tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-45725978659321954112024-03-20T22:26:56.793-07:00The Cyber Tour GuideBecause life is an adventureJuliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07365391659955928592noreply@blogger.comBlogger143125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572597865932195411.post-26514136674635298722018-08-15T08:38:00.000-07:002018-08-15T08:45:22.164-07:00just because...I am finding it quite a challenge to relax into life here in Brittany.<br />
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Correction, I am finding it quite a challenge not to feel guilty, as I relax into life here in Brittany. Even after fourteen months of being back. Even with health issues. Even when I should be eligible for a retirement pension, had the Tory govt not shafted me.<br />
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Let's not think about the last two.<br />
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So, I am here, living in my own home, in a small, supportive community of French and English people, and I am surrounded by lush green countryside, and there are beautiful beaches a mere 45 mins drive away.<br />
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Have I talked already about Trégasel?<br />
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And I am working as a freelance proofreader and teacher of English and French, although I have yet to start providing English lessons. I have improved one student's knowledge of French and, most importantly, passed on some of my enthusiasm for learning second, third and even, as is my plan, fourth languages.<br />
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So no corporate cage for me now. Been there, done that, got the cancer. <br />
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And although I have a few issues with my roof - that wind from the west that brings Atlantic storms has always been troublesome - and even though people sometimes misbehave and cause trouble, yes, even those old enough to know better, especially those old enough to know better.<br />
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For goodness sake, live and let live!<br />
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And it is summer and the living is easy and we have not endured the heatwaves that have struck much of Europe, neither have we had long periods without rain, this is Brittany, we simply refuse to go for long periods without getting wet, and so the garden is growing nicely...<br />
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Especially the brambles and nettles and dandelions...<br />
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And I am able to eat fresh food from my garden daily: French beans, tomatoes, peppers, aubergines, courgettes, red cabbage, lettuces, raspberries, strawberries, and not fogetting the broccoli that I am happily sharing with a convoy of caterpillars who have taken up residence and are munching through the leaves leaving me the florets for my suppers. I discovered that if I cut a floret and leave the plant it grows three more to replace it...<br />
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I never knew that.<br />
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My modest little potager has been prolific this summer. I am even being talked about round the village because I have grown a great many tomatoes outdoors. In the open air. Without chemicals. Without a greenhouse. Such talk could soon lead to my being considered a witch...<br />
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Won't be the first time.<br />
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And yet, this relaxing and being able to do as much, or as little, as I please, with no-one to whom I must be accountable, with no-one making demands on my time, with no-one harbouring any expectations of me...<br />
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It takes some getting used to.<br />
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<br />Juliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07365391659955928592noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572597865932195411.post-10498260579044963382018-07-08T14:12:00.001-07:002018-07-08T14:12:27.120-07:00With the tide...High tide at Tregastel yesterday was around 2pm.<br />
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I'd been there the day before with a friend who hadn't swum for decades and whose worsening diabetes has made it hard to her to be active, which is, of course, a vicious circle. Anyway, we went and she tried to swim with the aid of a small board the Rags used when they were kids and then she settled for walking in the water with the aid of sticks.<br />
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I swam for 40 minutes but it wasn't relaxing with Tashi barking from the beach and me having to keep an eye on my friend...<br />
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Still, we had fun: we drank the flask of coffee I'd made and ate the marmalade and bacon sandwiches and hard-boiled eggs from her hens that she'd brought, and then we came home. Me, a little reluctantly, that sea was so tempting. <br />
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Which is why I was back at Tregastel yesterday to enjoy a few hours by myself and with no-one to worry about, no friends, no dog, just me and the sea. And a venomous purple jelly fish. And a lot of large fish in the shallows. And several scuttling crabs among the strands of seaweed. And some fellow bathers, all French, all friendly but all respectful of each other's quiet time.<br />
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I ate a tuna salad that I bought at the Carrefour Express in Tregastel but I was impatient to be in the sea so I didn't wait for high tide, I went out to meet the incoming water. And I swam, and swam, and swam some more for three hours, with a couple of breaks for coffee...<br />
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I decided that I would like to be able to swim out to the pink castle at high tide.<br />
That's my goal.<br />
It is not just a physical, but also a mental challenge: to be brave enough to swim out of my depth, to trust myself to be able to do it. <br />
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One day...<br />
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Meanwhile it was such a treat, such a pleasure. I hadn't realised just how much time and energy I devote to caring for and worrying about my friend. It was good to take time for myself.<br />
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Juliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07365391659955928592noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572597865932195411.post-41263625444127823882018-06-13T14:10:00.001-07:002018-06-13T14:10:55.100-07:00Something I've learned...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
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Today I needed to get out of the house. I've been stressing a little recently and have worked hard in the garden, harder than is good for me, too hard, to be honest. I've worn myself out.</div>
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The weather forecast for the coast was not promising: Rain, cold winds, heavy cloud cover.</div>
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But I have my waterproof riding coat and spare trainers and, anyway, my skin is watertight so I packed a flask of coffee, a picnic for the dog, towels and my camera and we set off.</div>
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As we neared Tregastel the sea was shrouded in mist and it began to rain but by the time we pulled in to the car park on the Sentier des Douaniers the mist was lifting and the sun was breaking through. </div>
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So much so that I left my coat in the car and set off walking with my sweater tied round my waist.<br />
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Goodness, it was busy on the path.<br />
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But not too busy for this lady...<br />
She reacted to my attention by turning tuwards me and raising her pincers.<br />
I'd never seen a stag beetle in the flesh, as it were, and I was fascinated, albeit from a distance.<br />
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I love rock climbing. My knees are a little too stiff for me to risk it right now but I have plans...<br />
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It was hot on the path, we were quite relieved to see the lighthouse because that means we're close to Ploumanac'h and a food stop.<br />
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The manager of the restaurant where I'd hoped to eat was offhand with me, They were full, he said, ignoring the empty tables nearby, I could wait but he had no idea when I would eat. I chose not to be offended, or put off and five minutes later I was seated at my table and sipping a glass of Kir framboise.<br />
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It was as I was enjoying a turkey steak in a cream sauce and a salad and fries that I noticed the sign informing me that the restaurant does not accept bank cards. Merde! I was not flushed with cash so I declined the desert menu and a coffee.<br />
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Anyway, there was that flask back in the car.<br />
<br />
Tashi and I set off back along the Sentier des Douaniers and it happened again. A couple stopped me and started to ask me for directions and advice on where to eat and where do I live and, excuse us asking, but you're not French, are you? Where are you from?<br />
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I advised them to try the restaurant where I'd just eaten, and then to head for Tregastel and the aquarium, to pop in to the nice shop near the Forum and then to make for the beach near the pink castle. They had not heard of the pink castle. How is that possible? They were from Rennes...<br />
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And no, I told them, I am not French.<br />
I did not admit to being English, I was not in the mood for a serious discussion about Brexit.<br />
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I drove to my beach, OK, my favourite beach and listened to a radio play while I waited for the tide to rise high enough for a swim. There were a lot of people sitting gazing out to sea and I felt a little shy but, heck I thought, none of them know me. I stripped off to my swimsuit and waded in to the water.<br />
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And it was bliss.<br />
Sheer bliss.<br />
<br />
I was right to quit that toxic corporate cage and return to Brittany.<br />
And to think, I wasn't sure I'd have the courage to come back!<br />
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<br />Juliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07365391659955928592noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572597865932195411.post-37273406392271633722018-06-08T13:19:00.002-07:002018-06-08T13:19:43.514-07:00The Best Laid Plans...That last boat trip I took to les Sept Îles was lovely, but it was too early for the puffins so I invited another friend to come with me today.<br />
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H. loves the sea, she lived in Cornwall, had her own boat, surfed, rode horses, in fact I think her childhood was pretty much like a Famous Five adventure. Including the lashings of ginger beer.<br />
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Now she does not enjoy good health, the years take their toll on all of us, and that can be hard for someone who has always been active. Hard and frustrating. That's why I try to get her to join me for a little adventure whenever I can. I think that having fun, getting out and playing like kids, is good for us both.<br />
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Today she drove us to the coast, through Lannion, ignoring the signs to Trégastek, through Perros Guirec, ignoring the attractions there, and on to the beach at Trestraou.<br />
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I'd promied myself a cheese burger and fries: as with the kouign amann at Trégastel, I only eat cheese burger and fries at the restaurant at Trestraou, but the walk from the car was tough for H. and I became anxious and so we halted at the first restaurant.<br />
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It wasn't a good choice. Lesson learned. No shortcuts in future. <br />
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While we ate, the beautiful blue skies and sunshine were wiped out, leaving a grey fog in their place.<br />
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Who stole the sea?<br />
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After lunch we set off for the boat.<br />
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The beach was busy, there were teenagers playing volleyball on a temporary court without a net...<br />
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and younger kids learning to sail, and kayak, and paddleboard and, well, all possible variations of things to do on the sea...<br />
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When we reached the reception area for the boat trip the news was not promising...<br />
We would have to wait to see if the sea mist lifted before the boat captain would decide whether it was worth sailing to the islands. After an hour our trip was called off. Never mind, I told H. We don't want to go out with such limited visibility, we wouldn't see the pink granite coastline, we wouldn't see the pink castle, we should try again next week...<br />
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So, back to the car with several stops to rest and to admire the sailboats that we could just see through the mist. And, and this I found very moving, to witness someone in an electric wheelchair, completely wrapped and with an oxygen cylinder strapped on the back and a drip and line disappearing under the covers, accompanied by three attendants, slowly trundling along the path by the sea.<br />
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I told H. that I'd like to be able to do that when I am nearing the end of my life: have the Rags drive me to Tregastel for a last 'walk' along the beach and a last swim in the sea. Well, maybe not a swim but they could sit me on a rock so that I could dip my toes in the water. <br />
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So we did not see the puffins. Not this time.<br />
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We drove to Trégastel where even the pink castle was shrouded in mist.<br />
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I walked as far as I could, I climbed over the rocks and I still couldn't see it.<br />
