Discovering the Less Crowded Europe: a Slow Traveler’s Tale of Bulgaria
Europe is crowded. Walk through Prague’s Old Town in summer and you’ll move shoulder-to-shoulder with tour groups. Try to photograph Santorini’s blue domes and you’ll wait your turn behind a hundred smartphones. But drive two hours south of Sofia into the Rila Mountains, and you might be the only tourist for miles.
Bulgaria isn’t on most travelers’ radars, and that’s precisely what draws us in.
Eric and I have spent years chasing authentic travel experiences, seeking places where ancient traditions still pulse through daily life, where culture remains unpolished by tourism, and where hospitality flows from genuine curiosity rather than commercial transaction. Bulgaria promises all of this. For one month, we embark on a slow discovery roadtrip, staying in small family guesthouses, hiking Bulgaria’a national parks, visiting monasteries, and surrendering to whatever Bulgaria wants to teach us.
This isn’t a checklist trip. This is a story about what happens when you stop touring and start living somewhere, even briefly. About rakia-fueled conversations that veer from Orthodox mysticism to mushroom theories. About passing carpets down a human chain in medieval streets while locals laugh and photograph the absurdity. About the kind of travel that leaves you different than when you arrived.
A Soft Landing in Sofia
After landing in Sofia, a driver whisks us to our hotel, where we soon meet Irina from Odysseia-In, the company who has designed our trip and will be ensuring everything runs smoothly over the next 22 days. Over coffee, Irina walks us through our itinerary, sprinkling in advice about food, driving and Bulgarian life.
That evening, Oysseia-In’s founder, Lubomir, takes us to dinner and leads us on a walking tour of the city. It’s a gift to see a new city through the eyes of someone who loves his home so fiercely and wants you to love it too. He walks us through empires—Roman, Byzantine, Ottoman, Soviet—each one leaving its architectural signature on the city. Bulgarian history is a story of survival between competing powers, of maintaining identity while surrounded by those who want to absorb it. Standing in Sofia, you feel this tension still. Church domes glitter with Byzantine gold while Soviet monuments loom gray in the periphery. Turkish mosques sit blocks from Orthodox cathedrals. The city refuses to be just one thing.
The next day we wander Sofia on our own. At Alexander Nevsky Cathedral, we crane our necks toward gilt ceilings and try to comprehend the scale. But it’s the smaller St. Nedelya Church that captures something more intimate. We slip in during evening vespers, arriving just as a wedding concludes. The bride and groom stand illuminated while a choir’s voices rise into the dome. Tourists with cameras hover at the periphery, but the moment belongs entirely to the couple, their loved ones, and the centuries of faith that have filled this space before them.
Besides visiting churches and museums, we do what we always do in a new place: we go to the grocery store. It’s an unglamorous ritual, but there’s no faster education in a country’s food culture. We wander the aisles decoding Cyrillic labels at the Central Market Hall and enjoy a light dinner on the second floor, gazing down at people going about their daily routines.
Our rental car is delivered to the hotel (Odysseia-In is ensuring I’m spoiled for all future travel). The driver hands over the keys, warns Eric not to speed, and our slow travel Bulgarian road trip officially begins!
Into the Rila Mountains: Lakes, Monks & Banitsa
We take the ski lift up to the famous Seven Rila Lakes trail, joining what feels like half of Bulgaria’s youth making the pilgrimage on a brilliant late-summer day. The trail winds upward past each successive lake, each one distinct in color and character. An old woman breezes past me smoking a cigarette.
The following day we hike Malyovitsa…
Our family-run guesthouse in the small village of Govedartsi gives us the Bulgaria we’ve hoped to find. Dinner is served outside under covered benches: chopped cabbage and carrot salad, fire-oven bread drenched in olive oil, and trout stuffed with lemon, garlic, and a fish-loving Bulgarian herb that apparently has no English name (Eric insists it was lovage). Dessert is apple cake and homemade baklava.
