Brest & Its Océanopolis Aquariums, Brittany

It was tempting to stay another night at the motorhome aire near Ploumanac’h. Although there’d been some road noise during the day, the evening was silent and we slept like logs. Being only 100-or-so metres from the nearest beach and the coastal path, we could have easily killed another chilled-out sunny day on the north Brittany coast. Instead, we pulled out our ageing Michelin map of France and spied OCEANOPOLIS*** above the letters BREST. Three stars = worth seeing in Michelin code. A quick check on park4night revealed free, overnight parking right outside the gates with lotsa good reviews. Sorted, we had a plan.

Before leaving we made a quick foray around the nearby Super U and an adjacent Mr Bricolage (hardware store), which came complete with an impressive range of diving masks, fins, spear guns and pêche à pied (shore foraging) equipment. Even after years of wandering about French shops, we still come across fascinating food, equipment, magazines and ways of taking care of customers.

Stocked up, we headed south through the argoat, Brittany’s inland swathe of trees, cow fields and ripening corn. It took about 90 minutes to cross from one coast to another, the second half on a speedy, freebie dual carriageway, beautiful! Some jigging around as we entered the outskirts of the city and a wee bit of navigating a forest of height barriers rolled us in here (N48.388833, W4.435107). How welcome did we feel as we passed the Motorhomes and Coaches Only sign?

Once we’d slotted Zagan into one of the huge parking places and coaxed the fridge into lighting on gas, we had a shuftee around. Wow. We’re not just right outside the aquarium gates but we’re also alongside the sea and a huge marina and sea sports complex. Our feet are in the sea (as the French say). Folks are jogging and walking the promenade. A few hundred meters away the Tour du Monde restuarant is packed endlessly with punters enjoying the house speciality: fish ‘n’ chips, I kid you not.

The whole area is well planted with greenery and kept spotless too. Perhaps not surprising, as there are about a gazillion pound’s worth of yachts moored and hauled out here. Not your Côte d’Azur mega-yachts, but some really beautiful boats nevertheless.

There’s no limit on how long you can stay here either. A neighbouring motorhome from Cornwall is here for ten nights (there’s a service point 800m away, and they have a car to collect groceries). Their 19 year old son’s a world-class windfoiler (like wind surfing, but with a gravity-defying underside wing which lifts the board from the sea at speed). He’s here training with the French national squad. His folks are here supporting him in their motorhome, as they do across Europe, and he’s hoping to make the 2024 Olympics in Paris, hat’s off to the lad, bonne chance mon ami.

While we could have headed straight into Océanopolis after arriving, we weren’t in a rush (yep, the free parking by the sea has helped slow us down again!). We’ve not (yet) headed into the city itself, as we’re not being tempted in by write-ups. Not that there’s anything wrong with the place, it sounds perfectly nice. It seems more the fact the place was pretty much flattened in WW2, so almost all of it’s been rebuilt since. Having just written that, Ju decided to take off for a jog into the city, so I’ll update it with her thoughts when she gets back.

She’s back! Her thoughts: it’s a nice city, unless you’re going to visit the museum there’s not that much to see other than cafes, restuarants and the like. There’s the castle and ramparts, but much of the port’s military and inaccessible. A short visit running through part of any city isn’t going to do it justice of course, those were just her quick thoughts. She grabbed a few photos below to give an impression of Brest.

As the port was being used to launch U boats in WW2, a ton of bombing raids took place here. Later, once the Allies had landed at Normandy, it was besieged for 3 weeks by the Americans in what must have been the most god-awful street fighting. Having been fortified to hell and back, even the outer streets were dangerous and the Americans took to blowing holes in walls through houses (the Germans had forced the civilians to leave) to advance on pillboxes. British flame-throwing tanks were used too, a horrifying prospect for anyone facing them. Before the final surrendour, the Germans blew up what remained of the port, rendering it useless during the rest of wartime. After suffering the same horrific experience at other ports, the Allies decided to ‘contain’ other French ports which stayed in German hands until the end of the war. News to me that, I’d assumed the Allies had liberated all of France.

So, instead of grabbing a bus into town yesterday we headed off on foot to the Jardin du Conservatoire Botanique National de Brest. Botanical gardens, as I’m guessing you twigged, about a 1 mile walk inland to the gates. Plants aren’t really our thing. Only my dad’s green fingers have kept the flowers thriving in the yard outside the Cooler at home. It was also about 28 degrees while we were in the garden’s too, so the hothourses (the serres, which were the only part you needed to pay for) weren’t tempting either. But we enjoyed ambling along the valley of exotic, huge-leaved greenery, with infant school nippers being taught on the grass under the trees.