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So I walked the length of the beach and collected all of the plastic rubbish that I could find: lengths of blue plastic string, a couple of empty nappy bags, some fishing net, odds and ends, all of which take around 400 years to break down and which will, eventually, end up in the stomachs and gills and meat of sea creatures. Which is why I collect it and dispose of all that I find on the beach.<br />
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And then home.<br />
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I don't know about H, but I am exhausted. In a very good way.<br />
<br />Juliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07365391659955928592noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572597865932195411.post-25087676103716050612018-06-06T12:58:00.000-07:002018-06-06T12:58:02.114-07:00Significant numbers...I am not superstitious, not really, but I have found that significant things happen to me on certain dates. Sometimes happy events, such as The Ragazza being born (14 days after her due date) on the birthday of my brother, my cousin's husband and my brother-in-law, and then my having left work to take maternity leave on the same date that I was, ten years later, offered my first job back in IT after the career break..<br />
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That kind of thing.<br />
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Sometimes they are not happy events.<br />
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June 6th was the date on which we buried my father and on that same day my mother-in-law died, and three years ago it was the date on which I had my first chemotherapy.<br />
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I started my day feeling sad, remembering my Dad and Millie, my crazy, lovely mother-in-law. And a little spooked because, well, once you've had cancer you can never really relax. So I decided to get out of the house. I made a flask of coffee, packed a towel and my swimsuit and some food for the dog, made sure my camera and pocket money were in my little bag, and set off for my No 1 Playground, Trégastel. <br />
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First, a coffee and kouign amann, no guilt at the salted caramel topping because I only eat these pastries at Trégastel and this was lunch... <br />
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And I was planning to head for my favourite swimming pool.<br />
Or rather, the beach by the pink castle.<br />
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People, the sea was cold. The air temperature was cold. And there was a cold breeze, as you can see by the outfits other people were wearing as they walked past.<br />
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But I had come to honour my Dad who would never have passed on the opportunity to do something fun, and so I changed into my swimsuit and headed to the water.<br />
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It wasn't as cold as my first wild swim of the year last month, but it was still cold. I told myself, 'Come on! Think of winter in Lapland and how cold that was' and I swam. And swam. And swam some more. It was exhilarating and relaxing, and it made me laugh as I splashed on my back, and then did a few 'lengths' between the rocks.<br />
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I swam for 30 minutes and as I walked out of the sea the water actually felt warm.<br />
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So, wrapped in an old bathrobe (perfect for warming after a cold swim, I sipped my coffee while Tashi (released from the car where he must wait because he gets very worried when I disappear under the waves) enjoyed a drink and a picnic of dried dog food... <br />
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And I gazed at my favourite view, that pink castle...<br />
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And then I dried and dressed and we set off to drive to the Sentier des Douaniers for a brisk walk.<br />
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It was very busy, Many other people were enjoying the pink granite coast.<br />
I must have looked like a local: several people asked me for directions, a couple wanted to know where they could find a restaurant, someone asked me to look at her map and explain where she was.<br />
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And one couple praised my accent, told me they assumed me to be Swedish, laughed when I told them I am a Brit and wished my countrymen good luck with Brexit, they are going to need it. <br />
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There were a lot of flowers...<br />
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Tashi doesn't care about the flowers, he prefers to be snuffling in the sand.<br />
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And then it was time to turn round and head back to the car.<br />
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I've been back in Brittany for almost a year. When I first walked this path twelve months ago I struggled a little, both with the distance and with the impact on my arthritic knees. Today I almost skipped back to the car. Almost. give me another few wild swims and fun walks and I will be skipping. <br />
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I like to think my dad and mother-in-law were with me in spirit today.<br />
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I know they would have approved of the adventure. Juliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07365391659955928592noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572597865932195411.post-8474138546832943292018-05-27T04:03:00.000-07:002018-05-27T04:03:19.689-07:00Stirring Up the Hornet's Nests...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
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Hornets...</div>
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Or, more precisely, Asian hornets:</div>
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<table class="infobox biota" style="background-color: #f8f9fa; border-spacing: 3px; border: 1px solid rgb(162, 169, 177); clear: right; color: black; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.5em; margin: 0.5em 0px 0.5em 1em; padding: 0.2em; width: 200px;"><tbody>
<tr><th colspan="2" style="background-color: #ebebd2; min-width: 15em; text-align: center; vertical-align: top;"><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Taxonomy_(biology)" style="background: none; color: #0b0080; text-decoration-line: none;" title="Taxonomy (biology)">Scientific classification</a><span class="plainlinks" style="float: right; font-size: smaller; margin-left: -3em; padding-right: 0.4em;"><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Template:Taxonomy/Vespa" style="background: none; color: #0b0080; text-decoration-line: none;" title="e"><img alt="e" data-file-height="16" data-file-width="16" height="16" src="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/7/74/Red_Pencil_Icon.png" style="border: 0px; vertical-align: middle;" width="16" /></a></span></th></tr>
<tr><td style="vertical-align: top;">Kingdom:</td><td style="vertical-align: top;"><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Animal" style="background: none; color: #0b0080; text-decoration-line: none;" title="Animal">Animalia</a></td></tr>
<tr><td style="vertical-align: top;"><i>Clade</i>:</td><td style="vertical-align: top;"><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Arthropod" style="background: none; color: #0b0080; text-decoration-line: none;" title="Arthropod">Euarthropoda</a></td></tr>
<tr><td style="vertical-align: top;">Class:</td><td style="vertical-align: top;"><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Insect" style="background: none; color: #0b0080; text-decoration-line: none;" title="Insect">Insecta</a></td></tr>
<tr><td style="vertical-align: top;">Order:</td><td style="vertical-align: top;"><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hymenoptera" style="background: none; color: #0b0080; text-decoration-line: none;" title="Hymenoptera">Hymenoptera</a></td></tr>
<tr><td style="vertical-align: top;">Family:</td><td style="vertical-align: top;"><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vespidae" style="background: none; color: #0b0080; text-decoration-line: none;" title="Vespidae">Vespidae</a></td></tr>
<tr><td style="vertical-align: top;">Genus:</td><td style="vertical-align: top;"><i><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hornet" style="background: none; color: #0b0080; text-decoration-line: none;" title="Hornet">Vespa</a></i></td></tr>
<tr><td style="vertical-align: top;">Species:</td><td style="vertical-align: top;"><span class="species"><i><b>V. velutina</b></i></span></td></tr>
<tr><th colspan="2" style="background-color: #ebebd2; text-align: center; vertical-align: top;"><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Binomial_nomenclature" style="background: none; color: #0b0080; text-decoration-line: none;" title="Binomial nomenclature">Binomial name</a></th></tr>
<tr><td colspan="2" style="text-align: center; vertical-align: top;"><b><span class="binomial"><i>Vespa velutina</i></span></b><br /><small style="font-size: 11.9px;"><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Am%C3%A9d%C3%A9e_Louis_Michel_le_Peletier,_comte_de_Saint-Fargeau" style="background: none; color: #0b0080; text-decoration-line: none;" title="Amédée Louis Michel le Peletier, comte de Saint-Fargeau">Lepeletier</a>, 1836</small></td></tr>
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(Wikipedia, May 2018)</div>
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Asian hornets arrived in France in a container of pottery from China and have now become a serious menace, not least to bee-keepers because they can destroy a whole hive within hours.</div>
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I like bees.</div>
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In fact, I love bees, so much so that I planted a bee-friendly garden, installed bee nesting boxes and refuse to use pesticides that harm bees. And I have ornamental bees on the trellis in my courtyard.</div>
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I also run a bee clinic on chilly mornings when bumblebees are too cold and hungry to fly when they are gently moved to a source of sugar water and left in the sun to recover which, happily, they do. </div>
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I am even considering naming my house La Ruche.</div>
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Last year several Asian hornets appeared in my garden, especially during late evenings when the outside light was on in the courtyard. We duly trapped them and a friend killed them. I couldn't kill them, they are huge and make a horrible crunchy noise when they are squashed. No, Benoit is my hornet assassin. </div>
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In the autumn a friend and I went to a nearby village to watch a film about bees, Lovely film, very informative and eco-minded. And the musical score was ... I digress. At the end of the film a man stood up to lecture us on the threat posed to bees by Asian hornets, showed us a (dead) nest and urged us to make traps to catch and kill them.</div>
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I was an instant convert.</div>
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So far this year I have caught five Asian hornets, one of them a queen, which means no nest for that particular royal lady!</div>
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This morning it was time to refill the traps... </div>
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1/3 beer (to dissuade bees from entering the trap)</div>
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1/3 white wine</div>
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1/3 grenadine syrup</div>
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et voilà...</div>
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The mixture goes into an empty water bottle, the cap fits on top to protect it from the rain and to enable it to be hung from a branch, and here it is in the back garden. This one catches the most hornets so I am quite fond of it. I also have one in the courtyard. Belts and braces, that's me.<br />
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A friend, over here for the weekend, emailed this morning that she fears she has a hornet nest in her roof. Would I give her the recipe for the traps? But she is leaving in a few minutes to return to the UK so they will have to wait until July. OK?<br />
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Not OK. I told her that if she has a nest she should not wait until July. I suggested she drop off her key and I will arrange with that local bee-keeper to go round and kill the nest. And put up a few traps to make sure it's not replaced before her return.<br />
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Fingers crossed she takes me up on the offer because otherwise these are the hornets she may find swarming around her little house when she returns...<br />
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Juliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07365391659955928592noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572597865932195411.post-39330284479478109852018-05-21T01:43:00.000-07:002018-05-21T01:44:00.806-07:00Sunday lunch at Le Yaudet...<br />
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One of my Tribe does not enjoy good health, and it worries and frustrates me but, as I keep reminding myself, it is up to her to look after herself, no point me trying to drag her to the pool/beach/lake/forest. </div>
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But I do try to persuade her to come out with me to play at least once a fortnight, once a week in summer, and yesterday she agreed to come to Le Yaudet, by the easier route, none of those steep hills and sharp bends in my little car, thank you very much. </div>
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Perhaps I should explain that my father, in his wisdom, taught me to drive in the Lake District and so my first experiences of a hill start involved me clutching the steering wheel and screraming in terror as his old Fiat rolled backwards down a 1:4 slope towards a flock of curious sheep.</div>
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Hence my lifelong fear of steep hills.</div>
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Especially in a car with a 1.2 engine and two passengers.</div>
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So, I collected her at midday and we set off to the coast via Lannion.</div>
