remained, the Onion Johnny was once very common, and with the renewed interest since the late 1990s by the farmers and the public in small-scale agriculture, numbers have recently made a small recovery. Dressed in striped shirt and beret, riding a bicycle hung with onions, the Onion Johnny became the stereotypical image of the Frenchman, who was in the past probably the only contact that the ordinary British had with France.Quelle charmant!
There were a lot more people than Plouescat -- but the Roskoff population is close to 4,000.
It was breathtaking to catch the first glimpse of their Gothic cathedral.
We stopped here so I could buy some flowers for Iffig's mother who was serving lunch today. I asked Jean Louis if he was Catholic. He said he was, so I had to have a photo of the Catholic in front of the Cathedral. Then we set off again.
Soon we were in another town! Guimiliau!! (Pop. 700)
And another huge and gorgeous church. We stopped again to go inside. It was not just a church however!
Wiki tells me it's a "Parish Close."
Parish closes are a distinctive feature of Breton culture in the historic Léon diocese, in which Guimiliau stands. As the name suggests, a close is a completely enclosed church yard, usually with a commanding entrance arch. Sacred enclosures were a feature of Celtic religion even before the arrival of Christianity. Parish closes today form the foci for pardons, the annual Breton pilgrimage festivals, which can attract thousands of worshippers.
The parish close of Guimiliau is situated at the upper end of the main village street, with the entrance dominating the village.
The calvary or crucifix is the centre piece of the church yard, surrounded by a fine and complex retelling of the Passion in statuary.
16th-17th Century Gothic and Renaissance with Breton influences
There is a carved pulpit and a collection of banners used especially in religious processions at pardons.
There is also a fine octagonal baptistery,in oak (1675).
Historic Organ: Daliam 1677
The history and artwork in these centuries-old churches is both fascinating and extraordinarily beautiful.
Monique and Jean Louis in front of the remarkable Organ dating to 1677.
The church contains many fine examples of polychrome sculpture from the 16th century onwards, including several large retables.
So taken were we with all the sights, that alas, we realized we were LATE FOR LUNCH!
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# posted by bevjackson @ 6:53 PM
