Today the morning mist lingers. A reminder of our good fortune with the weather, on the cruise thus far. And a factor to consider in our departure plans.
I row ashore to stretch my legs. Go in search of the ‘real Brittany,’ away from our honey pot harbour.
To the planners’ great credit, houses fronting onto the port have been kept in private residential hands. . .
. . . aside from one, inevitable, Creperie conversion. The spirit of the natural rock refuge is retained intact.
A couple of authentic winding alleys back, a glass fronted mall of gift shops and restaurants cuts a swathe, of commercial modernity, through to the beach. The price of scenic stardom - well contained though it is. Not even a baguette shop remains as a vestige of the everyday world.
I set off around the, at this stage of tide, largely dry upper harbour bed and across to Tregastel en Plage. In search of rustic normality.
Across the bridge, modern suburban houses line the road.
But ahead looms a large ‘out of town’ shopping centre: Super U hyper-market, garden centre and - in a nod to our nautical location - the largest boat chandlery that I’ve ever seen.
A part of me is appalled. This is not my mental picture of rural Brittany. But it is the real one. The lived in one. And a part of me is delighted to buy my baguette, fresh fruit and a few treats. Happy to know that Gaz bottles for the cooker and spares for Stargazer are readily available, if needed.
I return, less than a mile, to the tranquility of Ploumanac’h. Noting this beach on the Tregastel side of the bridge, as I walk. Tomorrow I will land there, when I row ashore to fetch my baguette. Shorten my walk to a quarter of a mile. All that separates the two realities.
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