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And so engrossed in chatting were we, and so accustomed to driving to Trégastel am I, that we took the wrong turning and found ourselves taking the 'scenic route' through the quieter streets which are, I noticed, quite worth exploring on foot at a later date.</div>
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Finding the river, we drove along and again took a wrong turn up the wrong hill. This time we turned round and retraced our route because Le Yaudet is tricky to find even when I am on the right road, on the wrong road, well, we could have ended up in St Malo.</div>
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See: I have no sense of direction.</div>
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Back up the right hill we then got hopelessly lost and took another scenic route which involved some steep hills and some white-knuckles on my part, and then we were approaching the village and breathing sighs of relief.</div>
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"It's always an adventure with you Julia!" my friend commented.</div>
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I just smiled and tried to unclench my jaws.</div>
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We drove to the car park where, on the last visit, I had left my new camera on the roof of the car and merrily driven almost all the way home before wondering at the metallic clunking sound it made as it fell off and into a ditch, never to be seen again.</div>
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The car park was full. Of camper vans (very popular here) and motorbikes and families parked up and picknicking in that typical French way, as in, seated at a table with a cloth on it and laid as if for lunch with royalty. They take eating seriously in France. Even al fresco.</div>
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We found a spot in the shade of two camper vans and set off to find lunch.</div>
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Past this, my favourite house in the village and one which I promise myself I will try to buy when I win the lottery... </div>
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Over the narrow bridge where, minutes before, a camper van going one way had encountered an SUV going the other and neither party had seemed keen to reverse.</div>
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The view is spectacular, over the river estuary which river, incidentally, has its source near my village and one of its streams runs through my friend's little wooded valley.</div>
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And to the restaurant.<br />
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Where I ordered a Kir for myself and the owner brought a carafe of water for Tashi.<br />
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His life is so much larger here. Back in the UK there would be thrice daily walks round the green and down to the church, sometimes a longer outing, most often he would be at home while I was stuck in the office. Even at weekends. The company was very mean with their salaries and weekend working was a necessity to pay the high rent and property taxes that are part of life in the UK.</div>
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Now he has a wonderful life.</div>
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and he deserves every day of it.</div>
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Bah! Enough of That Time...<br />
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My friend's galette, salmon and seasonal vegetables in a cream sauce.<br />
Mine was the usual with Breton sausage, potatoes and red onions.<br />
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While we were eating I thought I spied Terry Pratchett approaching.</div>
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But no, as he drew near I could see it was not.</div>
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Still, I smiled at him as he passed by. </div>
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"Are you going to have a crèpe?" my friend asked me.<br />
Well, I did not drive all round Lannion and up several wrong hills not to indulge. Besides which, as with the kouign amann at Trégastel, I only ever eat indulgent deserts at Le Yaudet. So of course I was going to have one.<br />
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With a salted caramel sauce, caramelised apples, a crunch topping and salted caramel ice cream.<br />
And a Breton flag.<br />
I forgot to slip that in my bag.<br />
I was too overcome with the deliciousness.<br />
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The restaurant has B&B rooms.<br />
I think my next weekend away may be to Le Yaudet...<br />
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We drank coffee and sat contentedly watching the swifts dipping and diving overhead.<br />
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And then we set off back towards the church. Pausing to admire this garden belonging to a house on the other side of the bridge. Quite a view from those little terraces where, in summer, the lady who owns it sits and sips her coffee and I try not to gawp as I walk past.<br />
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Past the pretty stone houses...<br />
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Heading for the church.<br />
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Where I introduced my friend to the Sleeping Madonna who slumbers peacefully over the altar, tucked up in bed with a baby Jesus...<br />
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And, Le Yaudet being a port, to the ships that sail in the air above the worhsippers.<br />
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The Bretons love their sea...<br />
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And they love their ships...<br />
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And often hang them from the beams in the church...</div>
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Tashi is a Tibetan and quite given to meditative moments...<br />
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And he likes churches. Especially cool churches on hot Sundays.<br />
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My friend lit a candle.<br />
I did my own spiritual thing.<br />
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When we left we spotted two baby blue tits on the path outside the church, One was dead, the other was alive and in distress. I convinced my friend to walk away a little to see if the mother was nearby, often if left to themselves the parents will sort out the youngster.<br />
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It was soon apparent that she couldn't.<br />
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We returned and inspected the church wall near the dead baby bird, There was a hole and it looked like a nest inside it. Well, that path was soon going to be busy when the other visitors to the church left, and that baby bird was not going anywhere safe so I scooped it up and, standing on tiptoes because I am quite tiny, I managed to get it close enough to the nest for it to hop back in.<br />
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There was nothing else we could have done. Fingers crossed it was the right decision.<br />
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Juliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07365391659955928592noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572597865932195411.post-47530839820303966452018-05-18T10:36:00.001-07:002018-05-18T10:36:51.130-07:00Dawn on Monday<br />
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On Monday I woke early and rushed to the sitting room window to see the view.</div>
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The tide was in, the sea was a deep blue and the sky a beautiful blushing pink.</div>
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I considered taking a shower and making my breakfast, but that view kept calling to me and so I slipped into some clothes and took my mug of tea outside to sip.<br />
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That's the thing, you see, since quitting the corporate cage I've learned to listen to the little voice that whispers, "Go with your instincts, follow your heart, do not waste this moment." </div>
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So now I do. </div>
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The light changed so quickly. It would have been such a shame not to have gone outside to enjoy it.<br />
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One minute pink and blue and then a hint of gold.<br />
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And the dawn was gone.<br />
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I returned to the apartment where I showered, dressed properly, packed my bags, cleaned and tidied and then took one last walk.<br />
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I could have lingered. The AirBnB host had offered me the use of the apartment until midday, but I was missing Tashi and keen to collect him from the kennels.<br />
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And it's not as if I can't return whenever I please...</div>
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Juliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07365391659955928592noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572597865932195411.post-8791273258606525612018-05-17T08:16:00.001-07:002018-05-17T12:11:30.993-07:00Sunday Afternoon Swimming<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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And then I headed back to Trégastel.</div>
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I was still learning how to pronounce kouign amann, still struggling to get my English ear attuned to it, so I thought I should seek inspiration in the real thing.</div>
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Not these, these are for sharing, I bought a one-woman cake to take back to my apartment</div>
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And then I decided that since it was still morning I would enjoy a coffee and a cake in the shop near the pool. The one that sells salted caramel kouign amanns.<br />
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And, joy of joys, they were still warm from the oven.<br />
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A word of caution: Consuming two kouign amanns sent me to sleep for an hour.<br />
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When I awoke there was an impromptu boules competition underway outside the apartment...<br />
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And the tide was in...<br />
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And people were playing on the water...<br />
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Windsurfing...<br />
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I almost missed the kayaker...<br />
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Paddle boarding...<br />
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Much too much like hard work, I think...<br />
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There was a fresh breeze blowing off the sea so despite the cloudless sky and bright sunshine, it was still a tad chilly but...<br />
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I hadn't gone all the way to Trégastel not to venture in for the first wild swim of 2018...<br />
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Life is too short not to...<br />
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So I did. I waded out, first in swimsuit and sweater, and then I returned to the beach to shed my sweater and ventured back in swimsuit and T-shirt, and then I returned to the beach to shed my T-shirt and so there was no reason not to dive under the water,<br />
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It was cold. So cold it took my breath away. I splashed, and gasped, and then I swam, slowly at first and then faster and with more confidence.<br />
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And it was so exilarating I couldn't stop laughing.<br />
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And to think, I hesitated about returning to Brittany. Wondered if it would be a mistake. Thought I might not feel happy and safe here.<br />
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Ha!<br />
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<br />Juliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07365391659955928592noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572597865932195411.post-46224156720536711662018-05-16T04:19:00.001-07:002018-05-16T04:19:47.002-07:00Sunday at TrégastelYou know, you have to start the day with a smile when this is the view from your window...<br />
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A quick, healthy breakfast and I headed to <a href="http://www.tourismebretagne.com/decouvrir-les-destinations/cote-de-granit-rose-baie-de-morlaix/les-incontournables/ploumanac-h" target="_blank">Ploumanac'h</a>, the town most loved by the French. At least according to this sign by the chapel. In 2015. And I have no reasons to doubt that it still is. It's one of my favourites too.</div>
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I think we already 'did' the sculpture park, and I've taken you along the Sentier des Douaniers so many times you are doubtless tired of that, so, and in the spirit of trying something new because you really do never know what you may find, I headed in the opposite direction from the beach.<br />
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Oh, hello! A view of the pink castle...<br />
I'd stopped here to sit on a bench and meditate for a few minutes.<br />
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I know, you are tired of seeing the pink castle.<br />
Not everyone shares my passion for it.<br />
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One last one, with a little fence.<br />
I've become quite enamoured of seaside scenes that include little fences. I think they remind me of my childhood and holidays at the beach which were, funnily enough, not that frequent.<br />
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The town's beach seen from up high with, of course, a little fence...<br />
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Another view with a little fence...<br />
Last one with a fence, I promise.<br />
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The rocks in the foreground are known as La Baleine.<br />
I have a very good imagination but it took a little squinting and moving around before I could see a whale in them. I think, perhaps, when viewed from the beach, with the tide coming in? I'll check that out next time...<br />
