Pretty Little Parné

Rush Hour in Old Parné

Cherie and I have been in a bit of a self-imposed lockdown. Not due to illness or lack of interest. We’ve just been busy with the many little things in life which can bog you down if you are not careful. Bills, banking, tax preparation (for two separate countries), a thousand little house projects, managing the holiday rental … how do people accomplish all of these things when they have jobs and kids?

The tasks just keep coming. But sometimes you just have to throw down the tools and have some fun. So we bravely ran away and took an afternoon off to visit a nice village about an hour’s drive southeast of us: Parné-sur-Roc.

Looking Out Over the Val d’Ouette

Driving south, a few kilometers past the city of Laval, a country road takes you to Parné. We were lucky, in early March, to have sunny weather so we parked the car and took a long stroll through the village streets. Much of Parné stands upon a slope which rises from the Val d’Ouette where the small river slowly winds its way westward between verdant hills.

Les Fours à Chaux – The 19th Century Lime Kilns

Parné’s a small place, home to around 1,300 inhabitants. But it has been around for several centuries. Probably since at least the time when the area was a province of the Roman Empire. They must be doing something right. During the Middle Ages the village found itself on the main pilgrimage route leading from Tours to Mont-Saint-Michel. In the 19th century, entrepreneurs of the area took advantage of local limestone deposits by building a series of successful lime kilns, the remains of which continue to rise above a row of workers’ cottages built to house their employees. Now, the main occupations are in agriculture, manufacture of aluminum and PVC building construction components, and a trout hatchery.

John Enjoying a Moment of Reflection on the Medieval Bridge

At the point where the old pilgrims’ way crossed the river spans a medieval bridge. Simple, with two arches (a third was added in the last century to facilitate water flow), this ancient bridge has somehow managed to last for centuries. It has seen countless travelers tread its roadway – ranging from the most humble animals to the very kings and queens of France itself. It’s a beautiful thing, with its quiet, timeless solidity and imbued with such deep history. Spending a few quiet moments here, with the sound of the burbling river and the songbirds chirping in the trees will do you much good.

A Small Part of Église St. Pierre Without Scaffolding

Strolling up the hillside to the center of the village, we came upon a lovely church. Or, at least that’s how it seems in photos I’ve seen. We were disappointed to discover that Église St. Pierre is currently enshrouded in scaffolding. Head to toe. Front to back. Restoration is a constant fact of life in Europe. Which is, of course, a good thing. But it was a shame on this day. Because this 11th century church is also reputed to have 13th, 16th and 17th century fragments of frescoes remaining on the walls. We would have loved to see them, but the inside of the church was closed off as well. Perhaps another time.


There are several lovely houses ranging around the core of the village. There are some nice examples of medieval domestic architecture (my favorite) as well as from later periods. All of them blend together in a very pleasing way. Many have plaques which present a brief history of the building. We found them to be informative and interesting and they helped us better understand the area’s past. I wish our own town would do something similar.

19th Century Workers’ Cottages

We enjoyed our visit to Parné-sur-Roc. Because it’s a small place, it is probably best to include it as part of a day-trip to nearby Laval and Entrammes. The three together make for a full and well-rounded day of sightseeing. You won’t find any food or window shopping in Parné (or Entramme, for that matter), but Laval will serve you well in those respects. This small village is definitely worth a look.

Admiring the Streets of Moncontour

Treasures Around Every Corner

It was the middle of the week. We had finished yet another changeover for our holiday rental the previous day. Feeling a little tired, we decided that a quick exploration would be just the ticket to revive our spirits. The other day I had seen a short video online about a town which looked kind of interesting. Winding streets. Centuries-old architecture. A history reaching back for centuries. Definitely our kind of place. The ville of Moncontour has attained the coveted designations of being a Petite Cité de Caractère, as well as one of Les Plus Beaux Villages de France. Not bad, we thought.

The Old Town Defences

It seems that there was a settlement at Moncontour as early as the 7th century. The later medieval town developed on top of a narrow, rocky escarpment situated at the confluence of two small rivers. Its purpose was to guard the western approaches to Lamballe, then the capital of the area known as Penthièvre. The ville was encircled with strong stone ramparts and round towers, clinging to the steep slopes that tumble down to the waters below.

L’Hôtel Kerjégu (now the Mairie) – a 17th c. Testament to Moncontour’s Past Grandeur

Although the town expanded through the centuries, it appears to have changed little since the 17th and 18th centuries. In the past, it thrived on the weaving of linen and hemp cloth, exporting these goods through the ports of St. Malo and Lorient to Spain and the Indies. By the 1790’s, the town boasted more than 2,000 inhabitants. But a slow decline over the ensuing two centuries reduced the population significantly. By 2021, only 745 people made Moncontour their home.

Once We Were Giants

From Fougères, we drove an hour-and-a-half westward to Moncontour. It sits about 24 kilometers south of Saint-Brieuc in pretty countryside, surrounded by rocky hills and steep-sided vales. One enters by climbing up the ramp-like approach that mounts the side of the escarpment. Once on top, you are surrounded by lovely old buildings. Once regal and proud to display their proprietor’s success, many of the ancient homes now bear a patina of diminished fortune and a want of population to support them. For the visitor, it presents a charming age and is pleasantly evocative of the past centuries. However, I am not so sure it is as reassuring to those who live there.

