Failte!

Having biked halfway across southern Ireland, we find ourselves in the lovely city of Cork! Our time here has been amaaaaaazing -- the people are incredibly kind and warm, the food is delicious (comfort food! yum!), and the scenery is as beautiful as all those cheesy commercials you've ever seen.
So, picking back up where I left off...
A grand learning experience
May I just say here that Joe and I know relatively little about Ireland coming into this, so we have few preconceived notions and we're learning a whole lot just by winging it!

Interesting facts we've learned so far:
- only 4-5 million people live in this wee country
- speaking of wee: it would be ranked 40th in terms of size by land mass were it a US state -- just slightly smaller than Maine
- all Irish people learn Irish in school (along with English) as their first "foreign" language
- Ireland gained its independence in 1924, BUT anyone born up until 1948 could still obtain a British passport
- Towns are lively and are still the center of life, with beautiful, brightly painted shops and people bustling all over the place (store fronts in red, green, yellow, blue, white...!) -- BUT there is some mad urban sprawl going on here, much more than we expected, plus major box stores like Tesco (similar to Walmart), and people we've spoken to here are afraid of the same sprawl that the states has suffered
- Young men pimp out their cars here, as they do in the states, but not in France
- Stores are open on Sundays! We can get food whenever we want!

The friendliest people ever
We have met more kind people who go out of their way to help us, with a smile and a wink! Our first evening, a dog started menacing us a bit on a back road, when a car pulled up. The woman rolled down her window and said to Joe, "Just say 'Good boy, good boy!' and he'll leave you alone." After the car had pulled away a few meters past us, they opened the door to the car and whistled to the dog to lure him away from us.

Camping
Furthermore, we've had absolutely no problem camping anywhere. If people don't want you camping in their fields, they post signs to that effect, but otherwise they're more than happy to let us camp for the night, so long as we clean up after ourselves.

July 18 -- Day 23
The hardest thing to find in Ireland...
...is the local tourism office! Our first morning, we biked into Wexford in search of good topographical maps (which we weren't able to find in France...or in Ireland, for that matter) and info about the local area. We biked back and forth around the city for quite some time, up and down the quai (pronounced "key" here -- I had to ask what a kee was, actually, the first time I got directions) until we saw this little modernist building, all smooth concrete and glass. Here we bought a great little book by Brendan Walsh, Cycle Touring Ireland, that outlined biking trips around Ireland, and includes valuable info for folks like us, such as distance, number of hills (!), and things of interest in the area (we must say, it's useful only to a point, as Mr. Walsh writes for people who aren't carrying 1/5 of their body weight around in bags strapped to the backs of their bikes).

Failte!
This means "Welcome!" in Irish!

We wandered around Wexford a bit, where we encountered town life for the first time. It's on a rather small scale, brightly colored, with people everywhere! Here, we must recall our anglo-saxon manners and not step right in front of people, as we've learned to do in Paris. Everyone says "Hi!" or "Hello!" or "How are ya!" (that last one isn't really a question, I think).

Yumminess!
We found a fantastic small street market selling local organic products, where we bought a local mild-tasting hard cheese called Carlow (after the town it's from), into which was mixed nettle (which tastes better than it feels when brushed up against your leg!), which gave it a slightly sweet taste. We also bought a loaf of homemade brown soda bread. "It's got no preservatives of any kind, and the bran keeps the bread fresh and moist longer," the woman gladly told me. She also wrote the ingredients out for me on the bag: flour, wheaten meal, bran, bread soda, salt, and buttermilk. It yields a bread that's heavy and hearty, yet very healthy and full of fiber, with a texture and slight sweetness that reminds me of cornbread. "My daughter lives in Australia," she went on, "and she says she can't find wheaten meal there, so perhaps it's hard to make it abroad." Any takers?

Liberty Tree
In the center of town was planted an oak tree called a "Liberty Tree," around which, carved in the stone, it was said to have been planted by the (female) president of Ireland in 1998. A nearby stone plaque contained a quote by Thomas Carlyle (c. 1850), in which he urged his fellow Irishmen to think twice before dying for their country, and rather to "plant a liberty tree." A few meters away, a quote from Thomas Payne very poetically likened various nations' realization of basic human rights to trees budding in the woods -- some may bud sooner than others, but all are awakening, he said.