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The walk I took was on the Landes de Ploumanac'h.<br />
There are a lot of such places called les landes de Somewhere or Other here.<br />
It's very restful, very zen, very conducive to frequent pauses to breath, to smile, to meditate and to smell the flowers.<br />
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And to learn the lessons that life is always trying to teach us...<br />
Such as, sometimes we are trying to survive in a hard and rocky place, sometimes we struggle to find the light, sometimes we have to be flexible and to bend, lest we break.<br />
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Lovely old pine trees, all gnarled and bent and some with broken branches...<br />
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"The world breaks everyone and afterward, some are stronger in the broken places." Hemingway<br />
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"Do not go where the path may lead, go instead where there is no path and leave a trail." Emerson
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I think that sums up my life in Brittany. I tried to follow the path that others walked. I tried to fit in with the herd, twisting myself out of shape during the process until I almost broke. I tried, and I failed. Now I walk where my heart leads me. </div>
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I loved seeing the yachts sail into view.<br />
Sunday morning and people were out having fun.<br />
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Even though it looked like hard work from my lofty viewing point.<br />
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On the way back down I popped into the chapel.<br />
I have a private cancer healing meditation that I find easy to engage with when I am in a holy place. Even though I am not religious.<br />
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<a href="http://docarmor.free.fr/valarmor/valouest/plouman1.htm" target="_blank">St Guirec's</a> little oratory on the beach.</div>
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It is nigh on impossible to avoid Breton saints here. They are everywhere. Most of the stories recount how these men, I think they were all men, came from Ireland and Wales and Cornwall to persuade the Bretons to leave their pagan ways and become Christians. Personally, I am more in the side of the pagans but I still love the saints and the tales of their miraculous deeds. All to be taken with a large pinch of sel, of course.</div>
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Back in the town, I popped into a shop with the intention of buying a silver ring as a reminder of my weekend away. Alas, the woman in the shop nearest the beach had such a bad attitude: couldn't be bothered, barely spoke to me, produced a tray of rings and proceeded to amuse herself playing with them while ignoring me. It was very unzen of me but I really wanted to say to her, 'Madame, since you appear to be disinterested and are treating me like a nuisance, I decline to give you my money!"<br />
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I didn't, of course.<br />
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I bought one ring, because I liked it, and I then left the shop without buying anything else, walked back towards the car to a shop where the owner IS polite and welcoming and bought several other souvenirs from her.<br />
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Life is too short to waste time on people and places that are not pleasant.<br />
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And with that, I got in my car and drove back to Trégastel for the afternoon...Juliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07365391659955928592noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572597865932195411.post-26035753210205201272018-05-14T08:17:00.001-07:002018-05-14T09:22:52.911-07:00Playing away at Trégastel...I've just spent the weekend at Trégastel.<br />
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Now, I know that this is not a rare event for me, when the day dawns bright and the skies are Breton-blue, the dog and I usually head for the Pink Granite Coast with Trégastel being our favourite destination and the beach facing the Chateau de Costérès our favourite playground...<br />
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But this weekend was different because I went alone and I stayed over.<br />
For two nights.<br />
In an apartment with this view...<br />
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No, really, this was the view from the windows of the apartment.<br />
As I washed the dishes, as I cooked my dinner, as I made a cup of tea, as I wandered from the bedroom, as I sat on the sofa, this was the view.<br />
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Of course I was wandering towards the castle within half an hour of getting the keys to the apartment. I hadn't been to Trégastel for over a week and I had missed it.<br />
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I do wonder, sometimes, if the people in the castle (for rent, too expensive for me, alas, but I live in hope of managing to afford a week there one day), do the people in the castle see me hovering around, taking pictures, collecting shells, swimming in the channel that's warm and deep enough even at low tide, admiring the castle and smiling at the pink stones, and do they think, 'Gordon Bennett! That old bird is back!'<br />
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Do they view me as a suspicious person, a stalker of pink stone castles?<br />
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I am not alone, lots of people turn up to admire the view, wander up to take a closer look, it's a famous site in Brittany, this pink castle.<br />
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I didn't linger for long, the tide was turning and my way back was becoming wetter and wetter...<br />
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It did occur to me that one day I may become stranded by the rising water.<br />
It's only a matter of time!<br />
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Once I'd said hello to the castle I headed into Trégastel to the aquarium. Being without the dog had given me the freedom to venture into places where I would not take him. </div>
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The Rags and I joke about this place because everytime I go to Trégastel I send them a text and a picture and ask if they've heard of it which, of course, they have, they have also visited many times. </div>
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I know, family jokes don't always amuse other people!</div>
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It's a very friendly place, the aquarium.</div>
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The staff are welcoming and so are the residents who often pause to make eye contact.</div>
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Have you ever been to a zoo and gazed into the eyes of one of the animals and thought, 'Wow! It looked at me!" and half-wondered if the animal was thinking, 'Yum, foodstuff!'</div>
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Well, at the aquarium the fish are as curious about the visitors as we are about the fish...</div>
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This guy seemed particularly taken with me.</div>
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But I suspect it was my shiny silver camera that had attracted his attention.</div>
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The non-fishy inhabitants were blissfully unaware of my presence...</div>
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I spent a great deal of time sitting on the floor and watching these guys mating.</div>
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One of the staff stopped to give me an impromptu lecture on the breeding habits of seahorses, how they are monogamous, how the third seahorse in the tank lost his mate last year and so is now loveless. We discussed the equality of the male gestating the young and giving birth, though I loved being pregnant and wouldn't have missed that time creating The Rags.</div>
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I'm old enough to remember when a trip to the seaside involved buying decorative sea urchin shells and dried seahorses. Now the seahorses are an endangered speices and are protected by law, but I doubt I'd want to take a dried corpse home anyway. </div>
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While I was in the aquarium the heavens opened and it poured down, which was not a problem because my next adventure involved being immersed in salt water. Not in the sea, in the heated indoor pool at the Forum de Trégastel. </div>
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Virtual visit here : <span style="text-align: center;">http://forumdetregastel.fr/visite-virtuelle/</span></div>
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<span style="text-align: center;">It was a little too busy for long-distance swimming, fortunately for me, I am very out of practice since last year when I swam daily at a pool near my home in Drayton.</span></div>
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<span style="text-align: center;">But still good to be in the water and stretching my muscles.</span></div>
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<span style="text-align: center;">And when I emerged after ninety minutes I decided I had earned a kouign amann which, if you are unfamiliar with these Breton specialities, is a cake. It's mostly composed of layers of flaky buttery pastry, very flaky and very buttery because in Brittany we do love our butter; and it may be either a plate-sized cake for sharing or a single serving, and there may be caramelised apples, there may be a thick layer of sugar crystals, there may be salted caramel...</span></div>
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<span style="text-align: center;">I bought one from the eatery on the corner by the Forum, and had to ask for 'l'un des gateaux là-bas' (pointing), 'desolée mais je ne peux pas prononcer le nom en français..' </span></div>
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<span style="text-align: center;">Happily, the woman at the counter understood and I got my cake to take back to my apartment to enjoy with a nice cup of tea... </span></div>
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<span style="text-align: center;">while gazing at the now-watery view as the tide rose to surround the castle.. </span></div>
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I was tempted to swim in the sea.</div>
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I hadn't done so since last November.</div>
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But it was cold and grey and not too inviting, even at high tide.</div>
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So instead I sat on the sofa and worked on the novel I'm writing for which the pink castle is my muse and my inspiration. </div>
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<br />Juliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07365391659955928592noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572597865932195411.post-89912200540346677372018-04-12T09:15:00.002-07:002018-04-13T07:31:33.110-07:00All at sea....<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I love swimming, I think that's now well known, and I've been gazing at the sea and longing to plunge under the waves for weeks, but it's still a little chilly here, so what to do?</div>
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A boat trip?</div>
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A friend had decided to pop over for some R&R and to de-stress because we're really good at that in these parts, so that clinched it.</div>
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Les Sept Îles...</div>
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We boarded the boat and sat upstairs at the back. Now I am a notoriously bad sailor, famous in the family for my green complexion and tendency to throw up when the dreaded <i>mal de mer </i>strikes, as it has done on every one of the more-than-fifty crossings I've taken with Brittany Ferries, and let us not even recall the times when my brother-in-law took me sailing in the Solent on his yacht.<br />
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This time there was a fresh wind blowing and the sea looked choppy and I was slightly concerned that I might need the bag I'd brought along, just in case, but happily all was well.<br />
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Of course les Sept Îles are, in fact five islands, the name being thought to be due to an error in writing the original<i> Sentiles, </i>which amuses me since I am a freelance proofreader, but there are some large rocks that could, at a pinch, count as islands.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjANjE61-IEWUPDpFJMlp47Oy-CLJpfTtAnGxkpLxQX3su5JJdtymMKZ1Q3ZD2hUsDxVM-7PYRf7MpHirCvYvsnbmLzRxqb7hwUEMds9RZoomRxWuT122EdNMZ7prD4Q-NfrSr5CP6O5Ic/s1600/DSC02733.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjANjE61-IEWUPDpFJMlp47Oy-CLJpfTtAnGxkpLxQX3su5JJdtymMKZ1Q3ZD2hUsDxVM-7PYRf7MpHirCvYvsnbmLzRxqb7hwUEMds9RZoomRxWuT122EdNMZ7prD4Q-NfrSr5CP6O5Ic/s400/DSC02733.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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The first stop was to see the birds nesting on l'île Rouzic...<br />
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The gannets were present in large numbers.<br />
As we watched many were flying in with strands of seaweed in the beaks, busy nest-building, others had already completed their second-home renovations and were engaged in mating rituals.<br />
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The razorbills were bobbing about in the waves. Apparently they mate for life and lay one single egg each spring.<br />
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Cormorants always seem solitary. Lone sentinels standing guard.<br />
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The islands are now protected and a bird sanctuary so visitors are not permitted to land on them, save for l'île aux Moines.<br />
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But you wouldn't want to disturb the nesting birds or the grey seals who've also come to breed. And as the boat lingered near the rocks I did wonder if we weren't being too intrusive.<br />
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The final part of the boat trip took us along the coast off the Sentier des Douaniers.<br />
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What can I say?<br />
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This is my No 1 Playground to which I return at least once a week, sometimes three or four times.<br />
