A summer in France is supposedly the pinnacle of a vacation. Last summer I landed in Paris, but strayed to a beautiful region I hadn’t known before.

Philippe is a linguist and lapsed academic, now a translator of books and documents, and a wonderful friend. I dare not open my mouth in French, for he speaks fluent Bengali, the other language close to my heart.

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We drove 400 miles to the northwestern tip of France. Into Brittany – I prefer the euphonious French name of Bretagne. Brittany wasn’t even a part of France until the late 15th century; it was an independent duchy with two Celtic languages. It became a giant province of France when the Duchess Anne of Brittany married the French king Charles VIII. No matter that she had earlier wed Maximilian I of Austria by proxy; Pope Innocent VIII blessed it anyway.

Philippe has a pleasant brownstone in Audierne. Three floors, a small garden. I sat at the dining table, drank two cups of coffee and sipped some brandy as I worked on my computer. It was a radiant morning.

Audierne is a tiny community, barely a square mile in area, located picturesquely at the mouth of the Goyen river. For centuries it was a fishing village that exported fish and cereal in exchange of wood and iron. Now it is a charmer of a town, with bustling quays and narrow streets, and a long, sandy Trescadec beach.

The heart of the place is the alluring town centre, with its shops and hotels, bars and restaurants. I walked the streets, right up to the edge of the turquoise water, and sipped Campari at An Teuzar and Picon at L’Iroise on Quai Camille. The baffling variety of crepes, sweet and salty, ready for your palate, bear the hallmark of the august Breton tradition.

You can drive a few miles to Plogoff and traipse to the Pointe du Raz for a stunning view of the sea, or you can drive a few more miles to Quimper and see the 12th century cathedral with its incredible stained-glass windows. Or you can simply sit back and enjoy Audierne.

We have become so used to a frenetic work life that, on a vacation, we schedule a frenzied tour schedule, trying to cover all that there is to see. That may be the surefire way to make sure that you do not see what you would have perhaps most enjoyed seeing. The switch from Paris to Audierne let me see another meaning of vacation: to vacate your itinerary and your schedule, empty your mind and fill your eyes.

I have a suspicion that those who go to a ballyhooed tourist spot and see fifty things in five days are not so much amusing themselves as arming themselves to impress their friends and neighbours. Their rapid-fire ill-composed photos are often a giveaway. Then there are the firmarmed, long-legged strongmen who take a vacation only to brave through jungles, swim in ice-cold channels and challenge uncowed mountain peaks. Good luck, but my idea of a vacation has more to do lifting my spirit than building my muscles.

Heaven knows the pains and pressures of even the simplest life. There are the chores, endless and joyless chores, to do. Complete a report, finesse the tax return, fix the leaking faucet, get the hang of a downloaded app, pay the overdue bill, call the lonely and forlorn aunt, tackle the stupid bug in your smart phone. What was once a pleasure has now become a grating item in your wretched To-Do list: watch the DVD you borrowed from your boss, finish the novel you started six weeks ago, take that pleasant but persistent person to the new restaurant she has set her heart on.

If you are anything like me, your heart longs for a couple of days when there are no deadlines to meet, no challenges to tussle with, just a stretch of time when you can do what you don’t need to do, but want to do. When you can take it easy, dawdle over a newspaper or a frivolous magazine, or take a walk on a backstreet and watch the kids play hopscotch, or nurse a mug of coffee for an hour until it is quite tasteless. Isn’t that what a vacation should be about? Breaking away from rules, doing what you can’t do at other times, and create a private space where imagination and peace have a chance to displace pressure and duty.

“What about a little more coffee?”

Philippe had made a fresh pot of coffee. I was grateful for the refill.

I looked out of the window. A bright, beautiful day in Audierne. A perfect day for doing something special: doing nothing.

A is for Audierne, the town that is also a port, where the sky is blue, the water is bluer, the air is crisp and cool, the people are warm, the crepes are warmer and better, a town that is – in more senses than one – a true harbour. 400 miles to a town of tranquility.

The writer is a Washington-based international development advisor and had worked with the World Bank. He can be reached at mnandy@gmail.com