This was a shot from Easter weekend in Bretagne. The family I was staying with in Paris was originally from Bretagne (the most western region of France closest to England; the population is actually originally from Britain though they are now French). Anyone who says that they “hate France” probably has only been to Paris and Marseille and not the outer regions like this rural, story-book-like territory filled with farms, hobbit houses, cider, seafood, salt ponds, sailboats, kite-boarding, markets, incredible architecture, castles, and churches older than one could even imagine. Life is obviously simpler than in the cities and I basked in the routines of eating french fries, langoustine, mussels and wine at noon, crepes and galettes anytime (as Bretagne is where they originated and no one and I mean no one does it better than the Bretagnians), and trolling the markets for handmade treasures and fresh flowers. While I didn’t make it up to Normandy, a historical marvel, I managed to go to La Baule, Morbihan, Carnac (go see the stones that look like Stone Henge, they’re mindblowing), Rennes, Le Bono, and a bunch of other places I can’t even begin to try to name because I drove with the mother and father and we stopped all along the way. It was chilly since it was early April but it was a total blast. I’m quite lucky too that my family there were in the hotel and tourism industry and the dad was a full-blown walking encyclopedia so I learned more about France than I ever learned in 17 years of school. Next time, I’ll make it back in one of the hotter (though touristy) months like August, though I’m sure the Atlantic will always be chilly, since it is, well the ocean, but those beaches are begging to bask in the sun on.