But the food is almost secondary to the conversations that unfold over shots of rakia. The two brothers who run the guesthouse with their mother have strong opinions on everything: Bulgarian politics, theology & Marxism, the meaning of family, the importance of maintaining traditions in a modernizing world. The paradox of Balkan identity, wedged between East and West. One brother goes on a passionate tangent about “mushroom children”—a surreal theory we never quite understand but nod along to anyway. Their English is limited, our Bulgarian nonexistent, but somehow the meaning carries through gesture and laughter and the universal language of hospitality.
The next morning, Mama shows us traditional gowns worn by her mother and grandmother, then points reverently to an icon of Saint Ivan of Rila. He had appeared to her in a dream, she says, and has protected her ever since. Breakfast is French toast, homemade berry jam, watermelon, and the ever-present Bulgarian cheese.
My favorite nugget of wisdom from our host Nikolaj:
“Children are like mushrooms – you don’t expect them, but they are miracles.”
Banitsa & Bulgarian Dance Lessons
At Deshka Guest House in Gorno Draglishte, a woman teaches us to make banitsa (a cornerstone of Bulgarian cuisine), then dresses us in traditional costumes along with a group of Swiss travelers. Eric gets pulled into a circle dance and plasters a painful “I love my wife and that’s the only reason I’m doing this” smile on his face. I’ll confess, I’m not a fan of sweating in these heavy woolen clothes as we dance under full sunlight, but Elena’s “Brava! Super!” encourages me to sink into this moment. We eat the bread we baked, along with bean stew, salad, cheese and pink fruit juice (my new addiction). And yes, more rakia, which helps Eric relax after his humiliating dance performance.
Pirin National Park: Beauty Cut Short
Our hike in Pirin National Park should be one of the trip’s highlights. We’ve heard the Banderishki Lakes rival anything in the Alps with their turquoise water surrounded by granite peaks.
We arrive at the Vihren Hut trailhead before nine, parking among a handful of other cars, and start up through forests that smell of pine and cold stone. The trail climbs steadily, emerging above treeline into a landscape of loose rock, wildflowers and a crystal clear stream. Eric’s stomach has been upset all morning and I don’t feel well enough to finish the trail, but even a half-day in Pirin National Park is better than most full days elsewhere.
Our hotel in Bansko is hot (no air-conditioning) and the shower drains into the hallway through a small hole in the tile, but the food is fantastic! Homemade soups, grilled meats, fresh salads. I’d happily return to hike this area and stay in a nice little cabin or apartment.
Melnik & Southwestern Bulgaria
Of all the places we visit in Bulgaria, Melnik is the most unique. With its beautifully preserved Bulgarian Revival buildings set amidst an unreal landscape of sand pyramids, it’s like Bryce Canyon and Tuscany got high on mushrooms and had a Bulgarian baby. This is wine country and our tour at Villa Melnik is excellent, offering us 6 wines to taste (our faves are the barrel aged Sweet Wine and a very well aged Bergulé Chardonnay).
Besides having a luxurious guesthouse and access to wineries, Melnik is a good base for visiting Rozhen Monastery, which turns out to be my favorite in Bulgaria. We follow a dry river bed on our hike from Melnik to Rozhen which takes us directly through the sand pyramids.
The Rhodopes: Bulgaria's Working Mountains
The Rhodope Mountains in southern Bulgaria feel fundamentally different from the Rila range. Where Rila is dramatic and alpine, the Rhodopes are forested and alive with human activity. Lumber trucks rumble past on narrow roads. Quarries bite into hillsides.
We pass through Muslim villages in the Rhodopes, where the blue jackets and scarves of the women stand out against the endless forests. It’s a part of Bulgaria many travelers miss, mostly because tourism is still being developed in this region. We visit the village of Ribnovo, where local women demonstrate their traditional wedding ceremony. They give me traditional clothing to try on and treat us to a beautifully prepared lunch. Communicating is a challenge and this unpolished experience is slightly uncomfortable at times, but it’s also what makes this moment a more authentic cultural exchange. We feel lucky to have been welcomed by this community.
