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The Municipal site where we passed the night was secured by those evil little bollards that sink into the ground and allow you to drive over them, and then sit there mute until you guess the magic word that will let you out again. When we tried to escape this morning this particular little bastard bollard just wouldn't give in. We followed the instructions on the screen at the sortie but it always stuck at a particular point in the negotiations and looked back at us with dumb insolence. Other interested parties gathered around offering advice in various languages, and tension grew as they realised that we all could be there until the authorities came to let us out, perhaps on Monday. Eventually we twigged that the card machine had its own little screen and was asking for a pin number. Once this was entered the bollard reluctantly lowered itself into the ground and we were free to go.
We followed the rest of the Rose Granite Coast via Trebeurden, St-Michel-du-Greve and St-Jean-du-Doigt and noticed that the hyphen had become very important in French towns. I made a note to look up the hyphen in Wikipedia next time I was on line to see if they had stolen it from the English.
In Diben we found a free quayside Municipal site overlooking yet another beautiful view of the sea and stayed for lunch, and a read of Fridays Times which we had bought this morning for €3.50.
After that it was rather a long haul (for us) to Crozon on the Presqu’ile de Crozon (middle left of Brittany for anyone who’s interested) and to Camping Trez Rouz – a scruffy little site just on the other side of the road of, and with a brilliant view of, a fabulous long curved beach.
Crozon is part of Finistere, which means the end of the land. People here thought that beyond were dragons and wotnot, although no-one had been and looked. These legends were very much based on ignorance and are similar to those found in other parts of the world, such as Lands End, and Milton Keynes.
Must be tired again. Marion won the crib.