The last discoveries to mention include Boules of Cidre de Bretagne (delicious), Noix St Jacques (scallops) really delicious, and the Ile de Batz in blazing heat. During our meanderings across Batz (which is rather like one of the Aran Islands. It has a population of 400 people, two schools, and life is based on agriculture, fishing and tourism), we passed the time of day with an old man with a huge hump on his back, teeth as long as tombstones, and a face ravaged by a sea of wrinkles. He used a walking aid to get on and off the boat and explore the island in 25 degrees of heat. So impressive. He must have been about 90,  and , would you believe, was yet another Englishman who had fallen in love with a French woman and stayed in France, but he struggled more with his memory of English so we discussed the tip of Collie dog tails in French.

Since giving up smoking, my French has somewhat deteriorated as I no longer do Duo Lingo in the porch while having a quick ciggie. While I understand quite a lot, and can certainly get by, I don’t remember certain phrases. When people gabble a sentence or two, I get the gist, but I can’t quite remember how to respond. It’s very irritating. I might have to start Duo Lingo again, but its unfortunate I associate it with smoking.

I have found being in France and not smoking very annoying. I used to love sitting in cafes with a vin blanc cassis or a Ricard and a cigarette and now an important part of my enjoyment is missing. The French smoke in such a natural way…the cigarette belongs between their gnarled finger tips, particularly the men. I always felt very at home smoking in France. And now I can’t!

Finally, Poppins and I have discovered there is rain in Brittany…and its quite wetting…but it’s actually quite nice to sit at home, do a little writing, painting and to have the walk to the patisserie in the afternoon to buy Far de Breton for tea as the main attraction of the day…not to mention the Irish/ Tonga rugby match tonight.

So, after the excitement of the rugby match, the days have slipped into a habit of silvery blue…I now have to make the decision to take a separate path to the village for our baguette instead of my habitual one, the evening swim follows a routine promenade, the aperitif will happen at the witching hour (mind you, that will happen wherever I am), my feet know the curvatures and footholds of the coastal path. The sunsets are familiar, the Casino supermarket is home to me now, the couch has moulded itself to my fit and it is time to get ready to leave.

Yesterday we went to Morlaix to the hyper market, Leclerc, to buy the wine and goods to bring home. It was scary…not just negotiating the car park but the shop itself. It was huge, the size of two Rugby pitches. But with grim determination and courage, we advanced on each aisle at a time, ending at the wine. I found some Armagnac, and Champagne for Roisin and Jack’s engagement celebration on our return and fifteen bottles of wine. We will complete our purchases today in our local Casino, happily buying our favourite wine bottles, the right brand of gateau de riz and chocolate puds and I won’t be too embarrassed at the bottles clanking in the trolley and at the till because, well, because another fifteen bottles isn’t too much…is it? I think it will be a pleasurable experience, unlike Leclerc yesterday. After asking, the Lerclec Cashier refused to find us boxes for the wine, then with disaproval pointed to the sign that only 15 items were allowed at this till after she had processed 15 bottles, and then, when there was no label on the anchovies I had picked up, refused to continue until I returned to put them back where I found them. When I asked where in this mad house I had found them, she performed the perfect French shrug! It was quite a stand off…with the queue getting longer. The poor man behind us only had a baguette. Until then I hadn’t come across any of the usual French disdain for foreigners, so in a way, it was a relief to discover not everything has changed!

Yes, it is the end of our Brittany Days. I have loved our near month in Carantec. On Friday we get the overnight ferry back to Cork, stay overnight in Limerick with Joe, and next week, I will be in Dublin with my daughter and granddaughter who, in my absence has started to crawl. So, I have lots of silver linings…not to mention going to Greece to see my oldest friend, Mandy in mid October!!!

Tuesday 12 September.

We have made quite a few delightful discoveries during our Brittany days. Discovery of places which are quite simply ‘practically perfect’ and ‘happenings’ are ‘kindnesses’ that make a day special.

