Tuesday, 29 August 2017

So today was the big day. The van was already loaded, so all we had to do was climb out of bed and stagger out into the sunlight to catch the ferry to Cherbourg.

I had a touch of ferry fear, as the last crossing I did was rough and I felt nauseous the whole way, so I’d popped a couple of travel sickness pills – but my fears were unfounded! The sea was calm and still. Out on deck, people were lounging around in deckchairs topping up their tans.  It seemed rude not to join them.

Back on the road, only suddenly everyone was driving on the right! David volunteered to drive the first stint. Maybe it was the travel sickness tablets, maybe it was the hot sun, but I fell into a sort of coma. As a result, I have nothing to report about the journey. I did notice a few vestiges of the Second World War, a blown up fortress as we came into the Port, an old airfield littered with bits of planes and military junk, but that was about it.

The chosen destination for day 1 was Carnac. David was keen to see The Stones – no, not the band, the prehistoric stones. The French equivalent of Stonehenge. He has pleasant memories of seeing them as a kid but the family was just passing through to get somewhere else and so it was a case of  “now you see em,  now you don’t.” He’s been wanting to go back ever since.  It was a long drive and we kept on diverting so we were tempted to stop somewhere closer and head over the next day. But in the end we pressed on and happened across a modest little campsite called Kerabus. I’m so glad we did.

After setting up camp, we looked at the campsite map, and realised we were only a few hundred meters from the stones. So after knocking back a gin and tonic and devouring some prawns and baguette (real French bread is soooo good!)  , we set off to track them down. We found ourselves on a footpath through a pine woods and then it opened out into a field and bingo! We were walking alongside the Menhirs. I won’t say amongst them as sadly there was a low fence.

There were hundreds of them. (I read later that there are close to 3,000). The first ones we saw were only about a meter high, sticking out of the ground and surrounded by heather and gorse and grasses. We crossed a road, and there was another huge field full. In places they seemed to be in rows. In others, it looked more like circles. As we went on, we noticed the stones were getting bigger and bigger. And so were our gin-fuelled speculations.

What did it all mean?  We hadn’t read any guidebooks, all we knew was that they were built in Megalithic times, perhaps as long ago as 4.000 years.  Some of them were tall and pointy, like hands reaching for the sky, some looked like human faces, others like birds or animals.

Perhaps they were commemorative stones for kindred killed in battle, a bit like gravestones? Perhaps they were a map of the stars? Perhaps they represented a kind of spiritual journey from the little stones at one end to the massive great big ones at the other?  Or perhaps they were just art? Some of them would have given Henry Moore a run for his money.

Anyway, we loved seeing them. I was so pleased that we went out straight away as it was a beautiful evening. and the next morning we woke to find it cold, wet and windy.  My mother always told me to “do it now”.  I think you were right, mum!

What will we leave behind us on this earth for people to marvel at in 4.000 years? Or even 400?

I think I’d better leave it there!