Locronan & Crozon, France

5 min readSep 30, 2021

For our final full day in Brittany, we decided to head for the end of France at the Crozon Peninsula. As we drove northwest along the coast, the wind-swept terrain began to remind us more of Ireland. Green pastures with edges defined by hedges and stone walls draped over the rolling hills.

We stopped for lunch at the small Breton town of Locronan. The weathered gray stone of the clustered buildings was softened by vines and flower boxes. The parish church, as it does in so many small French villages, dominated the central square.

Late-September sun refracted through the stained glass windows to paint the tomb of Saint Ronan inside the church. His effigy, from around 1433, was supported on the outstretched wings of six flanking angels.

We took a corner table on an outdoor patio at the local cafe and soon struck up a conversation with a friendly Scottish couple seated beside us. Joe and Elsa had ferried their RV over from Scotland to explore France. They’d visited Normandy, like us, and pondered the same sand along the D-Day beaches.

It was enjoyable to have a full conversation in English after a month of sputtering French. Their Scottish accents were fantastic. We exchanged contact information and they told us to be sure to call on them when we visited Scotland. Honestly, the world is a small place.

We hit the road again, stopping briefly in Crozon. After examining the World War I memorial, I ducked into the church, Eglise Saint Pierre, and was immediately drawn to the front.

I was transfixed by The Altarpiece of the Ten Thousand Martyrs, carved in the early 15th century. It depicted one of several similar legends where Roman soldiers converted to Christianity and were crucified on Mount Ararat in Armenia by order of the Roman emperor. The detail in the intricate carvings was impressive.

We finally reached the end of the Crozon Peninsula at Pointe de Pen-Hir. A stiff breeze coming off the Atlantic was piling big waves on the thin sandy beaches we could see below jagged cliffs.

A giant concrete Cross of Lorraine, the symbol of Free France, stood defiantly among the crumbling remnants of Hitler’s Atlantic Wall.

Extensive German fortifications of concrete bunkers and gun emplacements dug into the cliffs, similar to what we explored in Normandy.

After pondering the severe geography and history of the Crozon Peninsula, we turned our Fiat around and headed back into the heart of Brittany. I wanted to see if we could find the hidden Chapelle Sainte-Barbe du Faouet.

Legend had it that in 1489, the young Lord Jean de Toulbodou was caught in a storm of rare violence while out on a hunt. He took refuge under a cliff as lightening struck all around. He prayed fervently to Sainte Barbe (saint of fire and lightning) to save him and promised that he’d build a church on the spot if she did.

Evidently, Lord Toulbodou was saved from the storm and made good on his promise, finishing this church in 1512. I ventured down moss-covered steps to take in the view of the church huddled next to the cliff, just as Lord Toulbodou had done during the storm.