The West, where the sailors dwell
Good afternoon all! Hope this finds you well and happy. I'm writing from Plymouth, awaiting the ferry to Spain, and killing time, I happened upon the only remaining independent yarn shop (simply called haberdashery, and ruddy marvellous) in this city, which I've always been fond of. And now it is another name to embroider on the map. People slag Plymouth off, as much of the centre is a bit concrete jungle, and it's nightlife is sneered upon...but I've been here many times, and have always liked the atmosphere, and it has some lovely spots. It is the twin city of Brest, and both these naval ports were heavily bombed in the war by opposing sides...it's always the little people that suffer most in wars...all of us little people have complex lives and intricate connections, but conflicts and interference from the rich and powerful can swiftly turn any of us into a statistic. My last stop in Brittany was Morlaix, my favourite town in the world. It has a huge railway viaduct that was bombed twice in the war, first by the British military (destroying a school and killing 40 children and their teacher- friendly fire, eh?) And then again by the German military during the liberation of occupied Northern France. Walking around its beautiful streets and steep alleyways, Gaël tells me of how so many inhabitants were murdered in revenge for the Resistance bombing of a cafe which killed 6 occupying soldiers. His grandfather was a resister, and eventually had to flee and live in hiding in Paris, big cities generally being the best places to hide. Terrorism is such a loaded term, and is always subjective. We see these kind of things in the news, but we can't have much of an idea of the complexities behind them...we only know what it is like to be ourselves.But more on Morlaix later, and on to happier things.
I finished my last entry in the square at Douarnenez. I had stayed in Le Tréboul, and I thought they had really just joined up....but I later heard that the river between divided a long standing rivalry, with many stories of clandestine love trysts between people on opposite sides. In Douarnenez, Le Tréboul is known as Le Maroc, as traditionally and still today, that is where it's sailors go to fish for sardines, while those of Douarnenez stay local....the long-standing connections (and inevitably other love trysts) between Le Treboul and Morocco unravel more Atlantic Threads.
My next stop was Concarneau, two bus rides and a long walk in the heat to my campsite a few miles outside the town. It as staffed by one slightly deranged but endearing woman, and the very much more strict looking doyenne. They both moan that people try and drive through to get to 'their' beach. It isn't theirs at all, it is on the coastal walking path but the nearest place to get a car to it would be on the campsite. I'm a little doubtful as there are very many beaches around here, and there are other suggestions that avarice might be their particular deadly sin...it was more expensive than anywhere I've camped even in Britain...and they cut off the hot water between 8pm and 8am...it's not even dark here till 8.30, so I thought that was a bit, well, mean. Amusing though, as the bonkers one was also moaning that because of Brexit, Brits hadn't come that much this year and the campsite had been full of bloody Germans and their ways. I am never sure about many things but I have absolutely no doubt that had I been German, she would have said exactly the same about bloody Brits! Anyway I have a wonderful swim at the beach that is a five minute walk away, the site is pretty with rabbits running around and I'm glad I stayed here. It's called Les Près Verts aux 4 Sardines, sardine being French slang for tentpeg.
I go into the town that evening...a short cut along the greenway made on the old railway line. It's gorgeous. The yarn shop I go to though, Tricofil, was a bit depressing.....I felt so sad for the woman running it....she didn't want to be in a photo, and when I take better stock of the shopfront, I understand why, and I feel awful for not noticing the peeling sign and slightly dilapidated frontage. If I had, I would never have suggested a picture...I'd just been too excited to get onto the shop. There is a very small selection, mostly all acrylic. I buy some cotton, which I will put in the blanket. She's a lovely lady I think, but not having a great time of things I think, and I really really wish her well. It does really confirm my thing of buying wool from shops though...it made me feel really down to see this, and it was a feeling I couldn't shake off till the next evening. It wasn't helped much by visiting the town. There is a pretty harbour and an incredible medieval walked village on an island in the middle of it, but the rest is really uninspiring...and hugely inflated prices...it's a bit of tourist trap. But it's clear to see how that happened walking back to the site along the much longer, but breathtaking coast path. The beaches are Gorgeous!!!!
From Concarneau, I get two buses and a walk in pretty searing heat back to Gael's in Landerneau....troubled thoughts have kept me from sleeping well....of course in any six week period, there will inevitably be some low days....but this is particularly strong....and unpleasantly familiar...I felt so sad at the shop the previous evening....these are the people my journey is about, and I really want them to be ok. I also worry about the shadows of my own blackdog....is it yapping at my heels once again? A bit of meditating alone in the shade helps. I realise that I have to keep going with some of my coping strategies even travelling....and I can't fear sinking...I have better tools than I used to, and welling in fear can become self-fulfilling for me.