When Ellen and Lesley were with us, we went to market in Morlaix. The ‘clothes and clutter’ market stretches along the bottom of the gorge from which the town rises – very steeply may I add. I would not want to have to walk up too far. The food and veg market is in the handsome Allende Square which was built by the merchants of the 16^th century. Jerry and I went exploring there early in our Brittany Days. The four of us wandered around both markets, had a coffee in a café. The plan had been to walk Poppins in the woods on the way home and have a pizza lunch in the nice café in the pretty village of Loquenole but it was a hot day, and we decided to skip the walk in favour of lunch. It was the mention of Pizza that ruined Poppin’s walk in the wood. Unfortunately, the café was closed but the owner to whom Jerry and I had been chatting earlier in the week, came out, explained he had to shut today but offered to serve us drinks before he left. We explained we had come for lunch so he let us into the closed épicerie, let us buy the wherewithal for a picnic, and because he had no bread, gave us bread from his kitchen and let us eat and drink at his tables outside, asking us to stack the dishes and leave them outside the door. Such a kindness.

Also, in the village of Loquenole is a beautiful Oak Tree of which the village is very proud. They call it the Liberty Tree. It was planted at the time of the French Revolution to mark the event, along with a hundred others throughout the country, and it is the only one left alive. The village takes very good care of it. Of course, we had to pose in revolutionary stances…

This week, Jerry and I were exploring the adjoining peninsula with the main town of Plougasnou at its centre. We drove to the Pointe de Primel Tregastel and climbed the rock there. It was absolutely beautiful. Our discovery was that the peninsula is different to the Carantec one. It is greener, steeper and more mountainous. There are less sandy coves, more rocky ones and it feels less populated. The tiny villages are probably more touristy, but there are fewer of them. Again, a fabulous camp site. A walking holiday around these peninsulas would be wonderful.

We also went further South to the next ‘pointe’, Maison de la Pointe. This side is very flat, lots of agriculture, with miles of hot beach separated from a forest/green area by wonderful sand dunes (impossible to walk in, even with a brand new titanium hip). But, of course, the French have developed various walking paths through the green areas and woods where lovely houses sprout out of the trees. It reminded me of Jurmala, Latvia, except the paths were better and so well maintained.

By the way, Lesley showed me a brand new app called ‘outdooractive’ which identifies and/or tracks the paths you can take in whatever region/area you are in. It’s brilliant.

So this app and the coastal walks, peninsula paths, and the forest chemins are a wonderful discovery in Brittany and it is these I think that will bring me back (aside from the wine and cheese). They are all along each peninsula, little dotted lines that curve around the cliff tops, through the pine trees, along the beaches. Yesterday, I left Jerry to read in the shade of the pines while I went with Poppins for a walk. Across the bay, I could see the long beach that Ellen, myself and Lesley had walked along last Friday at the start of our coastal walk on the Carantec peninsula.

We also visited the Cairn de Barnenez…a gigantic megalithic tomb on a number of levels. It’s pitched at the top of hill and when it was built it was on top a plain…not the sea. I think, once you seen one megalithic tomb, you’ve seen them all…but this one was rather splendid.

Another discovery are the steeples on the churches hereabout. They are distinctive in that they are structures as opposed to solid points. We were wondering about that. Jerry thought that they were Moorish looking…and he was right. We discovered yesterday that the Moors invaded this coast line sometime between 15^th and 17^th century…I can’t remember when exactly. Anyway, these steeples are much more interesting that the squat Norman ones or pointy Catholic ones. 

Two other discoveries…the starry nights when the sky is clear are fantastic. The other night the night sky blossomed with stars. It was as if they were falling out of the darkness. The plough was so close, I felt I could reach out and touch it. I haven’t seen a sky like that since we lived in Drumbriste in rural Cavan. There was also a party going on in the port. At 1.30am they were playing loud music and dancing under the starry night. I really felt like I was missing out.

And finally, so far, the military jets! The noise they make as the roar around the bay. They look like black angry mosquitos…flat, sharp and full of angles. They do their military manoeuvres in the late afternoon, often while I’m on the beach. It’s odd to be floating on the waves or snoozing on the sand when suddenly a slow rumble starts and grows and two, always two, black aircraft zoom across, round and round…as if little God boys were playing in the sky.

I’ll let you know when we make new discoveries…until then, I think I’m happy indulging in the old ones: it’s lunch in Kelenn today after a walk, reading my book which I haven’t done much of and then an early evening swim followed by a lovely aperitif. Salut!

Still having pic issues…

Monday 11 of September

Gosh…that is a date that changed our lives. It seems quite innocent when you write it like that. But on my watch, it is written 9/11, and looks and sounds ferocious. Let’s hope today is more benign. The earthquake in Morocco is sad enough.

