Page 89 - Traveling 71 eng

Saint Malo at low tide
I’m running out of adjectives to des-
cribe the charm of Dinan, where
yet another comical anecdote from
our trip unfolded. We had a list of
restaurants to visit, carefully noted
down in our itinerary. We arrived
just in time—barely—and as ever-
yone knows, nothing goes quite right
when you’re in a rush.
Following the programmed direc-
tions, we ended up at a quirky vegan
take-away spot offering an equally
quirky selection of aubergine and cu-
cumber dishes served in plastic tubs.
Hmm… it struck us as odd, but with
sustainability being the trend, we fi-
gured maybe it was part of the expe-
rience. But no—turns out it was just
a mistake. Even the vendor looked
baffled, clearly not expecting a visit
from two Spanish journalists plan-
ning to write about local gastronomy.
He pointed us to the restaurant next
door—our actual destination—where
we dined like queens.
MANENA S WINDOW
The surprises continue
Dinan is so charming that it even
won over Duchess Anne of Brittany,
who gifted the town the clock that sti-
ll crowns its tower. Without rushing,
yet steadily, we began our descent
toward the riverside port on the Rance
via Rue Jerzual—a medieval street li-
ned with captivating shops and galle-
ries. Naturally, we went in, marvelled
at everything, and, of course, gave in
to temptation, stuffing bags and bac-
kpacks until they were bursting.
Down we went, not quite remembe-
ring that we’d eventually have to go
back up, since the car was parked in
the village lot. The climb was no joke.
Hot and tired, we finally decided to
make our ascent—only for a small
school train headed uphill through Di-
nan to appear like a miracle. Without
saying a word, we both hopped on at
once. The children burst into laughter
and the driver, benevolent and amu-
sed, said nothing.
Saint Malo or the power
of the tides
Saint Malo was the true goal of our
journey—and perhaps that’s why
it made us fight for it. Entering the
Breton city proved a real challenge.
One had to be local to navigate the
maze of closed gates, construction,
and tricks of fate that nearly made us
think we’d have to save it for another
time. But thanks to our persisten-
ce—and countless spins around the
roundabout—a path revealed itself,
as if by magic, leading to the centre.
And what a city it was! Once again, I
couldn't help but blend in. This time,
I became a seasoned pirate, like
one out of Pirates of the Caribbean,
accompanying the famed corsair in
service of the French king, René Du-
guay-Trouin—whose statue stands
on Rue de Orléans—waiting for the
tide to rise so we could scale the city
walls, seven metres thick and two ki-
lometres long. Back then, Saint Malo
could only be reached by sea.
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