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The rear view of the chateau de Coastèrés, my muse and my happy place...<br />
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While we were cruising and admiring the rocks a dolphin appeared above the waves.<br />
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People, I am in my early sixties, I have horrendously arthritic knees, thanks to a lifetime of skiing and squash playing and I am still affected by my cancer treatment, but I was so excited by the appearance of a dolphin that I climbed onto my seat and perched on the back, the better to view him. <br />
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And that, I think, is why I love Brittany so much.<br />
It is here, in this region of tree-covered hills, pink granite rocks, sandy beaches and wild places that I have rediscovered the feisty little tomboy kid I once was. <br />
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I am running wild and loving it!<br />
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Oh, and the puffins, you may be wondering if we saw any puffins?<br />
No, not yet on the islands. It's too early in the season.<br />
Next time I will give you puffins...<br />
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<b>Useful Info:</b><br />
Head for Perros Guirec and the Trestraou beach<br />
There is free parking, follow the signs. <b> </b><br />
We ate lunch at Les Régates on the Boulevard Joseph le Bihan.<br />
The cheeseburger was the best I've ever eaten.<br />
The boat trip leaves from the far end of the beach at the gare Maritime.<br />
Book a day in advance and arrive twenty minutes before departure to pay and receive your tickets.<br />
Take binoculars, sun cream and, if you like and he's well-behaved, your dog.<br />
After the boat trip you'll want to go to Le Glacier des Sept Îles back on the Bvde Joseph le Bihan for a salted caramel ice cream and please, mention to them that plastic spoons are unnecessary but if they must provide a spoon could it be wooden?<br />
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Here's the link to the <a href="http://www.brittanytourism.com/discover-our-destinations/pink-granite-coast-morlaix-bay/unmissable-sites/les-sept-iles" target="_blank">Brittany Tourism page</a> </div>
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and one for the <a href="http://nautisme.perros-guirec.com/embarquez-pour-une-balade-en-mer/en-vedette.html" target="_blank">Perros Guirec Gare Maritime</a> for booking info</div>
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<br />Juliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07365391659955928592noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572597865932195411.post-49016654749360817482018-04-10T09:20:00.000-07:002018-04-10T09:21:29.251-07:00Progress...It's been a while, again, but I've been busy with visitors and guests and friends...<br />
And proofreading for a UK publisher, which I love...<br />
And TEFL course that I completed so I am now a certified English teacher...<br />
And here we are, springtime in Brittany.<br />
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The flowers are blooming, everywhere we go there are ditches decorated with primroses and the daffodils that a late and chilly spring have encouraged to keep flowering, and the camellia in my courtyard is a blushing pink beauty and ... I always forget how gorgeous spring is.<br />
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The Ragazza is with me for a few days so today we went to the coast to walk the Sentier des Douaniers.<br />
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There were lots of other walkers. It's no longer just me, the dog and a few other hardy souls braving the winter storms that blow in from the sea. The tourists are returning with the house martens and swallows and the restauarants, shops and museums are re-opening after their winter hibernations.<br />
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Although the place where we had planned to eat lunch today was, unexpectedly, closed. Not a problem, we found another restaurant nearby and my turkey escalope in a cream, mushroom and mozarella sauce was delicious, as were the Ragazza's moules, so we were happy.<br />
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And the view was not so shabby, n'etait-ce pas?<br />
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Well, you wouldn't expect me not to visit my beach, would you? I wonder how many <strike>hundreds</strike> thousands of photograps I have taken of that pink castle during the last few years?<br />
The tide was in, I should have taken my first wild swim of the year.<br />
Perhaps next time...<br />
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Definitely next time!</div>
Juliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07365391659955928592noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572597865932195411.post-40526422401939974292018-02-25T06:29:00.000-08:002018-02-26T10:23:26.029-08:00If You're Going to Paris.... As I did recently, well, sometimes all of this peace and quite and fresh air and healthy living needs to be balanced by a weekend of people and museums and streetlights and restaurants and hustle and bustle and noise and mayhem, in other words, a weekend in Paris, so if you're going to Paris a cautionary tale follows.<br />
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I had booked a room in a small hotel on the Île Saint-Louis, small room, large price, but it is in the centre of Paris and even a person with no sense of direction should be able to find her way back there at the end of a day's adventuring, I'd thought. Wrongly as it turned out. I am capable of getting lost on the next island along, the one where Notre Dame was built to tower over the river. s I discovered on the afternoon of my arrival when I passed the same flower shop (Selling flowers to HM Queen Elizabeth as it does), no less than five times. Which was quite tiring and annoying.<br />
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Anyway that is not the caution of this cautionary tale.<br />
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So I had this small room that at first I did not like because I thought it too small and claustrophobic because it was entered by a door from the small reception area and I wrongly thought that the one window opened onto said-reception area and so could not be opened, and that being next to said-reception area would be noisy and have I mentioned my chronic insomnia and aversion to night-time noises?<br />
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And for £256'ish a night, well...<br />
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Turned out the little window opened onto this tiny interior courtyard which had fresh air and a means of escape in the event of fire, have I ever told you that my father was a govt health and safety inspector and so self-preservation was taught to me at an early age?<br />
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So my small and expensive room was starting to grow on me.<br />
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And it grew on me even more on Sunday morning when this breakfast was delivered to me in bed.<br />
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But I digress, as ever.<br />
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On Sunday morning I set off for Le Marais, the district of the city that was once a mosquito-infested swamp and then the Jewish quarter and latterly an area where the well-heeled like to live. I was going to La Place des Voges because that's where the Victor Hugo house is situated and I thought it would be nice to return for a third visit.<br />
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I found it without getting lost. Either my lost sense of direction had been found or I was becoming accustomed to getting around Paris on foot. It helped that I knew which side of the river to head for. The right bank, by the way.<br />
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So I visited Victor Hugo's Paris apartment and an exhibition of art made by the patients of asylums for the insane (their description) which was both fascinating and disturbing, and I ate French onion soup and fish and chips for lunch in a place in the Place...<br />
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And I even saw a chap, an artist who, thirteen years ago during my last trip there sold me four prints, gave me his business card and suggested we share 'a moment' next time I was in Paris, but cautioned me to ring the phone number he wrote on one of the prints lest his wife answer the other phone.<br />
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Yes, really, that happened to me in Paris! Propositioned by a painter.<br />
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I did not want to run into him again, not now I am a 'senior' and showing my age but I saw him, he was flirting with a woman from a gallery near to where he'd set up his stall under the covered pathway. Readers, he has also aged considerably, possibly less well than me.<br />
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I still didn't stop to speak to him.<br />
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Anyway, after all that I was going to visit that famous Parisian bookstore Shakespeare and Company so I trotted back to the Seine, flooded by winter rains...<br />
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And it was just after taking this picture that I was approached by a charming young woman with a clipboard and a pen.<br />
Would I sign a petition for deaf babies?<br />
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Of course I would, I said as I took the clipboard from her and then I noticed that other people signing had given a donation for the 'deaf babies'. May I please see your id that shows you are legitimately collecting money for these deaf babies, I asked her in French.<br />
She didn't like that. She made excuses. Just one euro, she begged, for the deaf babies.<br />
No id, no donation, I told her.<br />
She was furious, snatched her clipboard and pen from me and stalked off.<br />
Or so I thought... <br />
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I had just taken this picture outside the bookstore when I noticed a couple of women standing close behind me. And then another two on either side of me. I began to feel uneasy. Then another woman started to approach me from the front, smiling and looking for all the world like a nice lady.<br />
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Just like the one with the clipboard and pen.<br />
I moved to one side and walked away from the store.<br />
When I turned to look back they were following me.<br />
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You know when the hairs on the back of your neck stand up and your stomach flips?<br />
That 'fight or flight instinct'?<br />
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The smiling woman was again in front of me and the other four were crowding me. It was obvious she was going to distract me and they were going to snatch my camera and bag. The bag containing my passport, driving licence, credit cards, keys, cash...<br />
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I kicked the woman in front of me on the shin and at the same time I shouted, 'GO AWAY! LEAVE ME ALONE! THIEVES!'<br />
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And they fled. Vanished. Into thin air. Just like that. <br />
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As did I. Into the bookstore, where I sat on a stool in a corner until I'd stopped shaking.<br />
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I was so close to being mugged, possibly also stabbed because you can bet your bottom dollar if one of them had tried to take my bag I'd have fought back.<br />
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It was terrifying.<br />
At the time. Later, when I was safely back in the hotel and waiting for a taxi to the station - I was not going to risk running into them again on the metro - it occurred to me that they'd done me a huge favour.<br />
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You see they had threatened me, they had almost mugged me, they could even have killed me.<br />
But they didn't because I realised what was happening and I stopped them.<br />
And that was a huge thing for me because for the first time in my life I felt like a survivor.Juliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07365391659955928592noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572597865932195411.post-25972101691749136822018-02-19T03:54:00.000-08:002018-02-19T03:56:40.095-08:00L'Abbé Pierre and EmmaüsI first 'met' l'Abbé Pierre back in 1995.<br />
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I was studying my first Open University course, Cadences, encouraged by my best friend Jeannie who was already a pretty fluent French speaker. We'd met at an Italian class and discovered that we were soul sisters, and we studied together for the Institute of Linguist Italian exams together. That led to me embarking on French and her starting to study for her French degree.<br />
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Jeannie died fifteen years ago, before completing her studies, while I went on to earn my degree in 2012, in French and English, of course, I did it for my friend as much as for myself.<br />
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Since 2015 I have also shared the breast cancer that killed Jeannie, life has a wicked sense of humour, I think.<br />
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I digress, as ever, but with good reason.<br />
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L'Abbé Pierre will always, in my mind, be associated with Jeannie, so who was he?<br />
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He has been variously described as:
The French Mother Theresa, The Conscience Of A Country, A Living Saint.<br />
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L'Abbé Pierre (born Henri Antoine Grouès; 5 August 1912 - 22 January 2007) was a French Catholic priest, member of the Resistance during the World War II, and deputy of the Popular Republican Movement (MRP). He founded in 1949 the Emmaus movement, which has the goal of helping the poor, the homeless and the refugees. (Wikipedia)<br />
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Abbé means abbot in French, and is also used as a courtesy title given to Catholic priests. He was one of the most popular figures in France, he probably still is.<br />
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For me it was the Emmaus organisation that first attracted my attention even before I knew that he had been a Resistance hero, had saved the lives of French Jews, been decorated etc etc..
