FotoMalie

A quiet Sunday in early September took us to Fort Breendonk, one of the best-preserved WWII prison camps in Europe. Behind its thick walls, more than 3,600 people were imprisoned during the German occupation.

Walking through the dark corridors, sleeping quarters, isolation cells and courtyards, history feels uncomfortably close. Many of the original spaces remain, while photographs and personal stories give names and faces to the people who were held here.

One small detail stayed with me most: the horses in the stables had names. The prisoners had numbers.

Not an easy place to photograph or visit, but an important one. A place that shows why remembering still matters.

We’re spending the weekend with family near Saint-Hubert, in the Belgian Ardennes. The weather is grey and drizzly, and definitely not very warm. Still, I’ll happily take this over 37°C.

Today we walked about 10 kilometres through forests and open meadows, keeping an eye out for tracks and other signs of wildlife along the way.

I’m always surprised by how beautiful the Belgian Ardennes are. Even on a rainy day. Maybe especially then, when the forests are deep green, the paths are quiet and everything feels just a little wilder.

A 6 km walk from Wanne to Le Faix du Diable after some very welcome rain.

It has been exceptionally dry here for almost two months, and you can see the landscape struggling. The rain felt even more significant because, only about 20 kilometres away, a huge wildfire has been burning across the High Fens, the largest nature fire Belgium has ever seen.

By the time we started walking, the rain had stopped. The roads and forest paths were still wet, the fields looked a little greener and the air finally felt fresh again.

Our destination was Le Faix du Diable, an imposing rock formation, hidden in the woods outside Wanne. Six quiet kilometres through a landscape that desperately needed the rain.

With what is happening in the High Fens so close by, climate change no longer feels like something happening far away. It is becoming increasingly visible right here, in places I know.

Today was a little trip down memory lane.

When I was a child, my parents had a holiday home in the Belgian Ardennes. From the age of ten until I was twenty-four, we spent almost every holiday there. It was sold about twenty years ago, but I still try to return every now and then. Strangely enough, I appreciate the place more now than I did back then.

This time, I went with my husband and my mum. We walked around the area where our cottage used to be and later visited Stavelot.

The forest paths are mostly still where I remember them, but the landscape around them keeps changing. Where there used to be tall trees, a young forest is now growing. And the small trees I remember from years ago have become the tall ones themselves.

There’s something slightly strange about seeing a place you know so well change like that. You recognise it, but at the same time you don’t. And of course, while the forest has been changing all those years, so have I. Going back makes you very aware of how much time has passed, and of the fact that I'm getting older too.

We started the day with a short boat trip into the Golfe du Morbihan, the large sheltered bay that connects Vannes with the Atlantic Ocean. Soon the city disappeared behind us, giving way to small islands, boats and distant shores.

It was also a perfect introduction to Brittany’s unpredictable weather. We left in sunshine, and only minutes later found ourselves in a cold wind under grey skies. Then the sun came back again.

In the afternoon, we explored Vannes itself, wandering through its old streets, medieval gates and colourful half-timbered houses.

A day between water and city, with several seasons along the way.

We started the day in Lorient, at the former submarine base that is now also home to the Cité de la Voile Éric Tabarly. The huge concrete bunkers are still there, together with the French submarine Flore, a reminder of the much more recent history of this part of Brittany.

From there, we travelled much further back in time.

Around Carnac, thousands of standing stones stretch across the landscape in long rows. Nearby, in Locmariaquer, we found the remains of the Grand Menhir Brisé. Once around 20 metres tall, this enormous stone now lies broken into four pieces on the ground.

After a day surrounded by submarines, menhirs, dolmens and burial mounds, we ended in Vannes, walking through the old streets and medieval gates of the historic centre.

A journey through very different chapters of Brittany’s history, all in one day.

We started the day in Locronan, a small town of old granite houses, cobbled streets and quiet squares. It is one of those places that seems to have changed very little over the centuries.

From there, we drove west to the Pointe du Raz, where the landscape could hardly be more different. High cliffs drop into the Atlantic, with the Phare de la Vieille standing alone among the rocks offshore.

Near the tip of the headland stands Notre-Dame-des-Naufragés, a monument dedicated to those lost at sea. It feels particularly fitting here, overlooking waters known for their powerful currents.

