We get some tidying up done before taking the easy 90 minute drive along the dual carriageway and the familiar series of roundabouts into Roscoff, where we call into the passenger terminal to check our booking is all OK.

Two miles away is the aire we will stay on tonight. It is quite busy but we squeeze in between two vans opposite the dried out bay. We have a quick snack for lunch then set off to walk into Roscoff. Entering from a different direction than we are used to we see different things. Our first stop is at the Museum of Jonnies, not a collection of French Letters, but an exhibition of the lives and history of the Roscoff onion farmers known as 'Jonnies'. These families grew the sweet, red onions in the alluvial soil then carried strings of them on bicycles, travelling to England and Wales to sell them. Some married English girls and not all of the wives came to France so families were raised whilst divided by the channel. Their trading necessitated a reliable sea transportation system from which Brittany Ferries as established, putting Roscoff on the map for tourism. If the town ever looked more beautiful than today then good luck to whoever saw it. The stone and slate glows in the sunshine, flowers and painted shutters add the colour and in the the dried out harbour white hulled boats dazzle us in their high and dry locations. There is a festival of the sea today so the front is pedestrianised and decorated with flags. We are attracted to a stall with a large, animated crowd cheering noisily. In the middle is a large table strewn with strands of seaweed serving as lane markers for...... crab racing! After people have shelled out on the betting, the winner by a claw is carried gingerly back to the officials' tent [or pot ferme] for the 'owner' to claim his prize.

Further on, artists are practising their craft; one is copying an old postcard of Roscoff onto a razor clam shell using brushes with only 3 or 4 hairs.

We watch as the tide comes in, at first percolating damp patches and tiny pools through the sand, then gently rolling over it until one by one the boats float off the ground, seaweed slops about until it stand up in the water and the first few fish skim over the ground waiting for food to rise from the seabed. As the harbour starts filling a man with three dinghies full of bagged seaweed wades them across to his van waiting on the slipway.

At 17:00 there is a parade of boats, in reality half a dozen fishing boats with bunting and a few wooden yachts, then the smartly dressed faithful gather for mass on the quay, complete with wallpaper table alter, on which sits cross and candles, a couple of jugs of wine and two huge baguettes.

We favour more substantial fare so make our way through the busy streets, [where Ali buys a couple bags of red onions] to the Marie Stuart restaurant where we enjoy steak, chips and wine.

By the time we get back to the van, water in the bay is lapping up to the footpath and there is a beautiful sunset to round off our last day on tour.