Camaret awakens, at an unhurried pace, to Sunday morning. A wiry seadog sculls his Breton lugger into the shallows. To give her a scrub, as the tide recedes. And a new season coat of antifouling, once she is high and dry, upon the beach.
The quayside cafes prepare for business. A croissant and a coffee, in the sunshine, for boat crews and locals. Before long lunches, for day trippers, out from Brest, to enjoy a day beside the sea.
Out on the seawall, the old trawlers moulder magnificently. As synonymous with Camaret as the Vauban tower. More admired, in their decline, than in their prime.
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