Rennes

On a Friday morning, we depart Paris for the countryside (along with many other travelers fleeing the city) on the westbound TGV (Train de Grande Vitesse). We disembark in Rennes, a university town and gateway to La Bretagne, aka Brittany. (Not to be confused with La Grande Bretagne, which is Great Britain, aka England.) Notable moments (Roses and Thorns) from our time in Rennes include:

1. Rose: Dave is the Best Travel Planner ever! He spent weeks refining his choices of places to stay on this trip, and our Rennes accommodation lives up to the precedent set by our Paris flat. Centuries old and super stylish, it is located in the medieval section of town and is surrounded by half-timbered houses, picturesque squares, ancient churches and inviting cafés.

2. Thorn: Rolling our heavy suitcases over cobblestoned streets leading to our apartment. But never mind! This is why we come here!

3. Rose: Our dinner at Coquille, and the jolly chef who mingles freely with his clientèle. He approves Dave’s main course choice of fresh pasta, ham and asparagus, assuring us that he made the pasta himself that very morning. My appetizer of baby artichoke and seiche (a squid-like fish) bathed in ink black sauce tastes as exquisite as it looks, and Dave declares his dessert “One of the best I have ever tasted!” 

4. Rose: Our visit coincides with the weekly Farmers Market on the historic Place des Lices, reputed to be the second largest in all of France. A bold claim! True or not, the jumble of stalls selling flowers, fruits, vegetables, meats, cheeses, and baked goods fills every available inch of the large square and even spill over onto adjoining sidewalks. We visit early, before the aisles become crowded with queues of shoppers, and cannot resist buying fresh cherries, strawberries, apricots, and of course, a classic pain au raisin.

5. Rose: We pick up our rental car and I make a new friend, Stéphanie, our agent at the Enterprise car rental counter in Rennes. She verifies our paperwork, directs Dave to go pick up our car, (located a 15-minute walk away in a remote parking garage) and suggests that I stay behind with her and with our heavy suitcases. Accordingly, Dave sets off on foot, and I maneuver our suitcases and hand luggage into as unobtrusive a pile as possible. Stéphanie is friendly and chatty, and we find lots to talk about. A half hour passes easily. But then I begin to wonder where Dave is. I check his whereabouts on my phone, and he appears to be on his way back, though temporarily headed in the wrong direction because he is winding his way through a maze of one-way streets. 15 more minutes pass before Dave finally arrives and Stéphanie helps us load our baggages into a (thankfully) spacious trunk. She looks rather bereft as we shake hands and say good-bye. “À une prochaine!” (See you again!) she says, and although the chances of us meeting again are slim to none, I return her hopeful farewell. And then we are off, happy to be traveling under our own steam (so to speak) and on the open road.