We ended the day in Quimper, wandering through the city beneath the twin spires of Saint-Corentin Cathedral.

From medieval granite streets to one of Brittany’s wildest stretches of coast, and back to the city again. All in one day.

We started the day exploring the Crozon Peninsula, where old military remains are scattered along the coast. Its strategic position near the entrance to Brest meant that this coastline was fortified again and again over the centuries. Today, old walls, batteries and bunkers have become part of the landscape.

From there, we continued to Camaret-sur-Mer, a small harbour town where old wooden fishing boats have been left to slowly decay beside the water. Rust, peeling paint and exposed wooden frames make them strangely beautiful.

Nearby, we stopped at the Alignements de Lagatjar, rows of standing stones dating back thousands of years. Another reminder of just how many different layers of history you find in Brittany.

We then continued towards the Pointe de Pen-Hir. Here, the military past appears again at Kerbonn. French coastal defences were built here from the late 19th century, and during the Second World War the German army added concrete bunkers and gun emplacements.

Close by, the huge Cross of Pen-Hir commemorates the Bretons who joined the Free French Forces during the war.

But in the end, it was the landscape that stayed with me most.

At Pen-Hir, the land suddenly drops into the Atlantic. Jagged cliffs stretch along the coast, with the rocky Tas de Pois rising from the sea. Between all that grey rock, purple heather was already colouring the hillsides.

Another completely different side of Brittany's coast. That strangely looks alot like Ireland.

One of the things I love about Brittany is how quickly the landscape changes. Follow the coast for a while and it can look completely different again.

We started our day at Ploumanac’h, on the Pink Granite Coast, where enormous pink rocks are scattered along the shoreline. Some are rounded and smooth, others seem to balance impossibly on top of each other. Between them stands the Mean Ruz lighthouse, overlooking the sea.

Not far away, we found a very different kind of stone: the Menhir de Saint-Uzec. The seven-metre-high standing stone dates back to the Neolithic period, but was later Christianised with a cross and religious carvings.

The journey into Brittany’s distant past continued at the Cairn de Barnenez. Built almost 6,000 years ago, this enormous stone burial monument contains eleven passage tombs. Walking alongside it gives you a remarkable sense of just how old it is.

We ended the day much further inland, at the small Chapelle Saint-Michel in the Monts d’Arrée. Gone were the pink granite rocks and sheltered bays. Here, the landscape was wide, open and almost empty.

Sea, granite, prehistoric stones and windswept hills. All in one day, and all Brittany.

We started the day at the small chapel of Kermaria-an-Iskuit, home to a remarkable 15th-century Danse Macabre. In the fresco, Death leads people from every rank of society in the same dance. Rich or poor, powerful or humble, in the end everyone joins in.

From there, we headed towards the coast for a walk along the cliffs of Plouha, with wide views over the sea.

Later, we stopped near an oyster farm, another familiar sight along this part of the Breton coast.

Low tide always creates a very different scene. All along Brittany's coast, the sea retreats remarkably far, leaving small boats resting on the sand until the water returns. A sight that still feels unusual when you're used to harbours with pontoons and jetties.

We ended the day with a short stop at the ruins of Beauport Abbey near Paimpol. We didn't go inside, but even from the outside, the old stone walls and Gothic arches were worth the detour.

A day of medieval paintings, cliffs, tides and ruins, all within a small corner of Brittany.

From Fort La Latte, we followed the coastal path towards Cap Fréhel, a beautiful walk of around 10 kilometres there and back.

The trail runs high above the sea, through heathland coloured purple and yellow in early summer. Dark clouds followed us most of the way, always looking as if the rain could start at any moment.

It never did.

Just cliffs, wildflowers, sea views and that dramatic Breton sky.

Saint-Malo is a city built to face the sea. A maze of granite streets sits behind massive ramparts, while old forts rise from the rocks just offshore.

At low tide, you can walk across the sand to Fort National and explore stretches of coastline that disappear beneath the water only hours later. From the city walls, the forts, islands and beaches unfold below you, with the sea constantly redrawing the landscape.

Once home to sailors, explorers and corsairs, Saint-Malo still feels closely tied to its maritime past. And despite being largely destroyed during World War II, the old walled city was carefully rebuilt.

A place shaped by tides, stone, history and the sea.