Before I had learned of his efforts across the globe to relieve suffering and bring joy.<br />
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The winter of 1954 was bitterly cold in France and the homeless were freezing to death on the streets so L'Abbé Pierre broadcast the following radio appeal:<br />
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<i>"My friends, come help... </i><br />
<i>A woman froze to death tonight at 3:00 am, on the pavement of Sebastopol Boulevard, clutching the eviction notice which the day before had made her homeless... </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Each night, more than two thousand succumb to the cold, dying without food, without bread, many almost naked... </i><br />
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<i>Hear me; in the last three hours, two aid centers have been created: one under canvas at the foot of the Pantheon on Montagne Sainte-Genevieve Street; the other in Courbevoie. They are already overflowing, we must open more, in every neighbourhood. Tonight, in every town in France, in every quarter of Paris, we must hang out placards in the night, under a lamp, at the door of places where there are blankets, straw, soup; where one may read, under the title 'Fraternal Aid Center', these simple words: 'If you suffer, whoever you are, enter, eat, sleep, recover hope, here you are loved'.</i><br />
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<i>The forecast is for a month of freezing weather. For as long as the winter lasts, for as long as the centres exist, faced with their brothers dying in poverty, all mankind must be of one will: the will to make this situation impossible. </i><br />
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<i>I beg of you, let us love one another enough to do it now. From so much pain, let a wonderful thing be given unto us: the shared spirit of France. Thank you! </i><br />
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<i>Everyone can help those who are homeless. We need, tonight, and at the latest tomorrow, five thousand blankets, three hundred big American tents, and two hundred catalytic stoves. Bring them quickly to the Hôtel Rochester, number ninety-two, laq Boetie
The rendez-vous for volunteers and trucks to carry them; tonight at eleven, in front of the tent on Montagne Sainte-Genevieve. </i><br />
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<i>Thanks to you, no man, no child, will sleep on the asphalt or on the waterfronts of Paris tonight. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Thank you" </i><br />
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This speech touched the heart and conscience of a nation and resulted in an "uprising of kindness" (insurrection de la misère) with a staggering 500 million francs being raised in donations.
A few weeks later, in March 1954, the Emmaus community was created with volunteers to assist the homeless by providing them with food and a roof over their heads and, more importantly, somewhere to work to raise the money to pay for the community.<br />
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In time many of the sans-abri became, themselves, volunteers in accordance with l'Abbé Pierre's desire to show that even those who have nothing, who are totally destitute, can still help others...
no-one is completely helpless or without worth.<br />
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There were many, many other humanitarian roles upon which l'Abbé Pierre embarked.
He travelled to the countries where he was needed and he wrote books, lectured and taught his message of love and charity and providing people with the means to help themselves.<br />
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His was a life of action and service rather than words and rhetoric.<br />
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So, if you do only one thing today to benefit others...
If you take only one small step, please, read more about l'Abbé Pierre and see if his life doesn't provide you with the inspiration to help others and if his story doesn't make you feel humble and grateful for whatever you have been granted in this life then nothing ever will.<br />
<br />Juliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07365391659955928592noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572597865932195411.post-54922755688559726892018-02-08T00:50:00.002-08:002018-02-08T00:50:53.420-08:00Plastic PlanetMany people have watched Blue Planet and seen the problems of plastic pollution in the seas.<br />
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Plastic that can last for 1000 years.<br />
Plastic that kills marine life.<br />
Plastic that enters the food chain.<br />
Plastic that we, too, consume.<br />
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People, I cannot tell you how much I have fretted and stressed over the state of the planet for decades. Really, decades. At least forty decades. And of course I have supported environmental organisations - Greenpeace, WWF, Friends of the Earth, and I have sponsored tigers, polar bears, snow leopards, orangutans, and paid to protect acres of rainforests in Africa and South America.<br />
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And I still pay a monthly donation to The Rainforest Alliance<br />
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And all of that is good.<br />
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But sometimes a person needs to do something practical, personally, because sometimes that is what is really required.<br />
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Today was one such day.<br />
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I woke to beautiful blue skies and sunshine reflecting off the snow that still covers my garden and roof and the tops of the cars, and I decided it had been too many days since I had been to Tregastel, having spent a lot of time walking the beach at Les Rosaires, and so, Tregastel it was to be.<br />
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I'd forgotten how special that place is...<br />
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It was cold, very cold, too cold, A strong wind was blowing from the north. I sat on a pink granite bench to sip my coffee and had to wrap a blanket round my legs and sit on my gloves to keep me warm. Bit it was bright and sunny and the tide was in and the water looked lovely and I was content.<br />
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We'll walk on the sand, I decided, screwing the top on my flask and calling Tashi, too cold to swim with that stiff breeze but a walk will warm us up.<br />
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We descended onto the sand and then I noticed it: plastic, everywhere I looked, strips of blue plastic string tangled in the seaweed, bits of plastic fishing nets mimicking that seaweed, plastic cups lying on the sand like empty crab shells, plastic bottle tops sticking out of the sand like unnatural seashells, even a large, algae-covered plastic oil container like some monster from the deep.<br />
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Plastic, plastic everywhere.<br />
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I returned to the car to fetch my shopping bag.<br />
The one I had brought along for the pine cones that I collect for fire-lighting. They are excellent natural fire lighters and not toxic like the paraffin-base ones.<br />
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And Tashi and I set off to walk the length of the beach and back again and in an hour I had cleared it of every single piece of plastic, and some wire mesh too...<br />
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I had half-filled my shopping bag with small pieces of plastric, it would have overflowed had I crammed all of the rubbish into it.<br />
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My favourite beach was now clean and tidy once more and all of that plastic and wire that I put into the bin by the car would never again pollute the sea.<br />
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We set off to collect those pine cones, round to the next beach, admiring the views which are really very lovely, especially when the tide is high...<br />
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and we set off walking on the beach...<br />
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I like this one because there are interesting little channels and grooves in the sand and when the tide is in it makes pretty patterns and soothing sounds as it laps against the sand.<br />
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I sometimes sit and close my eyes and listen to it and it is better than any man-made meditation music you could ever buy.<br />
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And then we set off walking and, horror!<br />
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More rubbish.<br />
Much more rubbish.<br />
Much, much more rubbish.<br />
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At first I was disheartened.<br />
So much rubbish and only one small woman and her dog to collect it.<br />
Then I remembered the story of the beach covered with dying starfish and how it doesn't matter if you can't save every starfish, it matters that you care enough to save at least one.<br />
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So I set to cleaning that beach too and more than filled my shopping bag with rubbish - mostly plastic but also that boot, lots of wire mesh in rolls, glass bottles and even a light bulb!<br />
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And I lugged my load of rubbish back to the bin that was way back at the start of the beach and pushed as much in as I could manage, and left the rest safely stacked next to it.<br />
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It took me another whole hour to clean that beach and I was exhausted by the time I'd finished.<br />
Exhausted but content.<br />
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I know it was a mere drop in the ocean.<br />
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Our seas are heavily polluted with plastic and other rubbish, what I did was nothing but, I cleaned two beautiful beaches and I stopped all of that plastic from returning to the sea during the next high tide and maybe, just maybe, my doing that saved some marine creature from either consuming it or from getting tangled in it and drowning.<br />
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Maybe I saved a starfish.<br />
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And that thought made my wrinkly old eyes twinkle!<br />
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You know, if we all did just a little bit every day, whether by turning off those electrical currents, by reducing our fossil fuel consumption, by sending a dollar a day to an eco charity, by picking up plastic on the beach, we could heal this beautiful planet together.<br />
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N'est-ce pas?<br />
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<br />Juliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07365391659955928592noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572597865932195411.post-63158177138694319472017-12-13T00:02:00.000-08:002017-12-13T00:02:00.680-08:00Back to basics I don't know of this will be permanent but for now I am musing, meandering and meditating back on my original blog...<br />
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https://amouseinfrance.blogspot.fr/<br />
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Seems appropriate somehow<br />
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<br />Juliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07365391659955928592noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572597865932195411.post-46896053075439328082017-11-04T04:27:00.004-07:002017-11-04T04:29:23.671-07:00Wild swimming...I've always enjoyed swimming, ever since my parents took me to the local swimming pool when I was young and, if my memory serves me well, that was so long ago that the changing cubicles were small and curtained and situated all round the pool, so if you were not careful you could inadvertently expose your bare bum to the swimmers. Not a problem for a five-year-old, not so good for her mother when said-offspring whipped the curtain back before she'd finished dressing.<br />
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That happened often.<br />
I was impatient as a child.<br />
Still am, a little, although I am learning to slow down.<br />
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We swam in the sea during trips to Cornwall. The funny thing is that when I think back to my childhood holidays they always seemed to have involved Cornwall and clotted cream and sandy toes and freckles and the taste of salt on my lips. And pasties and pixies, mustn't forget them. But we only ever went there twice so either I have very selective memories or it made a huge impression on me; I suspect the latter, holidays were a rare treat when I was growing up because time was in abundance but money was not. A happier situation, I think, on reflection.<br />
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When we lived on the Rock of Gibraltar my school took us swimming once a week. All year round, In the sea, But not the sea as I would describe it, no sandy beaches and gentle waves. We were given swimming lessons at a slightly oily, smelly marina place near the harbour. It was unpleasant. I learned to swim fast to get my lengths done so that I could get out.<br />
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Back in England Hertfordshire my grammar school had its own swimming pool and I, having been taught to dive from high rocks and the end of the jetty at the RAF swimming bay in Gibraltar, was selected for high-diving lessons. That impressed everyone, except me, I wanted to be in the water not constantly entering and leaving it.<br />
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I taught The Ragazzi to swim as soon as they'd had their first inoculations, but here I am droning on with a history of my family's attachment to water when I just meant to say that yesterday, November 3rd, I went swimming in the sea at the north Brittany coast.<br />
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And loved it.<br />
