4 days, 5 families, and 450km of cross-country travel between Morbihan and Loire Atlantique to forge links and meet up with friends from travels here, there and long ago.

Breaking our vow of aerial chastity, we swapped Montpellier, which we left at the dawn of a promising spring day, for Nantes, where we landed under an austere grey sky. A mix-up with my rental car reservation further dampened my spirits, keeping us at the airport while we tried to solve the riddle of where to pick our car up, but we were eventually picked up by a Rentscape shuttle and given a car at their agency a few hundred meters away. Thomas’s solicitousness and the agent’s curiosity about our sailing journey gently restored me to a more relaxed mood.

Giro (Nantes)

Our friends from Girotondo were waiting for us at their place, and the cheerful sun, which had deserted the region for six months, in its great indulgence, had chased away the gloomy sky and invited itself in for lunch. It was an urban-countryside atmosphere on the terrace, where we savored homemade lasagna with goat cheese, spinach and chard from the farm where Arthur is training to become a market gardener, in front of their verdant garden, with a yellowing Japanese maple, rogue tuyas and two intrepid chicks.

Their large, four-storey house in Nantes was a delight for the children, who got together to play foosball and Lego foil catamaran technology, while the adults exchanged memories and tales of their return to terra firma. It’s a pity that the reunion was disrupted when, in the midst of preparing a mouth-watering Ottolenghi recipe, little Balthazar gave up his guts after complaining for two hours about a headache he couldn’t remember what had caused it: a fall playing soccer had probably resulted in a cranial shock and memory loss. Arthur went to the emergency room with him, and that was the last we saw of them. Stir-fried rice with anchovy cream was eaten by a small group, and we kept Virginie company for most of the evening, with Arthur’s messages keeping us up to date with the latest developments, until we fell asleep from exhaustion.

By morning, they hadn’t returned, the doctors preferring to prolong the observation, and we left, wishing them a speedy recovery and a less dramatic reunion. (Balthazar is fine, but still has no memory of that evening).

Hélo (Peillac)

At Héloïse’s, we arrived around lunchtime, and as she was teaching a body awareness course at the time, we ate the quinoa, cucumber, cashew, coconut milk and coriander salad we’d planned without her. Once again, in the sunshine, in the garden. When she got home, she was delighted to be served a plate just like at the restaurant. Time flew by between coffee and discussions about the damage caused by trailing bamboo and merula to wooden houses, the character traits of our children, and our similarities, notably our irritability on contact with breadcrumbs and other irregularities under our feet. We then had to pick up Noé, who was leaving the collège at around 4pm, and Mila, shortly afterwards, from school. The children couldn’t remember the last time they’d met, but they hit it off, sharing a taste for acrobatics, nature, literature and logic games. Mila gave us a tour of her school at the open house, where we seemed to be the only strangers, and then we went back to the house to come out again.

Friday evenings in Peillac are all about collecting baskets from the farm and opening the community bar “Chez Angèle”, the weekly meeting place for locals and neo-rurals to sip beers and juices while the kids play hide-and-seek or table soccer. Ours first devoured Az’s pizzas before joining them. Hélo and I preferred to return to the house to dine on the leftover salad, but by the time we’d sat down, chatted and I’d prepared the chocolate cake I’d promised everyone, Thomas was on his way home with the kids, so much for the Brazilian music concert.

The next day, the kids, especially Zephyr and Noé, spent most of the morning playing Turing Tumble, a mechanical computer logic game, the source of abstract discussions absolutely incomprehensible to a third party arriving without the proper context. Noé gave us a drumming demonstration, before we moved on to “dinner”, in a dressier imitation of lunch on the grass, no doubt inspired by the childlike reproductions of Seurat’s Dimanche après-midi à l’ile de la Grande Jatte seen the day before at Mila’s school.

Simon & Claire (Nantes)

With the afternoon well underway, we headed back to the Ile de Nantes to meet up with Simon, Maëlle and Noé, and by the time the mechanical elephant had misted us, we were on our way to Claire, who was manning the Moneko stand at the Festival DeuxMains. Unaware that the weather was going to be so summery, and no longer able to stand my black jeans and sneakers, I walked barefoot, wearing my nightgown as a dress, topped with a T-shirt to hide the racy lace décolleté. I would have liked to have found a pair of thrift-store clothes and sandals to change into, but we arrived after the battle and didn’t have the energy to rummage around. In any case, it was great to get together in this atmosphere of solidarity after the Auckland, San Franciscan and Vannes episodes.

