Playing away at Trégastel...

I've just spent the weekend at Trégastel.

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...

But this weekend was different because I went alone and I stayed over.
For two nights.
In an apartment with this view...

No, really, this was the view from the windows of the apartment.
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.

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.

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!'

Do they view me as a suspicious person, a stalker of pink stone castles?

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.

I didn't linger for long, the tide was turning and my way back was becoming wetter and wetter...

It did occur to me that one day I may become stranded by the rising water.
It's only a matter of time!

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. 

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. 

I know, family jokes don't always amuse other people!

It's a very friendly place, the aquarium.

The staff are welcoming and so are the residents who often pause to make eye contact.

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!'

Well, at the aquarium the fish are as curious about the visitors as we are about the fish...

This guy seemed particularly taken with me.

But I suspect it was my shiny silver camera that had attracted his attention.

The non-fishy inhabitants were blissfully unaware of my presence...

I spent a great deal of time sitting on the floor and watching these guys mating.

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.

    

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. 

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. 

Virtual visit here : http://forumdetregastel.fr/visite-virtuelle/

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.

But still good to be in the water and stretching my muscles.

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...

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..' 

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... 

while gazing at the now-watery view as the tide rose to surround the castle..  

I was tempted to swim in the sea.

I hadn't done so since last November.

But it was cold and grey and not too inviting, even at high tide.

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. 

Wild 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.

That happened often.
I was impatient as a child.
Still am, a little, although I am learning to slow down.

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.

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.

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.
 
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.

And loved it.

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.

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.

This was what was awaiting me...

   
Rain? What rain?
The day was gloriously sunny, albeit a little misty at first but then misty mornings are made for the seaside, aren't they?

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.

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...

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.

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.  

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.

Well! Look what we found! A beautiful sandy beach.

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.)

We sat in the car and indulged in some people-watching.

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.

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 ...

And then this happened and I was captivated and, it must be said, green with envy.

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...

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?

I slipped into a swimsuit and pulled a sweater on top and walked down to the tide line to test the water temperature.

It was cold. Very cold. Too cold for a swim, I convinced myself.

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.

And it was wonderful.

 

Last swim of the year?
Who knows?
I am ruling out nothing, if we're lucky enough to get another day like yesterday then...

Being A Tour Guide

I have a guest.
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.
We had lost touch and then I joined Facebook and found her.

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.
And here she is, in France with me for a week of exploring and adventures.

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.

So that was the first afternoon. An introduction to Breton saints on a rain-swept hilltop.
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.

One of my greatest pleasures is arriving at the Pink Castle Beach and finding a high tide.

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!

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.

It was perfect. It is always perfect. On such occasions, life is perfect.

Of course, once someone realised that I was in the sea he appointed himself my lifeguard...

Once dried and dressed we drove past Ploumanac'h so that we could walk the Sentier des Douaniers.

It was breezy, blustery, blowy...
 

We took many pictures.
We stopped many times to gasp at the waves crashing against the rocks.
We paused to breath in the scents of iodine and ozone.

It just goes to show that you should pay no heed to the weather forecasts.

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.

Then a cold drink at Trégastel before winding our way home.

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.

I am so blessed, and so appreciative.

And Maggie has fallen in love with the Pink Granite Coast, as I knew she would!

Swimming with the tide...

Thursday dawned clear and sunny. 

After a couple of days of cold, very cold for August, temperatures and torrential rain, it would have been foolish of me not to have packed my bag and headed for the coast.

We arrived early, Tashi and I, and were surprised to see a high tide. I don't think we've ever been to that particular beach when the castle has been sitting on an island, it was quite strange, even though I have a large photographic print of just that scene, I had never seen it in the flesh, as it were.

There were several people on the beach, stripping off and preparing to plunge into the sea.

It was chilly, still only just past nine o'clock and with a stiff breeze blowing off the water. 

I hesitated. For a few seconds. And then, with Tashi safely in the car that was parked right by the beach, I stripped off and followed them.   

I didn't swim out to the castle.
I haven't really done much sea swimming for, oh, fifty years, not since my family lived on the Rock of Gibraltar and we swam in Rosia Bay, I've mostly done lengths in a chlorinated pool or splashed about with The Ragazzi as I taught them to swim, so I'm out of practice.