We arrive in Kovachevitsa and our itinerary tells us we may need to call our host for help with parking. Staring at the narrow curving cobblestone street that barely looks wide enough for a donkey cart, we understand why. I WhatsApp Asen and he assures me our VW Golf will fit, and it does…barely.
Kovachevitsa is old and crumbly in all the best ways, and it’s easy to see why young artists adorn the streets to paint and draw this ancient beauty. Our guesthouse is lovely, with beautiful views overlooking a terraced garden where our host plays his guitar and sings traditional Bulgarian music. Asen is a talented musician, excellent vegetarian cook and has a bubbly adventurous spirit – if I didn’t know any better I’d swear he was from California.
Driving through Trigrad Gorge is a delight, even though we dislike the hike that day. Limestone cliffs rise hundreds of feet straight up from the road, so narrow in places that you can almost touch both walls. There is a lot of tourism here and it’s much too crowded with Jeeps carrying tourists to scenic viewpoints.
Our next hike is much better. We walk the Eco-Trail Smolyan Waterfalls, crossing wooden bridges through shady forest where water tumbles down amidst autumn foliage. It’s accessible, well-maintained, and blissfully uncrowded. Also uncrowded is Bachkovo Monastery, which has a more Mediterranean style and an aviary.
Central Balkan Generosity & Art
The Central Balkan Mountains cut straight across Bulgaria, protecting age-old traditions and crafts that are unique to this region. We spend one night in Plovdiv, one of the oldest continuously inhabited places in Europe. As the sun sets, we wander the cobblestone streets of Old Town, watching golden light spill across Roman amphitheater ruins and revival-era houses.
Our drive north toward Troyan Monastery takes us through remote landscapes. We stop at a spring flowing from a mountainside, just a pipe and a rough stone basin, and fill our bottles with the coldest, cleanest water we’ve tasted.
We’re staying in Drashkova Polyana with well-known potter Encho and his equally talented wife Velichka (a photographer). Neither speaks English so a young woman joins us each day to act as interpreter, participating in the pottery lessons and joining us for dinner.
Encho is patient and kind and Vili is a ball of energy, especially when she takes us for a “walk in nature” which turns out to be a bushwacking experience through a forest with no trails. I’m reminded of my childhood growing up in the woods of Calcasieu, Louisiana. Vili explains the martenitsas we see tied to tree branches, their red and white threads brightening bare wood and inviting good health.
Our last evening with Encho and Vili is spent visiting with their friends, who speak English and keep us entertained with their stories about running the National Sciences Museum in nearby Cherni Osam.
Veliko Tarnovo: the Soul of Bulgaria
If Bulgaria has a heart, it might be Veliko Tarnovo. The medieval capital perches above the Yantra River, fortress walls climbing hills in dizzying layers. Our guide Elitsa brings the history alive, walking us along the fortress walls while explaining centuries of tsars, battles, and Bulgaria’s brief golden age before Ottoman conquest.
Elitsa meets us early to join a group of volunteers helping move a collection of hundreds of kilims (traditional rugs) across town, by hand! We form human chains, passing priceless rugs across streets and down staircases while locals gawk at us.
On Samovodska Charshia (the crafts street), we wander cobbled lanes lined with workshops where artisans throw pottery, carve wood, and weave kilims using traditional methods. I spot a rattle designed after Thracian artifacts and we spend all our remaining levs in the shops here.
We visit icon painter Bonev, whose dog celebrated his birthday today (he shows us the dog’s passport). When I tell him I want to buy one of his daughter’s paintings, he shakes his head. “This is precious. It is special only for me.” So we buy one of his icons instead — the Madonna with three hands, a symbol of miracles.
