Our first weekend away The French and I spent on the coast of western Brittany. It was the end of April and a little town we stayed a night was not yet open for the season. We slept in a house on the edge of a cliff overlooking a moody sea. We ate mussels and drunk local cider in a tiny family restaurant. The next day we traveled to St Malo, an ancient town of privateers where we roamed narrow cobbled streets of the Old Town and ate sea snails and oysters in a restaurant on the marina. Needless to say, I fell in love with Brittany coast and we’ve been back many times since then.
This trip is my good bye to the summer. There will be a boat race on a sun dappled water and white rum brought from the French Carribean. I’m dreaming of a sea tan, the kind of burned caramel hue that you get only from spending days on sunny, windy beaches of Northern Atlantic. Look closely and you will see salt crystals on my arms.
Spécialité locale is rain, mainly on the western side of Brittany. The locals are not dissimilar to Brits when it comes to their attitude to the elements. They just shrug their shoulders, put on a rain coat (like the yellow one you see on one of the photos) and get on with their business. Breton boys are a different specimen from slightly effeminate men from Paris- they are stockier, more rugged and insanely good looking. They are also nice and super warm- and that’s goes for most people in Brittany.
When I think of Brittany I mediately see three colours- white, dark blue and yellow. White for boats, see shells and sandy beaches. Blue for see and sailor stripes. Yellow for the ever present rain coats. Sometimes you can see a splash of red, a sea coral or a red cap. Like the rest of France, Brittany manages to be stylish in a very natural, unstudied way.
I will tell you a secret that one day may be worth a lot of money- if I ever become a wanted women, you will find me in Brittany. I will be having lunch on the marina in St Malo.