The GR34 with Txuri: why coastal hiking in Brittany is the perfect trip for those who travel with a dog

France has a reputation for being tricky with dogs in public spaces — a reputation that, in Brittany, is fairly unjust. The region has a long tradition of outdoor life — hiking, kayaking, fishing, camping — that makes animals in the countryside a normal part of the landscape, not an exception requiring justification. In small fishing ports, on the terraces of crêperies, in campsites by the sea, Txuri was welcomed with a spontaneity that some supposedly more pet-friendly destinations have never managed.

The GR34 is the backbone of that Brittany. Laid out for the most part along the paths that customs officers used in the eighteenth century to monitor smuggling from the sea — which is why many sections are known as the Sentier des Douaniers, the customs officers' path — it runs along virtually the entire coastline of the region from one end to the other. Two thousand kilometres is a lot of variety: there are rugged sections above the open Atlantic, tranquil stretches of saltmarsh, endless sandy beaches, and sections of pink granite that look as though they belong in a fairy tale. You don't need to pick just one, but some deserve to come in the right order on any first visit.

As for dogs: along most of the route they can go off-lead without any problem. The only exceptions are the signposted environmental protection zones — certain headlands and wetlands with nesting wildlife — where the signage is clear and a lead is compulsory. Outside those areas, the path is yours and your companion's in equal measure.

There are three ways to reach Brittany from Spain, and all three make sense depending on where you're starting from and how much time you have.

The quickest is a flight to Rennes or Nantes — the two airports with frequent connections from Spain — and a hire car at the destination. Rennes is about ninety minutes' drive from the north coast; Nantes, slightly less from the south coast. This is the option that makes most sense for two people with a rucksack and a tight schedule, provided your dog travels well in the hold. Do check before you buy the ticket: every airline has its own policy, and the conditions and fees for animals in the hold vary considerably.

Driving from Spain is the natural alternative if you want to avoid the hold. From Madrid it's roughly fourteen hours to the Breton coast; from Barcelona, around twelve. The route passes through the French Basque Country, the Landes and the Loire estuary, which are interesting in their own right. Txuri has made the journey several times, and what she enjoys most are the stops at French motorway services, which have fenced green areas for dogs that are far more generous than you'd expect.

The most special option — and the one I'd most recommend if you're coming from the Cantabrian coast — is the ferry. Brittany Ferries operates routes from Santander and Bilbao to Saint-Malo and Roscoff, the two most convenient entry ports for the north and west of Brittany respectively. Dogs travel in a dedicated pet cabin or on deck depending on the vessel's regulations; check directly with the ferry company for the exact conditions before booking, as the options vary by route and season. The crossing takes between ten and twelve hours depending on the destination, and waking up to see the Breton coast already on the horizon is a very fine way to start a trip.

France is a member of the European Union, so the requirements for travelling with a dog are the same as for any other EU destination: an implanted microchip (compulsory in Spain for years now, so that's already sorted), a European Pet Passport issued by an authorised vet, and a valid rabies vaccination recorded in that passport. No quarantine, no additional permits, no special veterinary certificates.

The one thing worth checking before you leave is that the rabies vaccination expiry date isn't cutting it too fine. If it expires during the trip or in the days leading up to it, a booster well in advance sorts it out without any fuss. It's the sort of detail that can derail your departure from the ferry terminal if you haven't looked at it.

On leads and collars: France requires a lead in urban public spaces and in the signposted protected zones along the GR34. Elsewhere on the path, outside those areas, dogs can go off-lead freely. Txuri always has a retractable lead to hand for the moments when it's needed; in practice, we used it far less than we expected.

If there is one section of the GR34 that justifies the trip on its own, it is the Presqu'île de Crozon. This peninsula in the Finistère department — «the end of the earth» in Breton, and the name fits — has cliffs of up to a hundred metres dropping straight into the open Atlantic. There is no transition: above, heather and the path; below, the sea. Txuri kept peering over the edges with a curiosity that kept me on edge the whole time, though she never showed the slightest intention of jumping.

The path around the Presqu'île follows practically the entire coastline of the peninsula and can be walked in two or three full days, based in the town of Crozon or at one of the campsites scattered along the shore. The landscape changes considerably from one section to the next: the cliffs at Pointe de Pen-Hir are the most dramatic and photogenic, with vertical rock needles rising from the sea known as the Tas de Pois; the bay of Douarnenez to the south is gentler, with a different quality of light at dusk — more orange, more still. Outside July and August, the path is virtually deserted: you can walk for hours without passing anyone, just the wind and the gulls.

The Presqu'île is also one of the sections where dogs have the most freedom. The signposted protection zones are few and clearly marked; everywhere else, the path is open country. Txuri would surge ahead at every rise in the ground and then turn to check we were following — her way of saying she found our pace a little slow.

On Brittany's north coast, between Saint-Malo and Saint-Brieuc, Cap Fréhel is one of those places that stays in the memory out of all proportion to how long you actually spent there. The path leading to the headland crosses an expanse of ferns and heather that turns deep purple and ochre in autumn, with the white lighthouse in the distance and the smell of wet earth mixing with salt off the sea. The coast here is made of reddish slate — a colour you weren't expecting, and one that contrasts with the dark blue of the sea with an almost painterly force.

