A short silence greeted her entrance as she pushed the door open and walked in, as people glanced up and gave her a brief stare before dropping their gaze.

The man behind the counter called out a welcoming ‘Bonjour’ as Belinda made her way towards an empty table in the corner.

‘Bonjour,’ Belinda replied politely as she settled BB at her feet under the table. ‘Un café au lait, s’il vous plaît.’

Waiting for her coffee, Belinda studied the blackboards fixed to the wall advertising cassoulet as the ‘plat du jour’ and other meals and snacks, including savoury crêpes. A crêpe and a glass of rosé for lunch would be perfect. She wasn’t that hungry.

‘You like to eat?’ the man asked, placing her coffee on the table.

Belinda hid a smile. Her accent had clearly given her away as English. Good. The locals probably wouldn’t be eager to engage her in conversation now. She certainly didn’t intend to get involved in the local community or make friends with anyone while she was here.

‘Please,’ and pointing to the end blackboard, Belinda ordered a ham and egg crêpe and a glass of rosé.

‘Bien. Five minutes.’

The man returned to behind the bar and called her order through to someone in the kitchen.

Sitting there sipping her coffee, Belinda looked around. It wasn’t a big bar, but it had a welcoming vibe to it, which the wood burner burning away in the chimney recess at the end of the room enforced. She could imagine the place filled with locals on a winter’s weekend evening happily warming themselves by the fire and enjoying a glass or two of Brittany cider. Perhaps the bagpipes currently lying on a table near the fire would be picked up and traditional Breton songs would be sung.

A gust of cold air blew in as the door opened and a chorus of ‘Bonjours’ went back and forth as a group of young men entered and made for the stools around the bar. Watching as the barman served them bottles of beer as he took their food orders, Belinda smiled to herself as she heard the words ‘beaucoup de frites’ several times. Briefly she wondered whether the campsite café had been a ‘chips with everything’ sort of place.

The crêpe, when the barman placed it and her glass of wine on the table, looked delicious and he wished her ‘Bon appétit’ before turning away to collect glasses from a nearby table.

As she ate her lunch, Belinda heard some of the muted conversations around her. The words ‘anglaise’ and ‘étrangère’ caught her attention and she guessed they were talking and wondering about the unknown Englishwoman. Inwardly she shrugged. They’d find out soon enough – village grapevines were the same the world over.