Commerce

Moncontour is not a town for shopping. There are precious few shops, though we did pass by a fine-looking bookshop. If you are looking for something sweet to take home (or eat in the street if you can’t wait), then the patisserie on Rue Notre Dame is quite good. We bought a rather delectable slice of chocolate torte there and, quite proud of our restraint, managed to wait until we got home to eat it.


The real show in this lovely little town is the ambiance. We simply let ourselves wander down the quiet lanes, admiring the many stone and half-timbered buildings which line them. A good number of the homes and shops are well-kept, lovingly maintained and restored. But many others, sadly, stand empty, a bit worn down and sagging as the accumulating years threaten to melt them away. Fine examples ranging from the 14th through the 18th century await any lucky wanderer who cares to appreciate the art and skill of those past artisans.


Possibly the star of the panoply is the church. L’Église St. Mathurin proudly anchors the center of town, a broad square affords a pleasing view of the church’s west front and its bell tower projecting skyward. The building’s constituent parts cover the early 16th to 18th centuries and somehow with age have combined into a harmonious assemblage. We were dazzled by the several 16th century stained glass windows still intact and seemingly as fresh as the day they were made.

By the time we arrived in Moncontour, we were feeling quite hungry. And, thankfully, it was right at the beginning of the sacred two-hour lunchtime which our fellow French citizens observe with meticulous regularity. In fact, lunchtime might just possibly be the only event about which they are so precise. Excepting, perhaps, the Tour de France.

Really Good Burgers from the Wizard of Les Remparts

Not intending to miss out, the two of us cast our keen eyes about the town, searching for our next meal. As you might imagine might be the case in such a small town, the choice was limited. Luckily for us, Cherie thought we should try a little place just up the street on Rue de l’Union: les Remparts. Unassuming in the extreme, the place was almost entirely full. We were shown to one of the last open tables by what turned out to be the sole owner/chef/bartender/server/and dishwasher. This man did it all, and he was nothing short of a phenomenon. We counted 7 tables and 18 diners, six of whom were a group of hungry construction workers. Despite a surprisingly extensive menu plus daily specials, he took orders, poured drinks, cooked, served meals and took payment – all in the time you would expect of at least three or four normal human beings working flat out. Moreover, the food was quite good and well-presented. Needless to say we were well impressed. It was a performance worthy of a Nobel Prize. Do give this restaurant a try if you visit.

We had a fine time in Moncontour. Relaxed, eminently picturesque, it’s one of those many places in France where you feel really fortunate to be a traveler. We’re glad we came and thankful that towns like this exist.

Reflecting on Our Good Fortune

The Olympic Flame Comes to Fougères

The Torch Bearer and His Olympic Enforcers Pacing Past Our Gate

Surprising things happen in our little town in France. No, it wasn’t the appearance of a rude-shaped turnip in the market; not the invention of a new baguette with frosting and sprinkles; nor even the sighting of a grown man peeing with joyous abandon onto a memorial in the main square in broad daylight. [Although we did witness the last one yesterday while taking Saxon for a walk.] Even though all of those stories would easily make it onto the front page of the local edition of the newspaper here, it was something much more unusual.

Crowds Begin to Gather Down Our Street

Saturday morning. Crowds began to gather throughout Fougères. There was a murmur of excitement building in front of our gates as people hurriedly laid claim to key viewing sites on the street in front of our house. The flame of the Olympic Games was coming to town.

The Procession Begins – Can You Spot the Torch?

Joining the general hubbub filtering through our normally sedate neighborhood, Cherie and I walked down the hill to the square next to the castle. A sizable crowd had gathered to see the arrival of the olympic flame. After a surprisingly brief introduction, the first runner (more of a slow jog, really – the sort of thing you do when you see your bus pulling away, make a half-hearted show of quickening your pace for a few steps, and then stop in the acknowledgment that you never had a chance in hell of catching the damn thing in the first place) began the procession.

The Coca-Cola DJ, Bringin’ the Love (and tiny cans)

Everyone was very excited. This was the olympic flame, after all. Direct from Greece. As part of the buildup for the Summer Olympics in Paris, the flame has been making its way through several parts of France, including Bretagne. For some reason this included Fougères. And, for an hour or so, we played host to the sacred flame of Udûn, er, Olympia. Pretty cool!

Old Flames – the Passing of the Olympic Torch

While the torch relay wound its way through the center of town, the two of us climbed back up our street and grabbed some sidewalk turf in front our gate. Like seasoned paparazzi, we skulked on either side of the pavement, Cherie in an archway, and me perched atop a stepping stool – my parents forgot to check the box for a statuesque build when they ordered me, so I needed the extra height. After a cavalcade of trucks sent by corporate sponsors to blare music and fling mini-cans of sugary drinks at unsuspecting bystanders, the torch bearer came loping down towards us. She passed the holy fire to the next bearer, they posed for a few photos, and then the new bearer let gravity take hold as he ambled with solemnity down the slope.

Opening Ceremonies in Front of the Château

And that was it. For a few moments, we were swept up in the planet’s gravitational pull towards the 2024 Olympics. It was an intoxicating moment. Pretty big stuff for our small piece of France.

Our Fifteen Minutes of Flame Trundles Away Down Our Street