I don't sleep well again, but the next day is much more uplifting...I've planned three shops quite close together in the North of Brittany....am on familiar turf again, and what a luxury...Gael wants to go out for a drive so I arrive at all three without huge bags and in a car!!! The first is just brilliant....it's kind of an out of town hangar kind of thing called Breizh Gloan, just outside the village of Bodilis, but amazing range...loads of super cheap discontinued French yarns (good for us, but a reminder of all the mills closed in Europe), lots of Portuguese, Dutch and Italian yarns. I get some beautiful viscose and wool from the French Pyrenees (a still working mill) in green, cream and orange for an Irish pledger. The staff are just really nice and super knowledgeable here. The next stop is called Aiguilles et Compagnie, in the pretty little village of Cléder. I get some lovely multicoloured merino for someone, and the black and white (the Breton flag colours I need for a pledger) we have a nice chat, and talk about how hard it is for a small shop in a village to survive. She also does alterations, pressing, laundry and dry cleaning...a lot of work, but she says it's worth it if she can keep her dress-making and wool store going; it's her passion.
Next stop in Morlaix....I love this place....so atmospheric....I think it's the most beautiful town that I know of, and am so happy to see it again. And also so happy to see Gael's mum, Martine and stepdad, Patrice (both of whom I am super fond of) have bucked the prevailing trend and moved from the countryside into the town here to retire...they want to be able to walk everywhere, and it makes sense to me. And walking in Morlaix is sport- up and down all the time. We home about how the thighs and bums of its inhabitants are all supertoned, and should be the envy of the world! Martine tells me she knows the yarn shop I've come to see and tells me it's amazing. It's an old butcher's and when Laury opened her mercerie, she knitted and crocheted a beautiful butcher's shop window of sausages and different meats. La Mercerie de Laury is brilliant, and her and her son were really enchanted by the project.
That evening, my last in Brittany, we go to a centre where the family get bread and eggs and a vegetable box from a local farmer, lovely Aude. It's every Friday evening and a really social thing for all the families that go, and it supports a young local farmer who has turned around the land she took on. Her arms look like she's been walking all around Morlaix on her hands for years- this is someone who works really hard....and she's worried about the lack of rain this year. Everyone is worrying, as Brittany seems to be getting more and more of a southern French climate....sounds great, but when your main produce is vegetables adapted to a wetter, milder climate, this isn't great news.
I'm super sad to day goodbye to my friends...I hope they will come to London next year...the daughter aare finally at the age where they will be able to both appreciate and remember the experience. And I'm super happy happy to rejoin Shane in Plymouth after 3 weeks....and now I have included a new stop, the only one in Britain, which I didn't plan at all. But I happened upon it...it was great, and you don't look a gifthorse in the mouth.
Onwards on the ferry to Spain now, love and light to you all, Billy xxx
I finished my last entry in the square at Douarnenez. I had stayed in Le Tréboul, and I thought they had really just joined up....but I later heard that the river between divided a long standing rivalry, with many stories of clandestine love trysts between people on opposite sides. In Douarnenez, Le Tréboul is known as Le Maroc, as traditionally and still today, that is where it's sailors go to fish for sardines, while those of Douarnenez stay local....the long-standing connections (and inevitably other love trysts) between Le Treboul and Morocco unravel more Atlantic Threads.
My next stop was Concarneau, two bus rides and a long walk in the heat to my campsite a few miles outside the town. It as staffed by one slightly deranged but endearing woman, and the very much more strict looking doyenne. They both moan that people try and drive through to get to 'their' beach. It isn't theirs at all, it is on the coastal walking path but the nearest place to get a car to it would be on the campsite. I'm a little doubtful as there are very many beaches around here, and there are other suggestions that avarice might be their particular deadly sin...it was more expensive than anywhere I've camped even in Britain...and they cut off the hot water between 8pm and 8am...it's not even dark here till 8.30, so I thought that was a bit, well, mean. Amusing though, as the bonkers one was also moaning that because of Brexit, Brits hadn't come that much this year and the campsite had been full of bloody Germans and their ways. I am never sure about many things but I have absolutely no doubt that had I been German, she would have said exactly the same about bloody Brits! Anyway I have a wonderful swim at the beach that is a five minute walk away, the site is pretty with rabbits running around and I'm glad I stayed here. It's called Les Près Verts aux 4 Sardines, sardine being French slang for tentpeg.