Everywhere we stay, we encounter generosity that leaves us humbled. Hosts give us handmade gifts: lace doilies, a ceramic bell, rose oil lotion, plum jam and apple cake. Guides invite us to dinner and a music concert with friends. These aren’t transactions or tourist interactions. They’re invitations into Bulgarian life, freely offered.
Nessebar: Where Mountains Meet Sea
Our final stop carries us to the Black Sea and the ancient town of Nessebar. We walk cobblestone streets past Byzantine ruins and medieval churches. The town is too touristy for my liking, it’s a UNESCO World Heritage site, but visiting in shoulder season gives us space to appreciate it without crowds. We sit at a seaside restaurant eating grilled fish and watching waves break against stone foundations laid two thousand years ago.
Why Bulgaria Belongs on Your Map
Bulgaria maintains a strong national identity precisely because it has been squeezed between empires for centuries. It’s neither Eastern nor Western Europe but something distinct: Orthodox Christian with Ottoman influences, Slavic with Thracian roots, European but Balkan to its bones.
You feel the culture here. It’s present in the food. Mekitsa for breakfast, kavarma for dinner, shopska salad and fresh bread. Cheese that tastes like grass and sunshine. Every meal generously portioned, every host watching to ensure you’re eating enough. It’s experienced through the people who take pride in showing you their country, not as a product packaged for tourists but as a living, evolving place.
And practically speaking, Bulgaria remains affordable. Our month of guesthouses, meals, and experiences costs less than two weeks in Western Europe. It’s uncrowded and beautiful in ways that haven’t been photographed into cliché.
Bulgaria is perfect for anyone craving slow travel and authentic encounters. For people tired of mass tourism. For those who want to sit at a family table, attempt broken conversations, learn to stretch dough, and pass carpets down human chains for reasons you’ll never quite understand.
Why We Keep Returning to the Balkans
I feel the need to revisit the Balkans every few years to keep myself in balance, to remind me of how I was raised. Midway through this journey, I see an old woman stooped over using a broom with no handle, sweeping the path in front of her simple home. It brings to mind my mother who has a similar broom at home that she insists on using, despite the handle barely hanging on with duct tape. That value of not replacing things just because something is slightly broken resonates strongly with me.
This is what the Balkans give me. These places feel essential in ways that more polished destinations don’t. They ground me. They remind me that usefulness trumps perfection, that the best things in life can’t be curated or purchased, that there’s dignity in making do with what you have. That national strength lies not with economic power but with the heart of its people.
Plan Your Own Bulgarian Journey
If this resonates, if you’re ready to trade crowded landmarks for mountain villages, curated experiences for genuine hospitality, consider Bulgaria for your next European adventure.
Ready to design your own Bulgarian odyssey? Visit Trips to Walkabout for custom itinerary planning that honors slow travel and authentic connection. And read our review of Odysseia-in to see why we love working with this company.
A Royal Detour to Versailles and Our Parisian Finale
We leave the Loire Valley behind with a final sweep of countryside views in our rearview mirror, and head toward the grandeur of Versailles. Today we’re walking the shaded lanes of the Estate of Trianon. Despite the crowds, it is quite peaceful here.
Versailles' Trianon Estate
The Estate of Trianon feels like a secret garden tucked behind the overwhelming grandeur of the main palace. Originally built as a retreat from the rigid court life of Versailles, it was a place of privacy and relative simplicity—at least by royal standards. The Grand Trianon, designed for Louis XIV in 1687, is an elegant pink marble pavilion with columned arcades and mirrored salons that open onto geometrically manicured gardens. In contrast, the Petit Trianon, given by Louis XVI to Marie Antoinette, is more intimate, surrounded by her dreamlike English-style gardens, a grotto, and the whimsical Queen’s Hamlet.
Despite its idyllic setting, one modern annoyance remains: it’s surprisingly hard to find a public bathroom here. We wander through rose-covered trellises and lush green paths looking for signage, only to end up in a game of hide-and-seek with the elusive toilets. Eventually we find one—tucked behind a building with no clear sign—and the lines are worthy of a Disney theme park. So yes, enjoy the peaceful beauty of Trianon…but make sure to pee before you enter!