Back at the van, Ju’d eyeballed the weather and seen a possible overnight storm coming in. A line of pine trees above us were weighed down by the world’s heaviest cones, each of which looked like it might easily crack a skylight. So we shuffled back into one of the other spaces. Unlike most aires in France, motorhomes in this parking area seem to leave in the afternoon and it empties out, presumably as they’ve done the aquarium and are shifting elsewhere for the evening. The place was only half full by the time we hit the sack. The closed car park barrier prevented any potential ned action (the ‘youf’ hammering around the car park in cars or mopeds) and we again had a great kip. No storm came, but we’re glad we moved anyway, as huge pine needles have been invading the Zagan, blown in off his roof via the skylights!

This morning we fortified ourselves with breakfast and (for me) strong coffee brewed up with the beautiful little red hob-top cafetiere we picked up on a tour of Italy years ago. Pupils suitably dilated, we walked across to Océanopolis and wound our way through an empty zig-zag of ropes to the payment kiosk. Reviews for the aquarium are largely positive, but clearly the place gets rammed and disgrunted reviewers moan (fairly I guess) they couldn’t actually see the animals for the backs of heads. We were lucky. The weather is good and the schools go back tomorrow, so it was pretty quiet in there.

We handed over our €21 each and a burly bloke checked our bags, at which point my brain switched to Spanish for some unfathomable reason, ‘si’ and ‘gracias’ all of a sudden. Sigh. Almost inside, Ju spotted a sign advertising the myOcéanopolis app, so we hooked up to the free WiFi and downloaded it. Top tip: download it and the audio guides before you come folks, and remember to take your headphones. Although there were reams of written English-language info at the start of the tour, it petered out later and the audio guides would have been handy, but we’d no headphones so the app didn’t help much. Another tip: if you want to see feeding time, use the info in the app to time your visit.

Four hours later we stumbled out, blinking in the light. Wow. The place was built in 1990 and refurbished in 2000, so even the done-up bits are 22 years old. Yep, it shows in places, especially compared with the sleek lines and enormity of L’Oceanogràfic in Valencia (blog post here). But was it worth it? Oh yes. Easily. Spread across three specific areas, the complex showcases aquatic animal and plant life in Brittany, the Tropics and the Polar regions. An incredibly diverse collection made up of 10,000 animals.

We’d read as much as we could. We’d watched the audio-visual displays (in French, but some have subtitles and some use music only). We’d played about taking coral cuttings with a virtual reality system. We’d stared into Abyss Boxes holding animals which need the high pressure of the far deep. We’d eyeballed the dryer bits of info about the research and conservation being carried out. We’d even given the tat shop a good crack of the whip (some nice clothes in there, lotsa stuffed animals for the nippers). But after four hours, we admitted defeat. I was done. Even though the otter feeding (who knew sea otters were that big, or that laid-back?) was in just 20 minute’s time, it wasn’t enough to keep us from beating a retreat.

There are 76 aquariums in there. SEVENTY-SIX! They just kept coming! We sat time after time hypnotised by the smooth-swimming creatures the other side of two-inches of plexi-glass. We’d tried and (largely) failed to photograph their collections of sharks, penguins, seals and sea lions. The animals just kept on coming! At one point we figured that must be it, the final display, the climax. But no, there was more amazing stuff around the corner. Hey, I love these places, I really do. I’m tempted to say I could spend all day in there, but even I was getting a tad fish-flayed.

Back in the van I cracked into another coffee to re-ignite some feeling in the old bones and Ju decided to run into the city. At least ten miles there and back, in training for the Nottingham half marathon when we’re back home. My feet at still tender so I’ve left her to it and am holding the fort here, in case the van gets rushed by badduns. In other words, I’m playing about with the laptop and waiting for the water to heat up so I can grab a shower.

The plan now is (probably) to head for the Crozon Peninsular tomorrow, to the south of Brittany to have a look at some spots recommended by blog readers. Thanks as ever for your suggestions. We don’t always take ’em up, for a range of reasons, but we do check ’em all out and appreciate you taking the time to pass on your experience.

Cheers, Jay