Our second lot of friends, Ellen and Lesley (another Lesley) left yesterday. We had a lovely weekend of coastal walks, drink, markets, drinks, beaches, drinks and a delicious fish and drinks at the other port restaurant at the bottom of our road. We met Sasha, Ian and Lucette over drinks in our favourite café on Beach Kelenn after a lovely hike and Ellen had extensive Rugby discussions with wine ‘advisor’ in the local Casino supermarket. (I was very pleased about the Irish/Romania match 82/8!) Sasha is the manager of the restaurant at the bottom of our road who  squeezed us in last minute on Saturday night for more lovely fish and drinks. Sadly, after our chat with Ian and Lucette at the next table, (they met thirty years ago when Ian came from England to Paris to do a French speaking course, and now have three shiatzus) went back home to Paris. I hope it wasn’t having to listen to Ellen’s appalling French that made them leave. Anyhow, we had a great weekend full of craic, lots of laughs and we even danced the night away on Friday.

Yesterday, after dropping them off at the Ferry, I watched them sail away from the beach at the tip of the Periharidi point while eating a breakfast slice of the delicious home-made apricot, apple and pecan loaf that Lesley had brought with her. Because it was so early, we let Poppins go mad in the sand dunes chasing whatever creatures she dreams up in her head, and we gazed into the distance…the low tide was far far away and it seemed so still, so blue, so quiet, so peaceful. Then a lone fisherman arrived and a man with three dogs, then a couple came walking, and Sunday in France began. We went in search of a boulangerie for our daily bread and took our picnic to Santec beach where we ate and watched at least 600 people doing a sponsored walk/run for the catholic church. Santec beach is a long wide plage and behind is a lovely small forest, so Poppins and I meandered around, ending up in a beautiful campsite…if anyone enjoys camping…do go here. We ended the day on our own beach back in Carantec, swimming and watching the locals at play and finishing the pot au fer that I had cooked specially for the women which I have to say was absolutely delicious…never mind that Ellen won’t eat anything with carrots or meat. I had thought it was  Poppins and Tomatoes she didn’t like but apparently, she loves them and goats cheese and cider and our fridge is now full of both. I’m not keen on either!

Still having pic issues!

Thursday 31 Aug

We’re acquiring habits! I walk Poppins every morning, usually along the beach and then up to the coastal path which meanders across beaches, over the cliffs, and at the foot of the gardens of some immense ‘maisons’ built into the rock, similar in scale to Bono’s in Killiney. Usually, I will divert off to the boulangerie in Carantec to pick up our baguettes for breakfast on which to spread our fine local rhubarb and cherry jams from the market for breakfast when I get home. Breakfast is a treat well deserved.

Today, however, I meandered around the port, taking the tiny passages and paths that lie in wait, hiding beside hedges and shuttered houses that look like they might lead me to some splendid secret cove or short cut home but instead weave and dive and leave me elsewhere altogether. So, I look around, scratch my head, and set off again, whistling to Poppins to come. It’s like walking in a beautifully constructed maze, where instead of hedges you have houses, except I always seem to get further away from home. However, I think Poppins is less impressed as she called back from rooting under bushes, and sniffing at gates where she is sure heaven lingers in the form of cats. I’m never really lost as I know I just have to head down and there the port will be.

It’s called the port, and indeed rows of pretty boats are tied up to buoys far off in the distance, but the true sport of the port is, when the tide is out, people scouring the rocks and seaweed for clams, crabs, oysters, shrimps, mussels and lobster. Poppins enjoys the scamper around and I like to study the pools for the mysteries that lie within but the crabs, lobsters and shrimps are invisible to me, and I never see those monsters that restaurants have swimming around in their aquariums.

To Poppins chagrin, today, we weren’t out too long as we had to go to our local market. It was more homely that that of St Pol de Lyon and I picked up carrots, leeks, lamb gigot chops, parsley, all the wherewithal for a pot of Irish Stew which I can cook on the one hot plate I can get to work on the infamous induction stove. I let it simmer away while in the afternoon we walked across to the Ile de Callot at low tide. There is something so exciting and romantic about walking across to an island, and having to get back before you are left stranded. The beaches are beautiful half moons of white sand and the colours of the flowers and shrubs are vibrant. About seventeen families still live on the island so it is well looked after and there is a church (Notre Dame) at the far end where I lit a candle to both our mums…though Margaret will more likely appreciate that than my mum who was never one for religion.

