As I write this post, the rain has stopped for a moment. It has been raining solidly in London for the past month, you know, that usual sort of rain when the heavens open and it pours for hours. Welcome to summer chez Britannia.
Now I know why the Brits always travel to sunny corners of the globe. If the Mountain won’t come to Muhammad then Muhammad must come go the mountain. Fed up with the rain, couple of weeks ago The French and I got on a plane to hop across the channel for a (very) long weekend.
Truth to be told, Brittany and Normandy, our usual stomping grounds are not often much better than London, weather-wise but on that occasion the weather was splendid. Because of strikes and fuel shortages (I told you about French love for la révolution here) we had to ditch our plans to eat leisurely lunch on the marina of St Malo. Instead, we travelled to nearby Vitré, charming medieval town in Brittany.
There’s something so incredibly idyllic about French countryside. The time has it’s own rhythm and our days are punctuated by long meals on the sun soaked terrace. For that few days we live from one meal to another, hardly the lunch has finished when the apéro starts (drinks courtesy of Carribean run) which then turns seamlessly into dinner.
That day we parked our car at the foot of a medieval castle and went exploring narrow cobbled streets of Vitré. The French’s first concern was to find a restaurant for lunch. After that was settled- because God forbid we found ourselves at 1pm with no place to eat- we were on our way to the heart of the town.
Save for a few signs of modern life we might as well have been back in the medieval time. I could just imagine the town centuries ago, streets bustling with wealthy people. It was Henry IV who, surprised by the richness of the town, said “If I were not a King of France I would want to be bourgeois from Vitré!”
Today Vitré is still a busy town with shops and cafés and little restaurants dotted everywhere in the old town. As always, there’s a chocolatier whose hand made creations included chocolate football balls (it’s Euro time after all), the patisserie where we bought raspberry macaroon cake for next day’s dinner and little boutiques with children clothes looking like from Bonpoint Baby.
After a long and fuelled by local cider lunch (me) it was time to drive home (The French)(there’s never an argument with us who’s the designated driver on account of me not having a driving licence). We got there just in time for apéro and snacks. And what’s not to love about France?