On the dinner menu, bouchons réunionnais, pesto pasta – as requested by Thomas – and chocolate creams. I would have liked to revive tradition and play a little board game, but we were all exhausted and didn’t last long.

They too are well settled in a bright house with large bay windows and a long city garden with several workshops and cabins, so that in the morning, at the sight of the big model brunch table, I felt like I was slipping into the glossy pages of an interior design magazine. Oriental-scented tea, fruit juice, your choice of soft-boiled or fried eggs, slices of grilled tofu, poilâne bread, blueberry, mirabelle and honey jams. A visual delight for the taste buds.

Claire left early for the festival, while Thomas and Simon discussed boat renovation, the Altaïr roof stored in their workshop at the bottom of the garden deserving a little attention with its layer of rotting balsa, and then he took us to the beautiful Parc de la Gaudinière, to enjoy this haven of greenery in the middle of town, with its castle, its leafy or mountain trees and its bucolic little waterfalls.

Frédérique & Olivier (Guérande)

A glance at the map of France to check the route from Nantes to Sarzeau had made me aware of Guérande’s relative proximity, so without missing a beat I sent a quick message to Frédérique, my dance teacher since I was six or seven, to see if she was there. She replied instantly and, despite having just returned from a weekend in Noirmoutier, offered to host us for lunch.

Gradually settling into our Hispanic vacation rhythm, we arrived at her house at a quarter to two, famished. Olivier was perched on the roof, repairing something or other and soiling his fleece with polyurethane foam. Frédérique greeted us, beaming with her long silver hair and dressed in an impeccable apple-green tunic and white pants. Frédérique asked us about our trip and reminded us of the importance of sleep for our teenager, Zéphyr, who is currently growing fast, while Olivier talked board sports with Thomas, sharing his experience as France’s first wing instructor.

Once again, there wasn’t enough time to tell each other all we had to say, but Azur made me promise to come back soon, captivated as he was by the cat Niji (short for Nijinsky), who adopted him immediately, the carp pond (which we petted), the bright yellow Lotus Elise (where Olivier made sure the children sat), and the energies of this vast property with its many rooms, gardens, bathrooms, spa, music room and swimming pool, with its enchanting, Zen-like Japanese allure.

Martin & Marie (Sarzeau)

Last stop on this ambitious road trip, we put the car down in Sarzeau’s Rue des embruns just in time for a snack. We were greeted by a bearded Martin, an Abel who literally jumped into my arms, a curious Zoé who wanted to know if we were staying the night, and a cheerful Marie who packed bags in a jiffy to set up on the beach at the end of the street and enjoy the iodized air for an aperitif-snack picnic with kouign-amann, apple juice, dry sausage and pretzels.

Our children, who aren’t the same age, got on wonderfully, Zephyr as carefree as a child, but taking good care of the little ones. Marie and Martin seemed super relaxed, telling us with detachment how Abel had carved his name in stone on the door of their Papoumobile (a car bequeathed to them on their return by their grandfather) one day when it had snowed. It was good to get together again after our respective half-tours of the world, and to feel whole, sharing not only our experiences of the trip but also of returning home after years in New Zealand, the reasons for our choices, our frustrations, our desires, our plans, catching up on news of mutual friends, etc.

There was a ball, hidden under the sand and not found when we left the beach despite canine efforts on the part of all the guys, pizzas ordered from Rhuys Pizza, champions of France in 2013 (as it was still on the cards!), a labyrinthine house made of a connection of three houses in a row, and comfortable guest room and game room where we spent the night.

Back in the South

Up at the crack of dawn to head for the airport. Last scare on boarding: no wallet, forgotten with our IDs at the rental agency! A short sprint from the gate to the parking lot back to the gate to get it back from the shuttle that had made the round trip for me. Among the last to board, we nevertheless got our flight to Montpellier almost without a hitch.

We ended the day on the beach, under the southern sun and the exhausting wind, tired but very satisfied with this Breton trip, punctuated by gastronomic reunions with our friends, to talk about the ups and downs of life, between the burnout of some and the cancer of others, and to enjoy their little slices of paradise that they opened up to us with warmth, generosity and sometimes immoderate spontaneity.

The photos don’t do justice to the good times we spent together, as we were too busy enjoying each other’s company to take any.