"They actually use their church!"
Joe exclaimed. Sure enough, people were coming and going from it quite regularly, which is a bit of shocker after the ornamental pieces we're used to seeing around France. Being in the center of town, we were impressed by the church's charging for parking in their lot -- now that's a fundraiser! We ate lunch and I sewed up my jeans ("It's rather zen!"), then we turned left out of the church and down to Distillery Street a block or so away in search of recycling bins.

The second hardest thing to find in Ireland...
are recycling bins. We've carried our tin cans, glass bottles, plastic, and paper for days, lighting up at the possibility of disposing them in a way that would make Joe's parents proud. Most recycling centers we've come to have about eight bins -- each for a different colored glass -- and then two for clothes. Someone explained to us today that recycling is still in the planning stages here, which means that they talk about it quite a bit but do very little, and he wasn't too positive about it taking off anytime soon.

Up Wexford!
No, this isn't an insult. You actually see lots of things "upped" here, much as we in the states would say, "Go Hokies!"

Regional roads
We headed out of Wexford down towards Waterford by way of the regional road R733. A mistake? Hard to say. Like I said before, it was very hilly and had very little (read: no) shoulder, and people rarely pull over into the other lane when they pass. It's not too unsafe, just slow-going.

Irish cream
One of Joe's favorites. We stopped and picked up a bottle in the evening -- "apero and digestif!" Plus, we've mixed it in coffee, tea, and -- holy smokes, you must try this one -- rice pudding.

Tea, ah, tea. A comfort that has comforted us well.

An insistent furry friend
After hitting a runner's high in all those hills, we coasted down to the water's edge near Arthurstown in search of a ferry to cross the river as the sun was getting low in the sky. In the road in front of us was a bright border collie. He glanced at us, then leapt over the stone wall and onto the beach and stared at us. "Here, puppy!" Nothing would make him budge. He stood motionless. "I know what he wants." We climbed down onto the beach and threw a stick for him for maybe half an hour. He would tireless leap into the air to catch the stick in his mouth, relinquish it, and stand still until you threw it again. Joe became his new best friend, but he plied me for help when Joe finally sat down, dropping the stick -- two or three, in fact -- on my feet. In the end, we tore ourselves away from him, and he ran with us a good half-kilometer along the river's wall.

Not the last kind soul we'd meet.

July 19 -- Day 24
Push bikes
"Oh, you're on push bikes!" the lady at the tourism office told Joe. We thought this was just a cool word for bicycle (we've heard the term pedalbike as well), as opposed to motorbikes. That is, until we realized that, in Ireland, your pedalbike often becomes a push bike as you climb those beautiful, pictoresque hills.

Biking along the Copper Coast, a gorgeous stretch of green hills and sheer cliffs plunging into the sea, we got thoroughly worn out! We usually would break camp by 9 am, bike a little while, collapse exhausted somewhere for lunch, and then bike a little while further, before feeling absolutely wiped out around 6 or 7 pm. We were in fact rather frustrated by our slow progress...until we found out that many signs and maps here are still in miles. Well, we still weren't going as fast as we'd have liked, but we're enjoying the views and workout!

Fantastic weather
Many people we spoke to before coming to Ireland were concerned about the weather -- "Hope it's not too cold and rainy!" Actually, the weather's been fantastic -- we've only cycled once in the rain, and that was only briefly through a light shower, and the cool weather has kept us nice and chilled. Warmer weather would simply be exhausting and unpleasant.

Waterford
A few quick facts:
- Ireland's oldest city
- home to Waterford crystal
- it has more than one river

Rolling into Waterford, we looked for nearly an hour before we found the tourism info office. "It's down by the quay," one woman told us. We biked up and down the river, finally stopping to ask in a hotel (I got quite a few looks in my grungy bike clothes), before realizing that there was more than one river, and that we'd been missing all of town by skirting its southern edge.

So, we finally found the tourism office, and she pointed us to a local laundry.

Rainbow End

This was no self-service laundry, either.