The waves lapped against my face, the retreating tide pulled me out to sea, I caught a knee on a submerged rock and it was cold, very cold.

But, I reminded myself, not as cold as that ice hole in the frozen Finnish lake that I keep saying I'll jump into one of these winters. And it was fun to be bobbing about in the sea on a Thursday morning when I could have been sitting at a desk in a corporate cage.

And there was a lovely feeling of companionship with the other swimmers.
Especially the large brown dog that joined me. No, I told her embarrassed owner who was standing on the beach, I didn't mind having her doggy paddle alongside me.

And then, grinning like a kid, I sat on the sand wearing a jacket on top of my wet costume and with a towel wrapped around my goosebumpy legs, and sipped coffee from my thermos flask, and thought that life can be wonderful.

Several hours, a shopping trip to Ploumanac'h and lunch in Trégastel later, the tide was low and Tashi and I were able to walk towards the castle.

Do you remember that place among the rocks where at low tide there appeared to be a perfect little swimming place? When I first found it I decided to return to check it out when I had my swimsuit and towel with me so...

 

Tashi was able to stand on the sand right nearby and bark without disturbing the snoozing sunbathers way back on the beach, and I was able to walk a few steps and then plunge into a channel that was deep enough for me to swim and calm and warm enough for it to be a pure pleasure.

I floated, I dipped and dived, I splashed and I swam.
And then we padded back towards the car, clambering over rocks and wading through rock pools and slopping over muddy channels, and dripping wet from my swim, to lie on the beach and let the sun dry me.

.

Hygge - with a pink twist

Modern medicine saves lives, there can be no argument about that. I am acutely aware that it is the research of the last decade that is prolonging mine at this time, and I am constantly appreciative of the work of Cancer Research UK.

But when we have submitted to the surgery, survived the chemotherapy and radiotherapy and are coping with the side-effects of the latest medical treatments, well, then it is up to us to find the inner reserves, and the will, to continue the fight, n'est-ce pas?

Recently I've become interested in the Danish concept of hygge.
The Danes are, it is said, the happiest nation on the planet and this happiness is attributed, allegedly, to hygge which can be translated/described as creating a warm, cosy world in which to exist and enjoying the simple pleasures of life in the company of good friends.

I've been doing that a great deal during the last year although I am aware that I've probably been living that way for much of my life, sometimes successfully, when I remember to focus on the small things and let go of the irritants, often not when I succumb to stress.

On Good Friday I was in Brittany.
I'd gone for a friend's 70th birthday party and because I'd volunteered to take her sister with me and to accommodate her friend from Cornwall and, well, because I felt in need of my French Tribe and their loving care.

And while there a couple of friends made a date with me, "Friday, Pink Granite, lunch?"
Who could decline such a suggestion?
Pas moi!

Trégastal.
I think I've taken you there before, several times.
It is one of my favourite places to spend a sunny day.

The aquarium was closed until the afternoon, which was fine with us because, lunch, sitting outside, at a table overlooking the beach, and with an interesting party of French school children to watch and wave to ...

An aperitif of Kir and a starter of fish soup that was so delicious I almost purred...  

With this view ...

and then back to this place ...

and these guys and their friends...

and then a walk on the beach to collect a small handful of fine pink granite gravel, some shells and a tiny pink granite rock so that I could make my own beach in a bottle

and then home again.

Via Lannion which brought back so many memories of the two years that I spent in France and made me so nostalgic and so homesick that now I am planning...

But that's for another story.

Excellent medicine, a day at Trégastal.
N'est-ce pas?

Julia xxx

Kayaking the Pink Granite Coast

I am a firm believer in the benefits of play.
As adults our lives are often so stitched-up with work and worries, duties and daily tasks, that we can easily forget to have fun. And when that happens our minds become narrow and closed and we lose an important element of that which makes us human - our curiosity and our sense of adventure.

So, on holiday, I like to return to my seven year-old self, the little feisty kid with waist-length blonde plaits, scraped knees and freckled face. On holiday I like to play.

The Rags and I went kayaking in the Gulf of Maine twelve years ago and, aside from an unsuccessful attempt at canoeing on the Thames when I capsized my craft so often and had to be dragged from the water so frequently that our instructor gave up on me, we hadn't enjoyed Riparian Rolics for a long time. So, with The Ragazza and the BF, I planned a kayaking adventure on the Pink Granite Coast.