Our Versailles Hotel
Hôtel la Residence du Berry in Versailles may not be the grandest hotel in town, but it’s full of charm and local character. Housed in an 18th-century building, the hotel once belonged to a notary of the French royal court, and the structure retains much of its period character—creaky wood floors and a snug billiard room. We’re in the Saint-Louis district, one of the oldest and most historic neighborhoods in Versailles. This area is quieter than the tourist-thronged streets near the palace gates, but it’s rich in atmosphere with its cobbled lanes and cafés where locals linger.
Palace of Versailles
Our next morning is devoted to the Palace of Versailles. Even with so much written about its opulence, nothing quite prepares us for the scale of it—the gilded gates, the Hall of Mirrors, the endless formal gardens.
Walking through the Palace of Versailles gardens feels like stepping into a romance novel—I can imagine the trysts that went on here back in the day. Gravel paths stretch in perfect symmetry, flanked by sculpted hedges, marble statues, and bubbling fountains that appear around every corner. The grand canal gleams in the distance, drawing our eye across a vast, manicured landscape where everything feels impossibly precise. Classical music lingers in the air as we wander from one ornate grove to the next, each one revealing its own secrets.
In the Hall of Mirrors, we’re surrounded by 357 mirrors reflecting rows of crystal chandeliers, gilded statues, and towering arched windows that flood the room with light. Once used for royal ceremonies and diplomatic receptions, this was the stage where French power was performed—with grandeur so dazzling it leaves no doubt who ruled.
The Gallery of Great Battles in the Palace of Versailles is a grand, vaulted hall lined with towering canvases that chronicle France’s military victories from the Middle Ages through the Napoleonic era. Walking through it, I’m dwarfed by the scale of the paintings and the sheer power on display. Versailles does exactly what it was built to do: impress, overwhelm, and remind you who’s in charge. And in this case, who’s in charge isn’t just a king—it’s an entire system built on the foundations of wealth and war. Every gilded ceiling and triumphant battle scene reinforces the idea that power isn’t something quietly held; it’s something declared and defended at great cost. My lasting impression of Versailles is that it’s not just a symbol of royalty, it’s a monument to the belief that authority must be visually, materially, and militarily undeniable.
The true highlight of our night in Versailles isn’t gold-plated royalty. It’s dinner. Chez Tiouiche is tucked away on Rue Saint-Julien, just feet from the palace gates, and it steals the show. We step inside the warm, tiled interior and are instantly transported to North Africa. The staff glide around the tables like hosts at a holiday feast. This family-run gem is a warm hug, treating everyone like family as they serve us generous portions of richly spiced Moroccan couscous, tajines, and kefta.
3 Nights in Paris
Returning the rental car proves less enchanting. Sixt Versailles might offer excellent customer service, but the logistics are maddening because there’s no place to park when returning a car. Eric parks illegally while I dash inside, and we both agree—next time, drop the car elsewhere. We opt for an Uber into Paris. With too much luggage for a train and no patience left after the rental car debacle, it’s the right call.
Within the hour, we’re checked in at Le Relais Saint-Germain. Our top-floor suite has a postcard-perfect view of Parisian life below—terrace cafés, people lingering over wine, the steady hum of city energy. The staff here are warm and genuine, the kind who ask you how your day went, and the breakfast is excellent. The elevator is minuscule—Eric and I can barely squeeze in together—but it adds to the charm. This hotel is a good Parisian base, ideally placed for wandering Saint-Germain, Notre Dame, the Louvre, and Luxembourg Garden.
Wandering the City of Light
We enter Notre Dame Cathedral as the doors open, through the entry line in minutes and soon standing beneath the soaring arches, sunlight filtering through the rose windows. There’s a reverent hush in the air and the lyrics of “God Help the Outcasts” from Disney’s Hunchback of Notre Dame plays in my head. Across the street, Saint-Chapelle beckons with a long line and entry fee, but the weary faces in line convince us to skip it.