We found it on Thomas Street.

"I hope you don't need those for today, we're closin' at two pm," the man said at the entrance. We couldn't even see the laundry machines. "Oh, my, we're only here for the day." He smiled and took pity on us: "Alright, I'll ask the ladies what they can do far ya." He came back with an affirmative, and we happily (gratefully!) piled our things into the basket. "Leave yer bikes here," he said, "Just be back in about an hour."

T & H Doolans
31/32 George's Street
The tourism office lady might get a payback from the folks at T&H Doolans, but we sure did enjoy ourselves.

A bowl of soup and brownbread with a guiness on the side. Oh yes, sooooo good. So good.

A card on the table claimed that it was one of Ireland's oldest pubs, and that they'd been licensed for over 300 years. The city walls themselves are 800 years old. Not too shabby.

Clean clothes!

The ladies were fantastic and let me change in a back bathroom. How nice it was to slip on a clean shirt and warm jeans, especially after walking around all day in my spare pair of sports shorts.

Bedtime

As we left Waterford, we passed a few pubs. At a few, young men had gathered outside -- fifteen or twenty of them -- and they were singing along as three guitarists strummed out Cold Play or Pink Floyd. We left reluctantly, but were exhausted.

Camping down for the night in an unused cow pasture, the moon glowed into the tent like a searchlight.


July 20 -- Day 25

Is there a bull in the field?
Joe: "So, this morning, I woke up and I was afraid the farmer had let a bull into the field while we were sleeping. I could hear it snorting across the field in the distance, and I could just imagine ourselves packing it across the field with all of our stuff. Then I realized it was just you, snoring." A rather self-incriminating story, may I just say in my defense that I normally don't sleep on my back, and that the supposed bull was off in the distance, not right outside the tent!


The morning was beautiful, sunny, and laidback. We were finding the hills lovely again, as we set off with fresh legs.

Tramor

Tourist trap. Yuck. Thumbs down. Amusement park, golf course, beach, and two circuses.

Annestown

Muuuuch lovelier. Rocks and natural beach. A big hill.

That's so beautiful! Let's not go there!

We started seeing the Comeragh Mountains in the distance. Gorgeous to look at, but would promise difficult biking.

Fenor Bog
We passed by this National Nature Preserve in the late morning. An informational panel told us that it's one of thirteen bogs in Waterford County, and there are recorded over 100 birds and animal species. It protects "...32 acres of fen, a peatland habitat which is fast disappearing from the Irish countryside. Peatlands once covered 1.2 million hectares of Ireland. Today 90% have been lost due to development."

It's managed by two organizations: the Moin Fhionnurach Development Association, which is a voluntary committee set up "...to promote enterprise in Fenor which will be sympathetic to the unique features of the area..."; and the Irish Peatland Conservation Council.

Views of the Copper Coast:

Lunch in Bunmahon (soup and brownbread, so Irish!):

That's a big hill

Dungarven was our last town of the evening. As we left, we found ourselves at the foot of an immense hill on the N25 (national highway). We hadn't pedaled for more than 5 minutes when we both stopped, sat down and ate half a bar of chocolate, our energy sapped.

We should note here that all the signs in Ireland are written first in English, then in Irish. While sitting on the side of the road, we noticed that all the English was whited out on the signs. We were near Rign (An Rinn) , a town where Irish is spoken as the first language.

Twenty minutes later, we found ourselves at the top of the hill in a suitable field for camping with an outstanding view of the harbour.


Ooo, a bit of a loss
I lost my jacket at some point in the day. I hadn't secured it properly, and it fell right off the back of my bike. Not too serious, I bought another today, but it was my only warm article of clothing, really, and I was lucky it didn't rain.

July 21 - Day 26

It was all downhill from the overlook. We were starting to feel sticky, it having been a week since Joe had showered, and four days since I had, we started dreaming about finding a hostel in Cork.

Youghall

We later found out that this is pronounced like "Y'all" and is where Sir Walter Raleigh hailed from.

"You're doin' it the right way!"

Huuuuungry, we stopped in the small town of Killeagh for groceries. Joe almost stepped out in front of a car, then continued crossing the street. The driver, a small woman of about 60 years, hopped out and came running up to me.

