En France 32

 

The severely functional stonework, of the twelfth century city gate, is crowned by an ornate, almost playful, seventeenth century clock tower.

Stargazer is moored at the southern end of La Rochelle's main quay. A green topped lighthouse (aft of ensign) marks its centre.

The austere arch, with its flamboyant headgear, dominates the northern end.

Within, lie stone built arcades. Cooled by their own shade and the sheer thickness of the masonry. As perfectly attuned to the climate now, as when they were constructed, in the seventeenth century. Perhaps more so, with global temperatures now on the march.

Two (occasionally three) wheeled transport asserts a certain precedence, on the roads. As in all cities, old or new.

Pedestrians emerging from the shadowed sanctuary, of the pavements, into the glare of the busy streets, must beware. Those on two wheels pay scant regard to rights of way, at pedestrian crossings. Whereas cars and busses can be relied upon to screech to a halt, at the last second. In the French way.

Bright young things flit between fashionable boutiques.

Business folk attend important appointments.

Dudes disport.

The massive blockwork, of the city's arcades, has witnessed many a change, in the four hundred years it has stood. 

Itself a constant. Offering shelter to traders. . . . .

. . . . .and entertainers alike.

In the cool of a square, I pause amongst the market stalls. My eye caught by a display of richly patterned Algerian wall hangings. Of the perfect size, to rig above Stargazer's cockpit, in a combined wind scoop and sun shade.