We spend the rest of the day simply wandering. Inside Galerie Vivienne, one of the oldest covered passages in Paris, I stumble into Librairie Jousseaume, a dreamy little bookshop with dusty spines and literary magic stacked to the ceiling. I could happily spend hours here, lost among the shelves. We also spend time in The Red Wheelbarrow, a cherished English-language bookstore located in the 6th arrondissement. It was founded by Canadian-born Penelope Fletcher, who opened her first used bookstore when she was 19.
Next stop is E. Dehillerin, the holy grail for cooks and culinary nerds. Eric is in his element, running his hands over copper pans and chef’s knives. Founded in 1820, the shop is endearingly old-school and refuses to cater to trends. Sadly, our suitcase won’t accommodate a stockpot, so we leave empty-handed, but content.
We grab lunch at Filakia, a quick bite in the vibrant Montorgueil neighborhood in the 2nd arrondissement of Paris. This area buzzes with energy—narrow pedestrian streets lined with cafés, bakeries, thrift shops, and lively terraces. My zucchini pita is fried to perfection, the tzatziki is bursting with lemon, and paired with a cold mint tea, it’s a perfect moment of refreshment on a warm Paris day.
Market Shopping in Paris
Our last day in Paris brings a slower rhythm. We join Silvia, dynamic guide and owner of Frenchxican, for a food and market tour at Marché d’Aligre. Her deep relationships with the vendors, her storytelling, and her obvious love for this neighborhood make the tour feel less like a business and more like a morning walk with a friend. We sample pastries, coffee, cheeses, charcuterie, fruits, and wine, meeting butchers and bakers who obviously adore this petite Mexican transplant.
I love everything Silvia includes in her tour, but my favorite is the mini merveilleux from Aux Merveilleux de Fred. These airy meringues with crème fouettée are unlike anything I’ve ever tasted. I tell Eric these will be my final request for food on my death bed. There’s a shop in New York, wonder if they taste as sinful when shipped.
Afterward, we drift through Le Marais, Île de la Cité, Saint-Germain-des-Prés, and the Latin District, pausing in cafés, bookstores, and patisseries along the way. We walk along the Seine, browsing the bouquinistes, which offer all sorts of unexpected treasures. Dinner at Le Saigon d’Antan offers good eavesdropping as a university professor and his students get into a debate and two female students with different accents discuss what it’s like living in Paris. The city transforms at dusk—buildings glowing, street musicians playing beneath bridges, and couples kissing and walking hand-in-hand along the Seine.
Paris is not a place to “do.” It’s a place to be.
By the end of our stay, we know this much: the magic of Paris isn’t in its sightseeing. It’s in its side streets and tiny cafes and eateries. It’s in people-watching and wandering the many green spaces where Parisians stop to enjoy life. Same for the rest of France – this is a place best explored when you have time to do so. Don’t try to squeeze everything in, you’ll miss the magic of France if you do.
Did you miss our stories about France? If so, here they are:
Brittany Coast Adventures: GR®34 by Car & Foot
Eric and I’s first introduction to the Brittany coast is FANTASTIC! In fact, it’s our favorite part of the entire journey in France. Don’t get me wrong, we love Normandy, but there is just something extra special about Brittany.
La Richardais
We’re staying in La Richardais, a small town perched just inland between Dinard, Saint-Malo, and Dinan, and it turns out to be the perfect base. From here, we can easily explore this region of Brittany while remaining tucked away from the busier tourist corridors. There’s a peaceful rhythm in La Richardais, with the Rance River estuary just a few feet away from our door, and excellent food markets close by.
The reason we truly love La Richardais, however, are the owners of Le Berceul. Annie and René have created a hiker’s oasis, with that perfect mix of social and private space, beautiful rooms and garden, and wonderful conversation. Annie keeps us well fed with her wonderful French breakfasts and crepes and René patiently converses with us in a mixture of French and English (when we’re struggling). We especially love that guests have a kitchen, separate from the owners, so we’re able to cook for ourselves. Well, Eric cooks.