I go into the town that evening...a short cut along the greenway made on the old railway line. It's gorgeous. The yarn shop I go to though, Tricofil, was a bit depressing.....I felt so sad for the woman running it....she didn't want to be in a photo, and when I take better stock of the shopfront, I understand why, and I feel awful for not noticing the peeling sign and slightly dilapidated frontage. If I had, I would never have suggested a picture...I'd just been too excited to get onto the shop. There is a very small selection, mostly all acrylic. I buy some cotton, which I will put in the blanket. She's a lovely lady I think, but not having a great time of things I think, and I really really wish her well. It does really confirm my thing of buying wool from shops though...it made me feel really down to see this, and it was a feeling I couldn't shake off till the next evening. It wasn't helped much by visiting the town. There is a pretty harbour and an incredible medieval walked village on an island in the middle of it, but the rest is really uninspiring...and hugely inflated prices...it's a bit of tourist trap. But it's clear to see how that happened walking back to the site along the much longer, but breathtaking coast path. The beaches are Gorgeous!!!!
From Concarneau, I get two buses and a walk in pretty searing heat back to Gael's in Landerneau....troubled thoughts have kept me from sleeping well....of course in any six week period, there will inevitably be some low days....but this is particularly strong....and unpleasantly familiar...I felt so sad at the shop the previous evening....these are the people my journey is about, and I really want them to be ok. I also worry about the shadows of my own blackdog....is it yapping at my heels once again? A bit of meditating alone in the shade helps. I realise that I have to keep going with some of my coping strategies even travelling....and I can't fear sinking...I have better tools than I used to, and welling in fear can become self-fulfilling for me.
I don't sleep well again, but the next day is much more uplifting...I've planned three shops quite close together in the North of Brittany....am on familiar turf again, and what a luxury...Gael wants to go out for a drive so I arrive at all three without huge bags and in a car!!! The first is just brilliant....it's kind of an out of town hangar kind of thing called Breizh Gloan, just outside the village of Bodilis, but amazing range...loads of super cheap discontinued French yarns (good for us, but a reminder of all the mills closed in Europe), lots of Portuguese, Dutch and Italian yarns. I get some beautiful viscose and wool from the French Pyrenees (a still working mill) in green, cream and orange for an Irish pledger. The staff are just really nice and super knowledgeable here. The next stop is called Aiguilles et Compagnie, in the pretty little village of Cléder. I get some lovely multicoloured merino for someone, and the black and white (the Breton flag colours I need for a pledger) we have a nice chat, and talk about how hard it is for a small shop in a village to survive. She also does alterations, pressing, laundry and dry cleaning...a lot of work, but she says it's worth it if she can keep her dress-making and wool store going; it's her passion.
Next stop in Morlaix....I love this place....so atmospheric....I think it's the most beautiful town that I know of, and am so happy to see it again. And also so happy to see Gael's mum, Martine and stepdad, Patrice (both of whom I am super fond of) have bucked the prevailing trend and moved from the countryside into the town here to retire...they want to be able to walk everywhere, and it makes sense to me. And walking in Morlaix is sport- up and down all the time. We home about how the thighs and bums of its inhabitants are all supertoned, and should be the envy of the world! Martine tells me she knows the yarn shop I've come to see and tells me it's amazing. It's an old butcher's and when Laury opened her mercerie, she knitted and crocheted a beautiful butcher's shop window of sausages and different meats. La Mercerie de Laury is brilliant, and her and her son were really enchanted by the project.
That evening, my last in Brittany, we go to a centre where the family get bread and eggs and a vegetable box from a local farmer, lovely Aude. It's every Friday evening and a really social thing for all the families that go, and it supports a young local farmer who has turned around the land she took on. Her arms look like she's been walking all around Morlaix on her hands for years- this is someone who works really hard....and she's worried about the lack of rain this year. Everyone is worrying, as Brittany seems to be getting more and more of a southern French climate....sounds great, but when your main produce is vegetables adapted to a wetter, milder climate, this isn't great news.
I'm super sad to day goodbye to my friends...I hope they will come to London next year...the daughter aare finally at the age where they will be able to both appreciate and remember the experience. And I'm super happy happy to rejoin Shane in Plymouth after 3 weeks....and now I have included a new stop, the only one in Britain, which I didn't plan at all. But I happened upon it...it was great, and you don't look a gifthorse in the mouth.
Onwards on the ferry to Spain now, love and light to you all, Billy xxx
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