About three kilometres east of the cape along the GR34 stands Fort La Latte, a fourteenth-century medieval castle built on a tongue of rock jutting into the sea. It is one of those places that looks implausible in photographs and is even more so in person. The castle can be visited, and the area around it — the paths along the cliffs surrounding the fortification, the approach to the drawbridge — is perfectly accessible with a dog. Txuri inspected every crack in the moat with her characteristic thoroughness.

This section of the GR34 is particularly good for anyone who wants to combine walking with a bit of history and more varied scenery. The cape and the fort are within walking distance of each other, and the area has campsites and small rural guesthouses where you can stay without a car if you've arrived by public transport from Saint-Malo.

The Pink Granite Coast, between Perros-Guirec and Trébeurden in the Côtes-d'Armor department, is one of those corners of Europe where geology does the most spectacular work. Great rounded blocks of pinkish granite — some several metres tall, shaped by millions of years of coastal erosion — emerge from the sand between the coves and pile up on the headlands in formations that have no name but probably deserve one. The late-afternoon light on the pink rock and the blue sea is among the most photogenic anywhere on the Breton coast.

The Sentier des Douaniers that runs along this coastline is very accessible: the terrain is less rugged than on the Presqu'île de Crozon, with gentle rises and descents between the rocks and the white sand beaches. It is the section I would most recommend for anyone whose dog isn't very experienced on trails, or simply for going more slowly and savouring each cove without the pressure of covering kilometres.

On beaches: in September, and generally outside the period from 1 July to 31 August, most beaches on the Pink Granite Coast allow dogs freely. During those eight summer weeks, certain designated bathing areas have restrictions. The signage is clear; if there's no prohibition sign, your dog is welcome. Outside those specific zones, the coast belongs to everyone.

The Pointe du Raz is technically the westernmost point of mainland France, but the geographical explanation doesn't prepare you for what you feel when you arrive. The wind is always strong, the sea always churned up, and there is an energy to the place — the land ending abruptly in the ocean, the currents colliding in the Raz de Sein passage — that has no equivalent anywhere else on the GR34.

The area falls within the Parc Naturel Régional d'Armorique, which means dogs must be on a lead on the signposted paths. It isn't an especially burdensome restriction: the path that circles the headland is narrow and quite exposed to the wind, so the lead makes practical as well as regulatory sense. Txuri didn't object; I think the wind had too much of her attention for her to think about running.

The walk from the main car park to the point takes about twenty minutes, but the section of the GR34 that follows the southern cliffs is worth staying on for longer. The view from the cliff tops towards the Île de Sein — which on clear days appears on the horizon as a low, dark line — is one of the most powerful anywhere on the Breton coast. There is something about that landscape that makes the rest of the world feel quite far away.

Accommodation in Brittany is, for anyone travelling with a dog, one of the most rewarding parts of the trip. Breton campsites are of a quality that surprises anyone who only knows those on the Spanish Mediterranean coast: well-maintained facilities, grassy shaded pitches, in many cases views of the sea or direct beach access, and an attitude towards animals that rarely involves asking whether they're allowed. In the shoulder season — May, June, September — you can turn up without a booking and find a pitch; in August it's worth reserving in advance, as some campsites fill up almost completely.

Gîtes ruraux are the second natural option. In France the gîte system has a level of standardisation — official certification, quality criteria reviewed periodically — that makes searching more reliable than in many other countries. The great majority of Breton gîtes accept dogs, and many say so explicitly in the listing. They are particularly practical for anyone who prefers having their own kitchen and more space than a tent.

For hotels, the reality is that they are the least flexible option. Hotels in small fishing ports more often accept small dogs; for a Labrador the size of Txuri, a campsite bungalow or a gîte is infinitely more comfortable and considerably cheaper. In any case, always confirm before booking: even accommodation that says it accepts dogs may have weight limits or a maximum number of animals that don't appear in the first paragraph of the description.

Brittany has a reputation for rain, and it earns it. Atlantic fronts roll in regularly throughout the year, and it is perfectly possible that a five-day trip will include three days of intermittent showers. The right attitude is to bring proper waterproofs — not an emergency cagoule — and to accept that some days you walk wet. Txuri, being a Labrador and having an essentially indifferent relationship with water in any of its forms, finds rain an incentive rather than a problem. The phenomenon of the dog handling bad weather better than the owner is one that repeats itself with some frequency in Brittany.

Autumn deserves a special mention: September and October are probably the best weeks to walk the GR34. Fewer people on the path, the ferns and heather at their most vivid, beaches freely accessible for dogs without summer restrictions, and weather that alternates clear, blustery days with misty mornings that have their own particular appeal.

Breton food is among the finest in France, which is saying something. The crêperie is the go-to establishment: the galette de sarrasin — the savoury buckwheat crêpe, filled with egg, cheese and ham or whatever the menu offers — is a dish of such simplicity and satisfaction that it could justify the trip on its own. Breton cider, served in a ceramic bowl rather than a glass, is the natural accompaniment. Many crêperies have a terrace, and on terraces dogs are welcomed with an easiness that requires no negotiation. Txuri would wait patiently under the table for a piece of galette to come her way — which never happened involuntarily, but did happen deliberately on several occasions.