"I beg your pardon?"

"You're doin' it the right way!" She enthusiastically asked where we were from and leapt into telling us all about what we should do in the area. "You could stay on the road and rush through an' not see anything at all, or you could go here and here..." she went on. She recommended we go to see a local potter (Stephen Pearce), William Penn's family castle, and the internationally reknowned Ballymaloe Organic Farm and Cookery School (pronounced "ballymalloo") in nearby Shanagarry; to see Bishop Barkley's tomb at the protestant church in Cloyne, and the Jameson Distillery in Midleton. "An' just tell people you met me -- they know who I am!"

She gave us her phone number as well, "In case you need a shower or a bed for the evenin'." She used to host French exchange students, so they were all set up to host young folks.

We ended up following her advice and giving her a call later on...but that's all the time we have now! You'll just have to read our next blog to find out what happened!

Hilary in Penn's Castle

Penn's Castle ("It's behind the Catholic Church in Shanagarry.")

Just outside of Shanagarry, east of Ballymaloe Cookery School

Jameson's Irish Whiskey Distillery in Midleton, County Cork

Next: We're on to Mallow, and then either Killarny or Limerick

Greetings from Ireland!

We find that we are constantly behind in the narrative of our blogs. For the most up to date news and great statistics on our trip, check out the column to the left; for anecdotes and photos, follow the narrative.

Out with a haie!

The Gorés lined up on in two lines on either side of us as we biked away, cheering us on to our next adventures. Joe explained to me that this tradition is a haie, which means hedge.

Gavottes: the deliciousness

The thinnest of Bréton crepes, coated in salty caramel, rolled up, coated in chocolate, and sliced into bite-sized pieces. You gotta try this.

Fete nationale!

After buying tickets online in St Malo, we biked across the peninsula to the shore of the Mont Saint Michel Baie. In the curve of the bay, we looked across to the Mont glowing gold in the distance and ate paté (from the Gorés) and pasta ("Tastes like pasta and paté), washed down with San Pellegrino sparkling water (from the Mitchells). Later, we watched the towns around the bay light up as darkness fell, and we were treated to four separate fireworks shows around 11 pm, little balls of colored light exploding on the horizon.

Le Mutant

An elusive supermarket.

At lunch, we spied le Mont St Michel, a monastery at the top of a pointy rock, known for the fact that it's cut off from the mainland at high tide:

Train service in this part of France is thin. With 30 kilometers to go to get Avranches in just 2.5 hours, we booked it out of there!

La journaliste

We met a most interesting journalist in the tiny (weeeee, itty bitty!) train station. Outstandingly stylish, she asked us all kinds of questions about our trip, and then talked with us until she got off about Hollywood stars, and her theories on the philosophy and psychology of the trade. We were sad to see her get off the train.

SNCF bathrooms
Bicycle-laden, we were urged onto the back of the next train by the conductor, where we found ourselves in first class. What nice bathrooms to find after that long, sweaty stretch of road!

Cherbourg
After a bottle of Normandy cider, we biked west out of the city to camp near the beach that night. That's good sleepin'.
Day 21, July 16

Cappucinos
Shake powdered milk with a little less water and you get foam:

Pay it forward
It was great having an entire day in a city! We were running around doing various last-minute errands, when Joe stumbled upon a wallet. Leaping gleefully on this new adventure, we dropped our current task and zipped and zoomed around Cherbourg in search of its owner. "My, aren't you honest!" the teller at the bank said to Joe as she looked up Mme Mettes' address. Turns out she lives in a retiree house right near where Joe found the wallet. She wasn't home, but Joe left her number and got a lovely phonecall from her a little later. Joe told her we were a bit too busy to stop by for tea, and asked for nothing in return but that she help out the next person she finds needing help.

Oscar Wilde
We showed up at 5pm for our 6:30 boat, only to find out that it was 5 hours behind schedule. Five! We lined up with a handful of other bikers, noticing not only how clean they looked but how much stuff they were carrying. Hm.


We also pondered how Mr Wilde might have felt knowing that he had a discount-rate ferry named after him.

