My first experience at a French Camp Ground (and yes, such a thing does exist in France)

Final destination of day #2: Douarnenez.  Benoît and I decided that it was time for a shower (or rather I decided that it was about time that I washed my hair), and headed toward the nearest campground.  For 16€, we were granted a parking spot, a small piece of land to pitch our tent, bathroom facilities, and a shower (however, hot water only available from 7am to 7pm).  I learned that with the large amount of vacation time annually given to the majority of French citizens, those who cannot afford to rent a house/hotel at the beach are willing to pay about 300€ to stay the month at a campground.  Not a bad idea in theory; however, such a vacation is considered extremely "boef" (low-class) and risks a certain demise of social status.  It is interesting to find that a situation like camping is indeed rather "out of place" in French society and to get the feeling that such a concept is looked down upon; whereas on the contrary in the United States, camping is just another style of a what could be a great vacation!

After having paid the daily fee and given the key to the gate, the both of us were invited by the receptionist to the "apératif" hosted by the campgound.  I was all for it; however, I could tell that Benoit was somewhat bothered by the fact and prefered to find a restaurant and have a drink in town with more "civilized" people of his social class.  Here, again, is another moment where I ask myself, "where am I," for I find that such distinction and discongrueity between social classes is not in the least as previlent in the United States as it is in France.  One may think that such a behavior is pretentious or rather snobbish; however, having grown up in a country previously ruled by kings and barons for the majority of its existant, I would consider Benoit's attitude rather "normal."

That evening, I learned how the tell the different between a good restaurant and bad one.  Upon entering, one must first take a look at the menu before being seated.  If the restaurant is serving everything from meat, to fish, to crepes, to crustaceans, DON'T EAT THERE.  Usually, when providing a large variety of option, the food at the restaurent is fozen and not fresh.  So instead of eating a seaside pizzeria/creperie/moulerie (a restaurant specializing in mussels--yes, that does exist in France), we decided to eat a restaurant hidden on a back street with only 2 menu options (given by the waitress, there was no printed menu).  Benoit chose to have the mussels and fries and I opted for the macorole, which was caught that morning by the cook himself who was also the brother of the waitress (small town obviously).  After filling ourself to the brim with fresh seafood and a caraf of wine, it was time to head back to our humble home (aka the tent).  Note:  At this point it is about midnight, in the lower 50's, and rainy.  Laura is tired and not a happy camper--especially not having access to a shower for the past few days.  We arrived at the campsite and noticed that the entry gate was indeed securely locked for the night.  The electronic key that we were given by the receptionist supposedly gave us entry access "after hours"; however, was for some reason or another "deactived."  Result = we must park the car outside the campsite and walk "a mile uphill both ways" to our tent...in the cold and in the rain.  Luckily, by that time, our sanity about cracked and we decided to finally embrace the hilarity of the situation and do a "photo shoot" of the both of us posing as homeless people.  Ha ha!

(Benoit and I are temporary moving to his family's beach house today! He is on a worksite at Croisic for about 6 months and decided it was better to "move" there instead of driving a total of 3 1/2 hours everyday.  Being the sensitive gentleman that he is, Benoit was worried that it would bother me that we moved to the beach until my classes start on September 12th.  I told him, "Au contraire! Pas de problème!" I have absolutely no problem living at the beach for 2 weeks in a big, old, stone, fully-equipped French home, are you kidding?!)