Elves in Brittany
Brittany, France - November 22, 2004
The sun does not rise or set here. Rather, the sky above me simply changes from hues of light gray to black, then back again. The night deliberately disrobes its black cloak, and like the incoming ocean tide which creeps up little by little on unsuspecting waders, so the grayish daylight slowly drowns the night. It’s as if Mother Nature has shrouded all of France in clouds and fog in an attempt to ward off those who search its beauty. The failure of her attempt is nowhere more evident than in Brittany where rugged coastlines, pristine white-sand beaches, and Hansel & Gretel cottages dot the landscape.
Here, legends of elves and dwarves and giants abound. In fact, it is in this very region that the legend of King Arthur began. It is said that gnomes inhabit the caves among the hills, and if you stop to listen, you can almost hear their voices and feel their mischievous eyes upon you.
The rolling green hills are deceptively tranquil as the hiking paths that snake their way across the land more often than not lead to the edge of precarious cliffs where the Atlantic's waves beat mercilessly against the rocks below. When not leading to crashing surf, the paths simply meander along – up and around, evidence of a less peaceful time when men built concrete bunkers, few of which remain fully intact. Instead, they find themselves neighbors of large craters where bombs met the earth.
I spent hours on these hills this morning feeling very much alive as the wind whipped through my hair and the waves broke below me. “I could not live here though," I said to myself as I descended to the seaside town below. It is too gray, too glum. I would die young and depressed for lack of sunshine. Besides, one more day of this frizzy hair atop my head would drive me to insanity!
At that very moment, as if to spite me, the sun which had not appeared in three days spread its rays across the skies. Walking along the wooden boardwalk, I saw the turquoise waters to my left begin to glisten as if pixies had just flown in and scattered gold dust atop. And so I entered the little town of CAMARET SUR MER, a lilt to my step and a smile on my lips. Sadly, the sunshine was gone as quickly as it had come, and after strolling through the entire town in less than 15 minutes, there was little left to do but watch the sailboats bob up and down in the port. This I did from the comfort of a cozy little bar while eating my ham and cheese crepe and drinking my cider. All other restaurants and shops appeared to be closed for their annual break which appears to last approximately 2 months.
Hmmmm…..maybe I COULD live here after all!