Red October
We excitedly boarded the ship, strapped our bikes in the hold, and were greeted by Second-mate Miroslaw. Oh, hello.

Designed to cart and entertain young families for 18 hours, the Oscar Wilde has numerous and varied restaurants and bars, all of which were manned by friendly Irish and east-Europeans, and yet are "entertained" by the worst music videos of the 1980s and 90s.

Most people on the boat stayed in cabins, but econo-travelers like ourselves found reserved seats on the top two decks. In a room that resembled a conference room, about 20 seats were arranged in pairs all facing the same wall. We found out later that only the very dedicated types actually use them, everyone else seeming to mutually agree to a huge slumber party, as bodies stretched out between the seats.

Lessons learned:

• get dramamine
• Irish accents make anyone cool, even 4 year olds.

Irish advice
Rolling off the deck and onto the green isle, our first act in Ireland was to investigate the our options at the train and ferry counters at the terminal.
The man at the train counter seemed surprised that we asked him about train schedules and prices.

"We want to do a circuit of Ireland around by the south, then come up by Limerick and then go on to Dublin, but we just want to check the price of train tickets from, say, Killarney to Dublin. You know, in case we get stuck."

He raised his eyebrows and dug into a pile of catalogues and papers for the list of tariffs.

"Oh," he said, eyes glued to the page. "It's expensive."

He stopped speaking. He didn't look up. We waited. What scale of expensive was he talking about, 30 euros or 200 euros?

"62 euros," he said. "Don't get stuck." His eye twinkled.

"Irish and English products, but with the euro!"

Stocking up at the first available grocery store, our eyes gleamed as we took in notably less expensive organic foods, brown soda bread, shelves and shelves of tea and biscuits, and cranberry juice. We had to hold ourselves back.

May I just say that brown soda bread is AMAZING. It's thick and chewy, kind of the texture of corn bread, but it's moist and filled with bran and is oh-my-fill-you-up delicious.

Great signs we've seen along the way:

Feeling breezy

We were wearing our street clothes as we biked off the boat, and I ripped my jeans on a bolt jutting out from under my bike seat. This is kind of frustrating, since I'm only carrying my bike shorts, a pair of running shorts, and my jeans.

Easier biking

The national road we started on was quite nice -- it had HUGE shoulders.

Harder biking

The regional roads are horrible for biking! Rough pavement to begin with, but then instead of a shoulder, they've planted neverending hedges of stinging nettle and prickly bushes.

Well, that's all I have time for today. Look forward to photos of our first days in Ireland (lovely people! brown bread! green scenery! border collies!) in the coming post!

-Hilary

Catching up

Okay, we have a bit more time today to update the blog, so here goes!

To catch up a bit:

Day 14's statistics:

Distance traveled: From just south of Pipriac to St Méen (60 km!)

Time: 9:30 am to 4:15 pm

Day 17

If you see a menhir, look at it!

We left our friends Florian and Héloïse after three relaxing days in St Méen and headed north to Dinan, taking the windiest path possible (as in, the least-direct).

We curved around tiny back roads and spied menhirs in cow pastures, vestiges of the Celtic culture that was (and still is) so prevalent here.

You can kind of see Joe to the left there, and he's 6-foot 3-inches, to give you an idea of the size of these things.

(As a side-note, the Brétons are known throughout France as being fiercely proud of their region and their heritage. Until just a few years ago, it was illegal to teach Bréton in school and the language almost died, but it's making a comeback! According to Florian, Bréton will be offered in schools as a second foreign language option here starting next year, along with English, German, Spanish, Italian, etc (a side-side note: students must choose to learn at least two languages in France)).

Croquelins

These deserve a bit more attention than we were able to devote to them the other day.

They look a bit like pastry shells. Well, that is what they are, in fact. Their consistency is kind of like baked meringue with flour added, as they are made of merely flour, water, eggs, and salt.