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I've been to Tregastel regularly since I came back here in June and most times I have swum, but that was when the weather was warmer. Now we're into autumn with a vengeance and so for the last few trips each time that I have swum I've declared it to have been my last swim of the year. Until the next trip when I've just had to have one more swim.<br />
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Yesterday the weather forecast was for rain at the coast but I was feeling twitchy and my feet were feeling itchy so I thought I'd pack a picnic and the dog and head north anyway. I had my riding coat in case the forecast was correct and I thought I could walk on the sand and enjoy lunch in the car and at least I'd be out of the house.<br />
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This was what was awaiting me...<br />
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Rain? What rain?<br />
The day was gloriously sunny, albeit a little misty at first but then misty mornings are made for the seaside, aren't they?<br />
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Tashi and I set off walking round the corner to the next beach to see if there was any sea there. There wasn't. It was far out, low tide, not to be seen.<br />
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So we set off across the sand to search for seashells because I love collecting stuff when I am rambling around. Empty seashells for me, inhabited ones for my fellow-hunter-gatherers...<br />
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I'm not a fan of little winkly things in shells, at least not when they're on my dinner plate and especially if they are still alive when they are being consumed, but I am a huge fan of fucus and eat it whenever I can and if I can't then I pause to photograph it and to admire it.</div>
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This is the result of a biology, or was it geography, field trip on which my Northumbrian grammar school took the fifth-formers. It was to the coast for a week, so the topic I chose for my project was seaweed. Fascinating stuff, and very good to eat if you chose the right type and the right location. </div>
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Our ramblings took us out to the castle and it being very low tide I thought it would be interesting to see what is on the other side of the little island, the side I never see from the beach.</div>
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Well! Look what we found! A beautiful sandy beach.</div>
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But it was lunchtime so we headed back to the car for our picnic and a little rest from clambering over rocks and wading though seaweed and accidentally falling into a rock pool and getting our feet soaked. (Yes, that was me, not the dog, he is much too sensible to step where it's wet.)<br />
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We sat in the car and indulged in some people-watching.<br />
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A trio of young people who had become stranded by the incoming tide and been obliged to strip and wade back to the beach with their clothes held above their heads. They passed the car half an hour later, still soaking wet and clad in thongs and T-shirts and and with their backpacks on their heads but laughing as they walked up the road away from the parked cars.<br />
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A family parked next to my car and set off to explore the rocks, Papa taking pictures while his Papa held onto the little girl ...<br />
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And then this happened and I was captivated and, it must be said, green with envy.<br />
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I mean, it's wonderful to swim with the pink castle as a backdrop and fantastic to be able to admire it between my feet as I float but, to be able to ride into the sea on horseback, well, that would really make me smile...<br />
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But, envy is a deadly sin and if I want my own horse there is absolutely nothing to stop me from finding one, except for the slight worry that I may not be around to look after it for that long and what would happen then?<br />
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I slipped into a swimsuit and pulled a sweater on top and walked down to the tide line to test the water temperature.<br />
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It was cold. Very cold. Too cold for a swim, I convinced myself.<br />
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And then a man who was wearing jeans, a sweater, a coat and wellington boots called out to ask me, in French, if I was going to plunge right in? And was I mad? And I decided, yes I was, and yes I am so I waded back to my bag on the sand, pulled off my sweater and returned to dive into the sea.<br />
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And it was wonderful.<br />
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Last swim of the year?<br />
Who knows?<br />
I am ruling out nothing, if we're lucky enough to get another day like yesterday then...<br />
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<br />Juliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07365391659955928592noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572597865932195411.post-68281703337065108582017-10-29T09:06:00.004-07:002017-10-29T09:06:55.898-07:00More guests...I've had house guests again.<br />
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This time only for twenty-four hours: their arrival was delayed by road diversions and a satav failure and getting lost on their journey from Normandy (a foreign country) to Brittany, so we missed out on the planned trip to the Pink Granite Coast and a picnic on the rocks and my (possibly) last swim of the year, tant pis, another time. <br />
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I've known Val for years. At first virtually when she contacted me after reading A Mouse in France because she had her own French house not too far away near Huelgoat, and then we met for real in Oxford, took a weekend trip to Glastonbury and finally I made it to Cornwall where she now lives. But this was the first time I had welcomed her (and her son) to my home. I should explain that Val has a very busy life, so busy that after I have read one of her Facebook posts detailing her morning routine I am so tired I have to go for a lie down to recover.<br />
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Well, they arrived and we sat down with tea and cakes to start talking and I that, the talking, sharing ideas, experiences, trials, tribulations and triumphs.<br />
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And we continued talking over dips and tacos and an aperitif...<br />
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And over a chilli and rice dinner with wine, and the chocolate cake and tea for afters...<br />
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And as we walked Tashi round the village before the streetlights went out at 10 pm...<br />
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And then this morning we went to La Vallée des Saints in the rain where I was able to have my now-customary chat with Saint Melar while Tashi sniffed the grass...<br />
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And we were introduced to a new saint - Alar, patron saint of horses, which is why he's shown here at the forge. A most appropriate saint for a pony-mad kid of a certain age...<br />
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<br />
while other horse lovers rode past...<br />
How nice that would be, I said to Val, riding round the statues on horseback!<br />
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Val likes my house, which makes me happy.<br />
It is at its best when filled with friends.Juliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07365391659955928592noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572597865932195411.post-62319627224939380522017-09-16T08:31:00.002-07:002017-09-16T08:31:55.213-07:00The Real-Life Tour GuideMaggie and I had a blast during her six days with me and I really enjoyed being her real-life tour guide. playmate and fellow adventurer.<br />
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Too busy to blog, too busy to write my journal, even too busy to work on my TEFL course so here, in a few selected pictures is where we went and what we did...<br />
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Saints...<br />
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and swimmers...</div>
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and sight-seers...</div>
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and 'splorers...</div>
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<br />Juliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07365391659955928592noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572597865932195411.post-81186722682976324412017-09-11T04:11:00.000-07:002017-09-11T09:24:12.593-07:00Being A Tour GuideI have a guest.<br />
A friend of many years, in fact we've been trying to remember when we first met, through our husbands who worked together in the late 70's.<br />
We had lost touch and then I joined Facebook and found her.<br />
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We met again down in Dorset when I rented that gatehouse for a few days, and spent a happy day fossil hunting and lunching and playing catch-up.<br />
And here she is, in France with me for a week of exploring and adventures.<br />
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On the first afternoon it rained so we went to La Vallée des Saints and wandered among the statues, oft times with another visitor nearby listening as I told Maggie the stories of the saints,not all of the saints, there are about seventy now and I'm not that good at memorising the guide book, but the ones that have impressed me for one reason or another. Like Saint Melar. It was a shame for the other visitors, and for the coffers of the organisation that runs the site, that the shop selling guide books was closed. A missed opportunity there, I wonder they don't have them in a bar or a shop in the local village too. Happily we had two copies, I buy one each year. <br />
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So that was the first afternoon. An introduction to Breton saints on a rain-swept hilltop.<br />
The next day the forecast was for more rain but, this is Brittany, the weather can change from minute to minute so we went to the coast.<br />
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One of my greatest pleasures is arriving at the Pink Castle Beach and finding a high tide.<br />
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We had put swimming costumes and towels in the car, I never go out without mine these days, but we first wandered along the sand collecting shells. We are a pair of committed beachcombers, we discovered. But that sea... so blue, so calm, so empty, so, so there!<br />
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After a while I left Maggie on the rocks and snucked back to the car, changed into my cossie and before you could say "Bobbing about on a wave" I was swimming.<br />
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It was perfect. It is always perfect. On such occasions, life is perfect.<br />
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Of course, once someone realised that I was in the sea he appointed himself my lifeguard...<br />
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Once dried and dressed we drove past Ploumanac'h so that we could walk the Sentier des Douaniers.<br />
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It was breezy, blustery, blowy...<br />
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We took many pictures.<br />
We stopped many times to gasp at the waves crashing against the rocks.<br />
We paused to breath in the scents of iodine and ozone.<br />
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It just goes to show that you should pay no heed to the weather forecasts.<br />
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Towards the end of the path we took a detour into Ploumanac'h for a lunch break, then it was back on to the Sentier des Douaniers to retrace our steps back to the car.<br />
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Then a cold drink at Trégastel before winding our way home.<br />
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This is now a regular event for me, a swim in the sea, a walk along the pink granite, refreshments in Trégastel, and then home. To arrive sandy, salt-crusted, windswept or with a few more freckles but always, always with a happy heart.<br />
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I am so blessed, and so appreciative. <br />
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And Maggie has fallen in love with the Pink Granite Coast, as I knew she would!<br />
<br />Juliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07365391659955928592noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572597865932195411.post-41754966228198632012017-09-01T09:53:00.001-07:002017-09-01T09:55:36.006-07:00Binic, Blackberries, Beaches and Being Brave Today is the eleventh anniversary of the day when I arrived in France to live in the house that I had just bought, here in Brittany.<br />
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It's a funny thing life...<br />
We think we have it sussed, plans put in place, futures mapped out, that we are in control of our destinies, steering a course from cradle to grave and, of course, that is far from true. In reality we are as little boats bobbing in a vast sea and often we are adrift without a sail, or perilously close to the rocks or becalmed in a mist and a mire.<br />
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(pic from a Twinings Tea TV advert)<br />
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I quite like watery metaphors. Can you tell?<br />
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I moved to France expecting to remain here forever, and returned to England two years later to take up what I thought would be a wonderful new career, with what I thought would be an ethical and supportive employer. I have recently signed a<strike> gagging</strike> settlement agreement with that employer which means that I am not permitted to disclose anything about my experiences with them, nor am I permitted to say anything disparaging about the events that took place while I was employed by them, which really speaks volumes.<br />
