The black dog's evident excitement, together with its owner’s slightly overwhelmed air, convey something of the Ville Close experience.
Access is via a stocky stone bridge. Which is built narrow and arcing left. To simultaneously defeat a battering ram charge at the gates; and to disadvantage advancing, right handed, swordsmen.
The deterrent, of a mediaeval drawbridge, has been replaced by a more welcoming modern fixed structure. Those who would enter, have important choices before them:
Linger, listening to the softly strummed folk melodies of the busker beside the portcullis?
Stroll around the battlements?
For the Ville Close is a rocky island, fortified and made stronghold for the townsfolk, of Concarneau, in time of strife.
March purposefully toward the designer boutiques? Which have sprung up where market traders once hawked exotic wares, to a waiting garrison.
Filling cobbled alleys with their enticing cries. The air rich with the scent of roasting sweetmeats. Crowds milling, sampling; moving from stall to stall. Like honey bees, foraging for nectar, in a wildflower meadow.
Explore the quieter, residential corners, enclosed within the walls?
Or rest a while in the square? Surveying the swirling, shifting, people-scape.
Whatever the distractions within, Stargazer's skipper must heed the wise words of the weather man. Who foretells that our fortunate run of west winds is to end. Tomorrow, Stargazer must make good her easting.
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