Dinard & Saint-Malo
In Dinard, I feel like I’ve stepped into a more elegant era. This seaside town, once the summer playground of British aristocrats, still exudes Belle Époque charm with its grand villas, manicured gardens, and a stylish, slightly nostalgic atmosphere. What I love most is the Promenade du Clair de Lune, a magical walking path that curves along the rocky coastline. It’s wide and easy to stroll, with sweeping views across the bay to Saint-Malo’s ramparts, sailboats bobbing in the blue, and tropical plants tucked into the stone walls.
Saint-Malo is just across the water. From Dinard’s port, we can hop on a quick ferry and be at the base of the old city walls in under ten minutes. But despite the short distance, the two towns feel entirely different. Saint-Malo is rugged and fortified, a corsair city rebuilt stone by stone after the war. It pulses with history and tourism, busy with creperies, souvenir shops, and tides that surge dramatically against its walls. Dinard is softer, quieter, with palm trees, art galleries, and a daily rhythm that feels more relaxed and residential. Dinard is definitely more our vibe.
Dinan
We head into Brittany’s interior today to visit Dinan, perched above the river with medieval ramparts and half-timbered houses. It’s a place where I want to slow down and simply exist. From La Richardais, the scenic drive is full of cyclists and lush vegetation. I feel like I’m uncovering layers of Brittany—coastal elegance in Dinard, maritime might in Saint-Malo, and storybook medieval charm in Dinan. Each town is distinct, yet all are stitched together by the tides and history of the Rance.
It’s a national holiday and sunny, which means EVERYONE is outside. When we arrive on the outskirts of Dinan, along the river, people are overflowing into the street. Eric hits a woman’s purse with our car because she is standing in the middle of the road and refuses to move, even though she has space to do so. I take sick pleasure when she glares at us after being forced to move out of the road. This is what a public holiday in a beautiful location of France does to people, it turns us into animals.
We arrive early to get parking under the bridge in Dinan, and we wander streets and the medieval fortress walls which date back to the 1200s. It’s one of those European towns where you truly step back in time, and the fact that there is a musician in traditional medieval dress playing a psaltery adds to the ambiance.
Hiking the GR®34
One of the reasons for this trip is so we can explore the long-distance coastal hiking routes of France. Having day hiked sections of the GR®223 in Normandy, I’m excited to walk the GR®34 which begins at Mont Saint-Michel and ends at Saint-Nazaire.
We squeeze in a 5-mile hike from Fort de la Latte to Cap Frehel en route to our next lodging. The fort is a 14th-century castle fortress built to defend the coast of Brittany. With its drawbridge, towers, and sea-battered ramparts, it feels more like a movie set than real life.
Perros-Guirec
Moving further along the Brittany coast to the beach town of Perros-Guirec. Our apartment is perfectly situated one block from the beach and access to the GR®34 trail. This is the Côte de Granit Rose, one of the prettiest sections of the GR®34, so it’s not surprising to see so many people on the trail on a Monday in early May.
The weather is glorious as we hike from Perros-Guirec, stopping for lunch at the beach in Saint-Guirec before retracing our steps back to the apartment.
If you’re interested in hiking the GR®34, the best way is by walking from inn to inn with luggage transport service. We’ll cover that soon on Trips to Walkabout and I’ll link that here once the guide is ready.
Hiking Brehat Island
Brehat Island is a walker’s dream come true, which is why it’s often included in walking holiday itineraries for Brittany. We hike for 6 hours and still don’t walk everything on the island. There are toilets throughout the island and plenty of food options.
There are multiple departures each day for Brehat but it is a small boat, so we book a few days in advance. Parking gives us a headache until we realize we’re supposed to park at the lot a few feet before the port, NOT the one closest to port.
