Flowers and Sunshine

26.5.2013 – Saint Malo, St. Johan de Geurets, Dinard

Hawthorns frothy with blossom, rich golden buttercups knee high, daisies, bird’s foot trefoil, tiny

brilliant lilac and pink flowers I have no name for, scarlet poppies on slender stems.  The path was dry, whitish stones protruding from grey earth.  To one side, the ground fell away revealing vistas of turquoise water, framed by branches thick with greenery.  Two butterflies flapped speckled brown wings in an airborne dance before us, birds swooped in lazy curves up into the dome of blue above.  At last sunshine and warmth, at last a chance to meander through French lanes, past farmhouses and gites of warm brown stone, a thatcher’s workshop, roof showing his meticulous skills.  An elderly gent passed us on the road. ‘C’est magnifique, n’est ce pas?’  ‘C’est vrai’ we replied. 

Picnic on a little beach.  Baguette torn into lumps, cheese to chew with it, peach iced tea.  Across the water, petrol blue and glittering, little islands of deep green trees and grey rock, sailing boats, moored or under sail, leaning into the wind, speeding along.  A magical morning.

It’s so hot today, we have both walls of the tent down.  Sitting reading outside, listening to the bird song.  The pool calls – Bill braves the outside pool, but I am a coward, and settle for the heated pool, Jacuzzi and steam room. 

The evening cools gently, as we sit by the beach in Dinard, eating crepe, chocolate gateau, tart tatin, and drinking cafe-au-lait.  Dinard is like Scarborough or Rothesay – seaside grandeur of a by-gone era, elegance and style.  Little beach huts in long lines march along the promenade.  Hotels, pink, cream, white, with elegant filigree balconies look out to sea, remembering the girls with parasols, sun hats tied with broad ribbons, long soft summer dresses blowing gently in the wind.  Across the bay, little islands, some with fierce faced fortifications, stare back at us.  A slim girl in a minute bikini, goes in swimming, watched by her fully clad boyfriend, plainly not in love enough to take the plunge with her into what must have been pretty chilly waters.

Dinard

And so home, to read books and look at emails in our cosy tent.  A good day, and nice to be in shorts and a T-shirt at last!