Something I've learned...

is to pay no attention to weather forecasts.

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.

The weather forecast for the coast was not promising: Rain, cold winds, heavy cloud cover.

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.

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.  

So much so that I left my coat in the car and set off walking with my sweater tied round my waist.

Goodness, it was busy on the path.

But not too busy for this lady...
She reacted to my attention by turning tuwards me and raising her pincers.
I'd never seen a stag beetle in the flesh, as it were, and I was fascinated, albeit from a distance.

I love rock climbing. My knees are a little too stiff for me to risk it right now but I have plans...

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.
 

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.

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.

Anyway, there was that flask back in the car.

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?

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...

And no, I told them, I am not French.
I did not admit to being English, I was not in the mood for a serious discussion about Brexit.

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.

And it was bliss.
Sheer bliss.

I was right to quit that toxic corporate cage and return to Brittany.
And to think, I wasn't sure I'd have the courage to come back!

The 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

It wasn't a good choice. Lesson learned. No shortcuts in future. 

While we ate, the beautiful blue skies and sunshine were wiped out, leaving a grey fog in their place.

Who stole the sea?

After lunch we set off for the boat.

The beach was busy, there were teenagers playing volleyball on a temporary court without a net...

and younger kids learning to sail, and kayak, and paddleboard and, well, all possible variations of things to do on the sea...

When we reached the reception area for the boat trip the news was not promising...
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...

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.

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. 

So we did not see the puffins. Not this time.

We drove to Trégastel where even the pink castle was shrouded in mist.

I walked as far as I could, I climbed over the rocks and I still couldn't see it.

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.

 

And then home.

I don't know about H, but I am exhausted. In a very good way.

Significant 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..

That kind of thing.

Sometimes they are not happy events.

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.

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. 

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...   

And I was planning to head for my favourite swimming pool.
Or  rather, the beach by the pink castle.

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.

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.

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.

I swam for 30 minutes and as I walked out of the sea the water actually felt warm.

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...     

And I gazed at my favourite view, that pink castle...

And then I dried and dressed and we set off to drive to the Sentier des Douaniers for a brisk walk.

It was very busy, Many other people were enjoying the pink granite coast.
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.

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.   

There were a lot of flowers...

Tashi doesn't care about the flowers, he prefers to be snuffling in the sand.

And then it was time to turn round and head back to the car.

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. 

I like to think my dad and mother-in-law were with me in spirit today.

I know they would have approved of the adventure.