We were in the supermarket with Florian and Héloïse when Hilary's eye landed on them. None of us, in fact, had any idea what they were, which made Hilary all the more curious. A Brétonne saw us pondering over them, and stopped in the middle of the baked goods aisle to convince us of their quasi-magical properties. "You can eat them any time of the day," she said, "They're delicious, absolutely delicious, for breakfast with milk or jam or Nutella, or later for tea, or just a little snack! You can't find them outside of this region, I swear to you." She was so enthusiastic that we grabbed a bag of twenty and later had a croquelin-tasting party. "They're kind of like communion wafers," Héloïse said. (Hm. Good to know that if we can't find any croquelins outside of Brittany, we could hit up a local church for a similar treat. Mm, with a little Nutella...)

Really, these things are great! And check out Nutella too if you don't know what it is -- you can find it hinding amongst the jars of peanut butter in most supermarkets in the states.

It's up there on that big hill!
We rolled into Dinan at about 3 pm, surprised (and rather proud) of our time. We're very sorry to say we have no photos of this beautiful walled city. They're preparing for their medieval festival this weekend, when all kinds of exciting medieval activities will be reinacted within and around the old city walls.

Here we caught up with Hilary's English friends John and Helen, who had hosted Hilary and her mother last summer at about the same time. We caught up over fizz (oh, that lovely Saumur sparkling wine!) and a yummy dinner filled with fresh salads and veggies in season. Helen also gave us a phonetics lesson: apparently, in English English, you can hear a difference between the words "ferry" and "fairy". This is news to our American ears! (We simply love learning about the differences between our versions of English!)

They sent us off with advice for finding a ferry to Ireland, as well as sparkling water (such a treat!) and a warm yet lightweight fleece-like blanket, since the weather here has been unusually chilly. We want to say thank you here for your kindness!

Distance traveled: St Méen to Dinan (55 km)

Day 19 (July 13)
We followed another windy route to St Malo, passing by cows and villages along the way.

We stumbled upon St Suliac, "One of the most beautiful villages in France" a sign boasted at the entrance to the village, so we coasted to the waterfront for a picnic.

No more cheese, please

We've decided to pare down our diet a bit, inspired by Julien's biking standards. So, we've eliminated the delicious cheeses from our diet...well, only when we're biking, that is!

St Malo!

Oh yeah.

We were greated by this great walled city by the drawbridge, which instead of opening up on a hinge, rather slid back on itself. So cool! It opens on the hour every hour for boats to pass by, and gave Hilary the time to take this photo of the backside of the city:

Inside the walls, life is a bit crowded and a bit touristy, but it's pretty cool nonetheless. We hunted for the tourism info office to find an internet café and research ferries, and got thoroughly lost in the narrow streets before stopping for a map at a hotel (wow, no city maps were posted anywhere, as in most French cities).

St Malo was one of the German navy's headquarters and home to many u-boats during WWII, and was razed to the ground by the Allied forces in the summer of 1944. Upon entering the destroyed city by foot and yet curiously still under fire, the Allies learned, to their dismay, that merely sixty Germans were actually in the city walls -- they were, in fact, firing from behind the city! After the war, St Malo was beautifully (and quickly) reconstructed very authentically to its original state, with much of the funds coming from Americans.

Warm Franco-american relations

Armed with a little bit more information, we headed across the river to the west to Dinard to friends of Joe's family, the lovely Gorés.

On the way over, we crossed an interesting power source. A kind of dam, the huge turbines turn as the tides rise and fall between Dinard and St Malo each day:

Joe's grandfather had participated in the invasion of the French coast near Dinard in 1944. Colonel and Madame Goré had hosted Joe's grandparents in 1986 for a ceremony honoring the Allied soldiers who had fought here, and had remained in touch with the entire family ever since. Joe's grandmother visited the Gorés again shortly after the death of his grandfather in the early 1990s, and Joe's mother, sisters, and Joe himself visited just a few years ago.

It was thus with warm arms that we were welcomed by Jaques and Solange, their daughter Dominique, and their three beautiful granddaughters, Meghan, Camille and Lucille.

Jaques showed us photos of Joe's grandparents over drinks in their beautiful garden. After a delicious meal prepared by Solange of fresh bigonots and shrimp, then pork, green beans, and potatoes, and finished off by another regional speciality, a Bréton shortbread. They surprised us with gifts of perfume in lightweight travel pouches ("So you can freshen up before meeting people after being on the road all day!") and dark chocolate. How lovely!