I'd taken the precaution of booking online and in English to avoid any confusion and hitches but even so... We arrived early at the Club Nautiqe de Tregastel (link here) which was not easy to find and which driving down dead-ends and round in circles had put the BF (our self-appointed driver in France) in a mood that was tense, to say the least. We parked and walked expectantly to the club where small, sun-tanned kids were wandering around in wet-suits and everyone seemed to know what they were doing and where they were going, except us. We marched into the reception area to be greeted by a woman who spoke only French and who insisted that she had no record of our booking.  The BF's tension increased and the pressure on me mounted. There was an exchange, polite but insistent, no there was no booking, yes there had been, no there hadn't, yes there had, until I suggested that we make one for that afternoon, an hour kayaking with a guide for three people, that being all that I could afford to pay when presented with a new price list. And so, it being lunchtime when everything in France grinds to a halt, we left to find food.

An hour later we were back. And this time we were armed with the e-mail confirming our booking, courtesy of The Ragazza's phone. We found the changing rooms (no signs on the doors or directions), we changed into suitable clothing, we wandered outside feeling self-conscious and gauche, and were duly pointed to a row of kayaks and pretty much told, there they are, see you in an hour.

Quoi?

I protested, we had requested an hour with a guide, we were not capable of venturing forth alone and unguided on the high seas, we would pose a risk to shipping and a danger to ourselves, what if we ended up encountering a Brittany ferry?  What if the currents returned us to England? What if...?

And then everything changed. A guide was found, we were informed that our bill would be a great deal less than we'd been told that morning, we were promised two hours instead of the one that I thought was all we'd been allocated, we were kitted out in life-vests, handed a paddle and asked to follow Eric to the kayaks on the beach.

And from that moment it was blissful, heavenly, brilliant!
We paddled in the shelter of the pink granite rocks which, as I kept informing the Ragazza and the BF, would once have been the tops of mountains higher than the Alps, wasn't that amazing? We navigated small channels between the rocks with only the occasional mishap when one of us, the oldest and wisest, became stuck on said-rocks and had to be pulled back into the sea. We admired the crystal-clear water and all that we saw beneath the waves, and you have to be above the waves to appreciate the beauty of that which lies beneath. We ventured out into the sea beyond the safety of the little bay and battled the current. One of us, the oldest and least wisest, even tried to copy the guide as he practiced some fancy-schmancy kaykaing near the rocks, before being politely told to desist. In short we had a wonderful afternoon.

Our guide was great, patient, reassuring and even laughing at my silly French humour.
It had all been worth the hassle and the misunderstanding.

When we finished and when I finally managed to extricate myself and my wonky knees from my craft, having thought at one point that I might have been forced to board the ferry home still 'wearing' a kayak, we thanked Eric and gave him a tip which, he said, was not expected, but which we said had certainly been earned, and which he said would buy him a lot of beer, and we left to find a certain establishment nearby that sells the best cheese omelette and fries in the world, by way of celebration.

We will return, that much we've promised ourselves, perhaps for a whole day of kayaking next time.

Sadly, I have no photos with which to illustrate his post.
Save for the one that I took from the restaurant which, I think, captures the mood of the day perfectly. Apologies for reproducing it but it is my favourite.

So, kayaking at Tregestal.
11/10

Useful Information:
The Club Nautique Tregastel caters for all ages and offers courses in kayaking, windsurfing, canoeing, sailing etc.

Equipment for kayakers:
Shoes, suitable for those occasions when you part company with your kayak and find yourself standing on rocks, stones, sharp stuff on the seabed. Carrefour sell cheap canvas shoes that do well.
A hat if you find the sun too much.
Swimsuit, see shoes, above.
Sun cream, unless you like to look like a cooked lobster.
Wetsuits are provided if you kayak in cold weather or plan to be submerged in deep water.
Life-jackets are provided and must be worn.

Changing facilities, toilets and showers are provided on site but there are no lockers for valuables so best to leave the diamond tiara at home.
Car parking is available nearby and is, of course, free.

One last picture, of my muse, the pink castle that inspired me to write my second novel