Kiss me quick

The coast of love in Saint Quay Portrieux

28th August 2011

The coast of love in St Quay Portrieux

St Quay Portrieux

Having left Jersey we are now heading south for St Quay Portrieux, the land of milk and honey (which incidentally could never beat a good fry up breakfast and frankly sounds far too healthy for me).


A sailing race

We left at the same time as a small French boat that appeared to be going in the same direction as us. Race on! Over the next eight hours he gained and then fell behind and gained again following my every move all the way to St Quay Portrieux . We did beat him but not by much as he moored up alongside us. I went across with a couple of the traditional beers to gloat but he looked pretty angry. How was I supposed to know that it was the harbour master from Jersey who had tied onto us to collect dues as we left? OK, granted I thought that he was going pretty fast for a rubber dingy but a race is a race.

All right, I jest a little but we did have an eight-hour race with a French boat and I really did let him overtake me as we approached St Quay Portrieux. There are big, dirty, nasty, boat eating rocks all around the coast and he seemed to know where he was going more than I did (which of course is not unusual).


Free love on the coast of love

Beautiful Saint Quay Portrieux

Saint Quay Portrieux

We are now on the Coast de A’mour which I am sure you know means the coast of Love. Now I am all for a bit of free love, there is not enough of it in the world today. I even had a shower before going ashore to collect my free quota of true love but Angelina insisted she should go with me.

Everyone gave us the old “Bonjour” routine and smiled pleasantly but I was not offered any free love. Not even a hug. We had even bought a Brittany flag for the boat as I thought it may be a “free love sign” but no, nothing, not even a kiss on both cheeks. They don’t even sell “Love Hearts” here; you know the round tube of sweets with words such as “Love”, “Like” and “Kiss” on them. They have adopted a similar idea and put motto’s on the cigarette packets such as “Smoking may cause impotence” but it really isn’t the same. I wouldn’t rely on smoking as a form of birth control. It’s a bit like giving a nun a pin and letting her work on quality control in a condom factory.


St Quay Portrieux is simply stunning

St Quay Portrieux beach

St Quay Portrieux beach

Now slap me in the face with a Moules Mariner and frites (which is the equal to French fish and chips) but Saint Quay Portrieux is pretty stunning. A beautiful old town surrounds the harbour and a crumbling castle in the bay.  The sands are golden, floating diving platforms in a clear green sea and beautiful cliff walks. It certainly beats the mud flats of Cleethorpes, even on a sunny day. The restaurants spill onto the pavements and the locals seem to be local to here rather than to Poland. The people here also seem doubly blessed as we have not seen one with ginger hair

Mark and Angelina in St Quay Portrieux on the coast of love

Mug shots

We walked for miles yesterday just admiring the beauty of the place (OK a hundred meters but it seemed like miles). We even managed to get lost finding ourselves on the other side of the castle. It was amazing as there is another half of the town which we never knew existed. It has rock caves, an open air pool, beach, diving platforms, fairgrounds and is more in your face than Lady Ga Ga. It bustles more than a French “Can Can” dancer but we prefer the tranquillity of our piece of town. We even saw a female topless bather but to be honest she would have looked better throwing one over each shoulder and using them as an empty crumpled rucksack.


Shopping in France

Even the “Carrefour” here, which is the equivalent to Asda or Walmark, has parking spaces for normal people within walking distance. I remember all the shops in the UK having half the parking spaces for disabled people and the rest, apart from two spaces at the back, for mother and child. The only thing they were missing were the bays for ginger people. The do-gooder’s have got it all wrong there. The mother and child places should be at the back where the kids can at least get some exercise walking to the shop. The only people this stupid allocation of spaces suit is Asians who don’t take any notice anyway.

The range of foods in the Carrefour is also pretty stunning and almost anything you want can be bought here. The fishy counters are to die for and are laid out beautifully. The French here have got a few things wrong. You cannot buy cigarettes in the supermarket but you can buy a million types of alcohol and even bottles of very strong acid. In general we like the French and their way of life more and more. I may even become a vegetarian only because their dam chickens are so expensive. They must breed one at a time here.

We did buy some acid. It is fantastic for cleaning boat toilets and anyone who has ever been on a boat would know that the toilets are a real pain in the butt. I don’t know why, and I speak for myself here, they make the hole in the bottom so small (The toilets not mine). Sometimes it can be like trying to put marshmallows in a money-box. You need the same ugly stick that once beat Winnie Mandela to hit it with. I did once try the hand blender from the galley but don’t tell Angelina.


So I made a slight mistake

Moron in the hat in Saint Quay Portrieux

Prat in the hat

Look, we all make mistakes from time to time and I am the 1,137th to hold my hands up and say I was wrong. Then again I am old, my eyesight is fading and I have never pretended that my French is the best in the world. I have made a tiny weensy little mistake and we are actually on the Cotes d’Armor rather than the Cotes d’Amour. In one way I feel good as I now know why I was not being hugged and smothered in kisses but then again it does slightly spoil the blog. Well if you don’t say anything then I won’t.

All in all St Quay Portrieux has really been worth seeing. In a way we wish we had the time to visit every little town and cove around here but we have a lot of rock dodging to do on our way around this part of France to wherever we end up next.



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