Then, Jaques and Dominique took us for an evening stroll down by the old "douanniers," paths where port officials called douanes used to patrol back in the day when smugglers would try to sneak past tarifs by landing at night between the two ports.

Dinard at sunset

St Malo at sunset from the west

Jaques was 11 years old in 1944 and told us the story about how St Malo was destroyed and then rebuilt by the Americans. He also told us that the top German officers in the area were in Dinard, living at the northern tip of the peninsula in the most beautiful houses overlooking the sea, and communicated with the other soldiers across the bay via an underwater telephone line. Just before the anglo-american invasion in August 1944, the Germans called for all the children and women to leave Dinard, St Malo and the surrounding area, thus he spent that summer in the countryside. He later gave us a book detailing St Malo's occupation and liberation, which we devoured.

The next day, Meghan, showed us around Dinard by foot:

That's not all!

Ack! We're being booted out the café's door once again! We'll try to update again soon! We'll just say quickly that we got tickets for a ferry bound for IRELAND leaving Cherbourg this evening. We biked from St Malo as far as Avrenches, where we climbed the world's longest hill just to be directed back down the other side to the train station.

Bailing out

That's right, we had only about two and a half days to get to Cherbourg for the ferry, as the next ferry wouldn't leave for Ireland until Sunday, and we're impatient to get over there. So, we decided to bite the bullet and hop on a train to get up to the northern tip of the peninsula separating Brittany and Normandy.

Happy Bastille Day!

Bonjour tout le monde!

After a week on the road, Joe and Hilary arrived in St Malo yesterday! Whew! We found an internet café this afternoon, so we pounced on it and are catching up on the blog and our email, and are trying to figure out how to get to Ireland. We have a few gems to recount in about an hour (speeeeed writing!), so do follow along!

Day 12 (cont'd)

Allez! Allez! Allez!

Okay, we lied. We didn't leave Nantes on Monday. It was raining on and off, we had a ton of things to do, and a stage of the tour de France finished less than a block from where Joe's sister, Laura, lives. Couldn't pass that by! We had to go see that!

They're just so fast!
In the end, only Joe saw it. Hilary couldn't see over the heads of all those tall Frenchmen in front of her. And bikes, unlike cars, don't really make much sound when they pass. So, Hilary just cheered along with the rest of the crowd for good effect on their cue.

Joe, a head or two taller than her, got some interesting footage though:






They're on their final sprint, so gee willackers, they're fast! We calculated that they go about four times faster than we do. But okay, they aren't carrying stuff.

Fix 'er up!
We want to give a shout out to Laura and Julien! They helped us out so much! Julien and his friend Jérémy tinkered on Hygina a bit, much to Hilary's GREAT APPRECIATION, since she seriously needed all ten speeds to get across Brittany. Two just won't cuttin' it.


Reflections after living in civilized society

• we still didn't shower much, and we find that, in fact, we smell less when we bike than when we sit around on a day-to-day basis (our armpits are aired out nicely, sweat is wicked away!)
• our hair, though short to begin with, had to get even shorter. Less maintenance and great cooling effect!
• we kind of see this as an Oregon Trail...ford the river! kill a bison, but you can't carry the whole thing! Timmy died of dyptheria! Maybe it's a generational thing...
  

Expenses: groceries: 9.30


Day 13 (July 8)

After an early start and a quick stop at LeaderPrice (okay, can't beat their granola and dried fruit selection), we sped out of Nantes...or tried to.

At least we're in the Mondo Vélo parking lot!
Hilary learned how to change a tire.

And boy, did we have luck: Joe's tire went flat right next to a bike shop!



An hour or so and a blue tire later, we were off!

BZH = 44
Spectators who came out to cheer on the tour de France wrote encouraging messages on the road: "Allez, Jérome!" They also took advantage of the helicopter footage filming from above to write out protests such as "Avion! Non!" (against the new airport being built) and, even more frequently, "BZH = 44" or "Bienvenue en Bretagne" (Welcome to Brittany). This is worth explaining. Historically, Nantes was part of Brittany, which later became part of France through the Duchess Anne's marriage to two (successive) kings of France. A few years ago, the French government rearranged things a bit and put Nantes in a new region, the Loire Valley, with which it is argued it has more to do with economically than Brittany. Hm.



