A sleepy seaside town, endowed with a special significance, by the tidal cycle, for vessels on passage to and from Biscay. Certainly southbound, when the run of favourable tide is shorter. Roscoff to L'Aber Wrac'h is one, helter skelter tide. L'Aber Wrac'h, through the Chenal du Four, to Camaret the next.
Silver sands and tranquility are the order of the day, in the Baie des Anges (Bay of Angels), a five minute stroll from the port.
Where the dinghies tug at their moorings. As a sea breeze affectionately ruffles its water, to a deeper shade of blue.
A lane winds up from the harbour. Sunken between high hedgerows. Snaking toward the summit of the steep hillside. An ancient drystone, leading-line mark, limed and red topped, at its first cross roads.
The road levels, broadening to two full carriageways. Set about with slate roofed cottages. Spaced at an increasing frequency.
Until it reaches the village of Landeda.
A whitewashed church, with sculptural pierced bell tower, forms the central 'square.' Around it are arranged the apocryphal butcher, baker and, if no candlestick-maker, a small supermarket. Plus a Tabac and a Creperie, with sweetly fragrant smoke issuing through its open door.
A Breton rural idyll, living life at its own pace. Untroubled by timetables. Tidal or otherwise.
No comments:
Post a Comment