On our return we stopped at the foot of our lane at the café for an melange of Strawberry and Vanilla Italian ice cream before returning home to the gorgeous smell of Irish stew. After a little read (it seems I have brought library books I have already read ), I togged out and went swimming, sitting on the beach afterwards to listen and try to assemble the story of the English/French family in front of me. Grandpa’s wife was a stylish older French local woman (white trousers, pale blue blouse – on a beach!). She lay head resting on his tummy or jumped up to ‘present’ him to passing older walking women. Grandpa’s Daughter, who wore and swam in leggings and a flowery top, seemed to take up a lot of space, playing ball on the beach, swimming in the sea. Everywhere she went, she talked in loud English to her two toddler children. She then left her tiny daughter alone in the shallows after trying to get her to show grandpa her swimming skills which were non existent; the child kept sinking. Then the Daughter went off into the sea with her her three year old son on her shoulders and shrugged him off so he would swim. He also sank. We were swimming in Croatia, she said, by way of explanation. Grandpa stayed close to hand, saying nothing, but trying to get the little girl out of the water and warm with a towel. Dad, why aren’t you swimming, exclaimed the woman Daughter. The classily dressed French wife said nothing. I think everyone spoke French, even the children, but Daughter insisted on speaking English. It was a very strange family dynamic.

The beach is the perfect place for story development because I just know that the French woman is the third wife of ‘dad’ who doesn’t speak English and cannot bear her husband’s Daughter because she is so demanding and spoilt and as for the grandchildren…well, she wants little to do with them. I believe Daughter has married a rich English man who doesn’t like his in laws or France where they live, and so she has come to visit for two days alone to show off her children and pretends everything is ok.

The irish stew was delicious and there is loads left for Poppins.

Wed 6 August

The last few days have been passed in a haze of sun, sea, beach, rock pools, walks, and chatter with my old friend, Lesley who arrived on the boat last Sunday. Oh, and did I mention food…lots of melon, bread, cheese, tomatoes, crepes and sea food. Yesterday we went to market at St Pol again and my haul was truly engaging…a fab, open toed pair of sandals (its been lovely and hot), the perfect little blue back pack to carry water, phone, book if out meandering the coast, and a nice blue down striped knee length sun dress. Not to mention the peppers, courgettes, sweet potato (douce potato here), aubergine for the roast vegs last night with lentils. Tout va bien!

As well as walking and eating, we explored Roscoff. First, we did a petit tour outside as I wanted to give Poppins a proper walk. We turned off by the red bus (truly – the 106 to Streatham High St), and found ourselves  foraging (in the car) along tiny little lanes through fields of artichokes and cabbage. Lovely, but we decided to go to the end of the peninsula instead as, according to the map, there seemed to be a green area there before three or four beaches. It was beautiful. The hidden beaches were white and deserted. The sea lapped gently at the shore. There was a long strand which stretched achingly into the far distance or charming half moon coves, with rocks for shelter and tall pine trees touching the pale blue sky. There were dusty paths to follow every which way. There was also a huge, low build cancer rehabilitation hospital spreading across the peninsula which somehow added to the sense of awe. It was beautiful. We meandered around and soon felt in need of coffee so decided to go into Roscoff itself. The old town is charming, old grey stone houses, narrow streets, lots of pretty hotels. The shops sold stripy Brittany jumpers, wind sheeters, gilets, though I didn’t see many of those Brittany bowls with the blue edging and the names. We managed to find a café table in the shade and had a delicious cream cheese and seaweed sandwich. Highly recommended.

On her last night Lesley took us out to eat in Cabestan, our local restaurant. It’s on the port front, overlooking the sea and is a cheap and cheerful looking sort of fish and chip place…however, the fish in Jerry’s fish and chips was delicious, not battered but served with a gorgeous creamy sauce. Lesley’s moules frites were black, huge, and shining and inside were the plumpest golden mussels I have ever seen. I had cod with langoustine (big prawns) served beautifully in a circle with two roasted potatoes, six round fleshy mushrooms, and three sprigs of broccoli. Superb. I started with a very good fish soup too. I needed the amble around the port afterwards. At 9 o’clock, people were finishing their evening picnics on the beach, or their last dip in the gentle lapping sea. There was a buzz of French chatter on the softest of Brittany (sorry, Bermuda) breezes. Another perfect day.

By the way, the weather has been so good…this could be Bermuda. And I’m still having photo issues…so no photos except on Insta and Facebook.