Fripperie Shopping in Brittany
Heading further west to the Crozon Peninsula, we break from hiking and to go shopping. We stop in Lannion and then move on to Morlaix, where we discover the pleasures of second-hand (fripperie) shopping at Chests of Joy. This is the mecca of circular economy in France. We have to drive around twice just to find a parking spot, it is so busy!
Crozon Peninsula
It gets more difficult to find good quality lodging the further west we go in Brittany, even in the popular surfer town of Crozon, but we luck out with an apartment tucked quietly away in the heart of Crozon. While I love the central location, if we return to this peninsula I’ll look for lodging in Camaret-sur-Mer. The beach in Camaret is gorgeous and our favorite hike is accessible from it.
Cameret-sur-Mer to Pen Hir Point
Our favorite hike near Crozon is along the GR®34 from Cameret-sur-Mer to Pen Hir Point. With stunning cliffs, old military bunkers spread throughout, and the smell of wild roses and honeysuckle, this is the most enjoyable hike of our trip!
Just before we reach Pen Hir Point, we stumble upon a large group of French gendarmes conducting maneuvers on what has to be the prettiest beach we’ve seen in France so far. It’s Victory Day, the perfect day to hike a place that has such significant military history and one that honors the enduring spirit of the Breton people. We enjoy our picnic lunch as we listen to the Gendarmes singing on the beach.
The path winds past rusting gun emplacements and overgrown bunkers from World War II, remnants of the German Atlantic Wall. At Pointe de Pen-Hir, the cliffs rise dramatically above the sea and we reach the Cross of Pen-Hir, a stark memorial to the Free French Forces. The views are vast and wild, and the silence here is heavy with memory.
Cap de la Chèvre
Weather is not ideal when we hike Cap de la Chèvre, we almost turn back because the wind is so strong and the start of this hike has some steep cliff drops. But I’m glad we don’t, because the views are fabulous.
We especially enjoy walking the beach at Plage de la Palue, with its dunes and wildflowers. It’s a popular surfing spot and I can see why, it has that untamed wild vibe that speaks to most surfers.
Sainte-Marie du Ménez-Hom
Departing Crozon, we stop at Sainte-Marie du Ménez-Hom, a somber looking granite chapel far from any major attractions. Outside, the stone is mottled with lichen and age and an iconic Calvary cross constructed in 1544. The calvary crosses are a hallmark of Breton religious art. The chapel’s interior glows with colorful gilded statues of lesser-known saints and warm wood ceilings. It’s striking and I wonder, how many people know about this place?
Locronan
From Ménez-Hom, we wind our way down to Locronan, a village that feels like a movie set for Beauty and the Beast. The church of Saint-Ronan, with its Gothic arches and sculpted façade, anchors the town. Window boxes spill with flowers and we linger here longer than expected, drawn in by the quiet beauty, the scent of buttery kouign-amann from the bakery, and the overwhelming sense that nothing here has changed in a very long time.
Auray & Saint-Goustan
Our last base town in Brittany is Auray, more specifically the old port of Saint-Goustan. What strikes me about Auray is how naturally it fits into the landscape—perched above a bend in the river, surrounded by soft green hills and ancient forests. Its location isn’t just picturesque, it’s strategic. This was once a vital port, a place where goods from the sea came inland and Breton farmers brought their wares to trade.
From here, it’s easy to explore all of Morbihan—the standing stones at Carnac, the Gulf’s island-dotted waters, the medieval heart of Vannes—yet Auray itself feels quietly central, like a place everything once passed through and never really left.
We really slow down here, people watching from our balcony overlooking the old port and wandering the cobbled streets with their timber-framed houses. We watch kayakers push ashore from the same harbor where Benjamin Franklin once landed in 1776. It’s the perfect place to sip our cider as the tide slips in, feeling wrapped in something timeless that speaks to our wayfaring souls.
Next stop: Chateaus of the Loire Valley and Paris!