Once through the Porte du Guichet, the path begins, gently climbing towards the heart of the medieval city. The uneven cobblestones, polished by centuries of traffic, still echo with the rumble of carts and the pounding of hooves. With each step, one feels as if one has stepped back in time, as if this path has preserved the memory of those who have traveled it before me: merchants from the ports of the Rance, pilgrims on their way to Mont-Saint-Michel, or simple inhabitants of Dinan coming and going under the protection of the ramparts.

The path widens in places, offering a few glimpses of the walls, whose massive stones draw a striking line against the Breton sky. The air, steeped in history, accompanies the climb, and one senses the medieval soul of the city coming closer as the slope rises.

There is something solemn about this climb: an initiatory passage, where the traveler leaves the outside world to enter a closed, preserved world, almost outside of time. At the end of this paved path, a whole medieval universe is revealed, ready to reveal its narrow streets, its half-timbered houses and its watchtowers.