Pointe-to-Pointe

As the Pet Shop Boys demand of us, Go West. So we answered the call and made for the Atlantic coast which the guidebook proclaimed to be a stunning clifftop landscape. Perhaps we're spoiled by repeated visits to Skye, and its empty-of-people nature, but it was all slightly underwhelming. We went north of the more popular (and therefore astoundingly busy - around 5 million visitors a year) Pointe du Raz, and parked up at the Pointe du Van. Just along from the creperie and clearly delineated and roped off path. Touristically clinical.

That said, we wandered off the path (as the desire lines around the place showed we were not alone) and made for a rocky outcrop to eat lunch, watching the passing sealife (again, quite a bit more of that on Skye as well...).

A coastal meander afterwards reminds of the French road-planner habit of tantalising you with your destination of choice on a road-sign before dashing your hopes with that place disappearing from signs at the next roundabout or junction. Guessing the next direction of travel becomes almost second-nature as any trip to France goes on for longer than a few days.

Stunningly it works. So far. As does swearing about which &@#%ing way you're supposed to be going, cursing the parents of the evil Frenchies who have been sent to torment us, and pondering whether it was a tactic employed following the war to try and thwart any future invasion forces who, looking for Paris, would inadvertently find themselves in Luxembourg and at that point give up and go home in confusion and irritation.

Oh, and a first ever Little Egret. I've got a short list of birds I'm hoping to see on this trip. That's one ticked off already. And they were just wandering about in a river in a town.