To give you an idea: this would be like if Virginia were classified with the north, because Northern Virginia has more to do economically with Washington, D.C.

Buns of steel
It must be said that had we started our trip by this stretch of road, Hilary would have sat down by the side of the road and cried. The hills are beautiful, though, and we find that our bodies are up to the challenge after that week of training down the Loire. Rah!


Coffee! And pasta! And spinach!
We both are rejoicing for the new (lightweight!) campstove Julien gave Joe for his birthday! This has increased what we can cook by a phenomenal number.

Searching for a lightweight pot, we forewent expensive camping sets -- pshaw! -- and chose instead a homely little can of spinach. Or, big can of spinach.

This was our first hot meal on the road: spinach and bread. Pop-eye'd be proud.

So, now we can make ANYTHING!

Coffee first thing in the morning! (Props to Laura for the instant coffee!)


Boil some water, and ya got pasta on the go!

The great thing too is that pasta packs small and yet swells to a fill-yer-tummy size in just 10 minutes! (15 with the time to boil the water)

Weight
Hilary: 55 kilos herself + 11 kilos of stuff = 67 kilos. She's carrying 22 percent of her body weight.

Joe: 77 kilos + 17 kilos of stuff = 94 kilos. He's carrying 18 percent of his bodyweight.

Note: Joe weighs more than Hilary, her stuff, and Hygina combined.


We're so camping here
It was the mattress that convinced Joe to stay:


Someone had unknowingly donated it to our cause, leaving it in a ditch for us to find.

We STILL missed the sun!
Gosh darnit, that sun outwitted us again!

We pitched our tent in the MIDDLE OF THE FIELD so as to catch the first morning rays. Guaranteed or your money back.

The sky was cloudy the morning of Day 14.

Sounds rather tinny to me

The all-purpose spinach can can! Is there nothing it can't do?



A painter's t-shirt:


A white canvas (thank you, spf 50+!)
Black: grease
Blue, green, yellow, purple: bruises
Red: sunburn, stinging nettle, blood, bugbites

Roadkill seen so far:

• hedgehogs (and lots of them)
• birds
• an owl
• snakes
• mink?
• rabbit (the ears give it away)

Expenses:
-groceries: 9.20
-bread: 1.90
-juice and veggies: 2.30
-bike tire: 22
You calculate the total.

Approx distance: 60 or 70 km. Oh, yeah. That's 12pm to 8:30 pm, up HILLS, baby!



Day 14 (July 9)
What?? Forest in France??
Maybe it's her east-coast standards, but Hilary hasn't seen forest like this in a LOOONG time. Paimpont is a lovely PRIVATELY-OWNED forest that will fulfill any forest-lover's desires. Breathe in the air, listen to the leaves rustle in the wind....ahhhhh...

It's in Broceliande, the land said to be where King Arthur and his gang called home.


All downhill from there...
Literally. After a day and a half of climbing slowly uphill, we got to say

WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!

for a good half hour.

We did 40 km in 1.5 hours! A record!



No dump in King Arthur's Forest!

Still being disputed, apparently.

Water tower turned climbing wall:



Chez Florian and Héloïse
We spent July 8 - 11 at Florian and Héloïse's, who are friends of Joe from Laval who now live in St Méen. These guys showed us around the area!

We celebrated Joe's birthday again:


We went to the aquarium in St Malo:


To a reptile farm near Mont St Michel:


And Hilary learned how to make authentic Bréton galettes:


Yum! Props to these guys for showing us around and introducing us to fantastic Bréton cuisine!

Coquelins -- another Bréton pastry, this is a hard, shell-like crust made of flour, eggs, and sodium bicarbonate. Light and fluffy. Tasty!


We must go!!
Okay, we're about to be kicked out of the internet café! We'll update again along our way. Right now, we're in St Malo, but we're heading up to Cherbourg to catch a ferry over to Rosslare, Ireland on the evening of July 16th. Thanks to everyone who's been writing us! Gros bisous!