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Suffice to say there was severe stress, there were crippling anxiety attacks and then there was a diagnosis of cancer.<br />
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And so here I am.<br />
Back in Brittany.<br />
Having a ball.<br />
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Today I drove to Binic. Binic was the first beach that The Ragazza and I found when we moved here, and my ex-partner, aka The Someone, and I subsequently spent many happy days collecting mussels from the rocks, walking along the cliff paths with the dogs and enjoying lunches in the town. So I suppose it was natural that today I would take a trip down Memory Lane.<br />
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I'd forgotten that the road to the parking area is steep and ends at the edge of a cliff, although I notice they have built a little bank of earth to prevent people from plunging over the edge. I was still clutching the steering wheel and biting my bottom lip as the car inched down towards the drop before we swerved right onto the grass.<br />
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And I'd forgotten how steep is the walk down to the rocky beach. And that my knees are quite arthritic and stiff and so that made for a slow and painful descent.<br />
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But coffee on the rocks was nice...<br />
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And then Tashi and I set off to climb up to the top of the cliff opposite.</div>
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Well, what can I say? I am a wimp. I suffer from vertigo, which, together with my unsteady old knees made for a quite precarious climb, and the dog didn't help running ahead and standing close to the sheer drop and disappearing from sight several times.</div>
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But I made it.<br />
And the views were quite wonderful.<br />
And I did feel a little proud of myself.<br />
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We walked along the path until we reached a place where I remembered there being a picnic table and, amusingly, a car park at the end of a much easier road, but where would be the adventure in that?<br />
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We had our picnic. Mine was a chicken baguette made with bread baked a the village boulangerie this morning and washed down with fizzy water, Tashi had scraps of chicken and a little milk while sitting gazing out to sea.<br />
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I picked blackberries.<br />
I'm not a mad fan of blackberry pie/crumble/whatever, but I do like stewed berries on my yoghurt so a small tub of fruit was collected while Tashi explored and made friends with a passing Husky and its owners.<br />
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Some advice on those pesky toxic seaweeds...<br />
I wasn't aware that I should inform the nearest mairie should I succumb to the hydrogen sulphide fumes, assuming that I survive, of course. That's not as silly as it sounds, a horse dropped dead on a beach near Perros Guirec a few years ago after breathing in the fumes of rotting green seaweed.<br />
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And then we retraced our steps.<br />
All the while I worried about that descent back down to the beach,<br />
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But it was not as bad as the climb.<br />
Michel de Montaigne, in one of his essays, wrote, "A man who fears suffering is already suffering what he fears". Smart man, wise words. <br />
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He also wrote, "An untempted woman cannot boast of her chastity" but that's a whole other story!<br />
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I felt quite proud of myself for having strayed so far from my comfort zone, for having pushed myself past the limits of my courage and, mostly, for not having fallen off the cliff. Especially as there is a sign up there warning people against such carelessness!<br />
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One last quote?<br />
"The strangest, most generous, and proudest of all virtues is true courage"<br />
Michel de MontaigneJuliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07365391659955928592noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572597865932195411.post-29499202744103864712017-08-31T23:23:00.003-07:002017-08-31T23:23:53.046-07:00Spammers and scammers I received this email recently and thought it might be fun to <strike>tear it to shreds</strike> correct it.<br />
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Of course, it is low-hanging fruit, badly composed, badly written and an obvious scam, which leads me to believe that the sender(s) are amateurs and probably the kind of chaps who sit in internet cafés in small African towns, churning them out daily. And yes, such people do exist. <br />
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The link in the email is to a compromised website that has a fake Apple sign in screen, if you hover the mouse over it you can see that it is not https://appleid.apple.com. I have frequently said that emails from institutions requesting you login to an account should not contain such links, you should always be required to type the address in a new tab but that's just a bee in my personal infosec bonnet.<br />
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So here is the email as seen in my spam folder:<br />
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<table align="center" border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1504203927270_2149" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; background-color: white; color: black; font-size: 13px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; width: 600px; word-break: break-word;"><tbody id="yui_3_16_0_1_1504203927270_2148" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; width: 600px;">
<tr class="yiv5770159157header" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1504203927270_2147" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px;"><td id="yui_3_16_0_1_1504203927270_2146" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; border-spacing: 2px;" valign="bottom"><span style="color: #9f9f9f; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 12px;"><span style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; color: black;">This is an automated email, please do not reply</span></span></td><td align="right" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; border-spacing: 2px;"></td></tr>
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Juliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07365391659955928592noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572597865932195411.post-72277249693962272352017-08-31T04:55:00.001-07:002017-08-31T04:55:44.397-07:00Back to nature... The Ragazza had been staying with me for a week and we'd done the beach, swimming near the pink castle and lunch at Trégastel, and we'd visited the Valley of the Saints, and so a return visit to the zoo at Trégomeur seemed like a good option for a sunny but not-too-hot morning.<br />
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We've been before but the zoo has new residents and we like to revisit those we've seen before, and it's such a nice, relaxing and interesting place in which to hang out that we keep returning.<br />
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The zoo has an Asian theme for its flora and fauna, so there is a lot of bamboo, including this black variety which I have not seen before. I have bamboo in the top part of my garden, I had thought it might be too invasive and I would remove much of it but now I am re-thinking that and wondering ig I might cut and mould it to create hidden areas... <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5F_-7xTI2L79pBAbRvyBIL_QHkUpBiXtX3459lyMA-65xwfiVok7f3GKPcYUssUyeydJaBYOCjZkBCxq_Yc4Wh3V3kzJGj2qlzbsifaGM5XxaOmEayRRJL1WHwvHLBApYucMr6i7MqY4/s1600/DSC00034.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5F_-7xTI2L79pBAbRvyBIL_QHkUpBiXtX3459lyMA-65xwfiVok7f3GKPcYUssUyeydJaBYOCjZkBCxq_Yc4Wh3V3kzJGj2qlzbsifaGM5XxaOmEayRRJL1WHwvHLBApYucMr6i7MqY4/s400/DSC00034.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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Perhaps even my own mini version of the zoo's Eastern atmosphere...<br />
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Interestingly, I recently passed a large out-of-town store along the N12 that sells large statues of Buddha and some of the Hindu deities. If I could just recall where precisely it is...<br />
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I was at dinner with friends last night and we got to talking about religions and Ganesha was discussed because, whilst not being a follower of any particular faiths or creeds, I am spiritual and I do like to adopt aspects of many of the world's religions and this guy is one that I like.<br />
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He's a remover of obstacles, patron of the arts and sciences and the deva of intellect and wisdom.<br />
I especially like to have obstacles sorted for me.<br />
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But what of the animals, you may be wondering?<br />
Well, the albino porcupine was a tad tricky for one young father to explain to his toddler.<br />
'Sans couleur?' I suggested, and that seemed to the point.<br />
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They'd just been given a lunch of pellets and were happily munching away so we were able to observe them at close quarters. Their ears are very human-like and they hold their lunch between their paws in the same way that Tashi holds a chewie.<br />
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The young camel seems to think he's part of the herd of wild horses that share his paddock.<br />
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We discussed whether we could train a wild horse. The sign on the fence stated that they are not able to be but we think it could be done, given time and patience and some Horse Whisperer skills.<br />
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They remind me of the horses on the walls of the caves at Lascaux.<br />
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The zoo is in a valley, that leads to some pretty vistas as you walk around.<br />
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And the streams that flow through add to the sense of serenity, as well as providing natural boundaries for some of the animals.<br />
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I think these would look good in my garden and I know just the place for them.<br />
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This stork was, I think, on guard duty. The rest of the flock were dozing, large beaks tucked into their backs, feathers like duvets covering their heads, snoring softly. Well, that's poetic licence, I didn't actually hear any snoring.<br />
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I thought that the ants were a new addition. The Ragazza thought otherwise. Regardless, I'd never seen them before, ants make me itchy, and twitchy, I'm not a great fan of Formicidae, not since a swarm of them flew into my house in England one hot summer day. And these look like ants in wasps' clothing.<br />
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A little plug<br />
Palm oil is a problem<br />
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The zoo does a good job of educating people about ecology, conservation, endangered species.<br />
It makes for tough reading sometimes but it does not good to remain ignorant.<br />
N'est-ce pas?<br />
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Juliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07365391659955928592noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572597865932195411.post-163117769297830912017-08-27T02:02:00.001-07:002017-08-27T02:02:26.120-07:00Good Intentions...I had thought that I'd write more blog posts now that I am back in Brittany...<br />
And that I'd be working on my novels...<br />
And that TEFL course that needs to be completed by the end of September...<br />
And so much more I had thought that I would have achieved by now.<br />
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It's not that I am procrastinating, or that I am idling away my days, or that the will is not there.<br />
It's that it is summer and I am in Brittany and there is the coast to the north with the beaches and the islands and the boat trips and I have been kayaking and that was an adventure and a half, and there is the countryside all around with the lakes and the gorges and wonderful walking with the dog, and there are exhibitions and events to attend, and there are old towns and villages to explore, and there are evenings spent with friends and lunches measured in gloriously slow, lazy hours and...<br />
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This week I've had The Ragazza here.<br />
In ten days time an old friend from England is coming for a week of exploring and adventuring and hanging out.<br />
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But September brings La Rentrée when we all put away our buckets and spades, our beach umbrellas and our snorkels and we return to the serious business of study or work, and I like that feeling of starting on new ventures and taking up new opportunities. So while my own rentrée may be delayed until my friend leaves, but once I have safely delivered her back to the ferry there will then be a change of pace and of purpose for me.<br />
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But until then, the sun is shining on the courtyard from a Breton-blue sky and the birds are singing and the adventures are calling and I so want to do it all while I still have the days in which to do it.<br />
Because we never know when those days will run out<br />
N'est-ce pas? <br />
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<br />Juliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07365391659955928592noreply@blogger.com2