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!