We cross to the other side of the inlet and go to Dinard where we check into our new hotel. It costs half the price of our last nights hotel and actually has fluffy robes. Just saying that’s all. We meander around tide watching. The sun comes and goes. Sunglasses on, sunglasses off. Jersey on, jersey off. Tide in, tide out.
Lots of pictures but not many stories to tell as we wander around dodging storms and chasing rainbows so I will hark back to our little bay, Theoule Ser Mer.
We were sitting outside a little cafe as the French do with the chairs sat behind the table facing out towards the square. The dreaded lurgy was still in my chest so cafe sitting was a good use of my time. We drank our bad coffee and ate a yummy piece of quiche and were watching daily lives unfold around us. My tranquility was interrupted by a couple of posh English ladies sitting behind us. I say posh because there voices were more pronounced than sat nav lady Di. There were lots of French conversations as well but I couldn’t understand what they were saying so they seem to wash over you and become part of the balm that enriches the time and place.
The English woman start talking about trips and where they have been and what they have seen. I try to tone them out but once New Zealand is mentioned my radar tunes back in. “Yes New Zealand its just so far away”, “I know and well my parents went to New Zealand and they said it rained all the time and actually had no culture whatsoever so who would go all that way”.
I could not help it. I swivelled my head around and as soon as I had turned and looked at them she said “oh no you are not from New Zealand are you?” “We certainly are” I replied. “And we live at a gorgeous beach where we get a lot of sun and we have tons of culture”. I say it with a smile and she replies “I really should go and see for myself”, I could’ve said “nah we don’t want you”, but I simply replied that she should as its worth it. There is nowhere in the world better than home.
We catch the ferry back across to St Malo but the weather turns and we end up cold and huddled under our umbrella so we do the tourist train, which is not very exciting but at least it is dry and then we catch the ferry back again.
Sometimes when being a tourist there are a lot of questions about the places you visit and the people you see. Many can be answered by trying to remember them and googling later and many remain a mystery, but this guy intrigued me.
My initial thoughts as I saw him trundling back up the beach with what appeared to be his trolley bag were that he had checked out of his hotel and gone to the ocean for a swim and had his little trundle bag with him for safe keeping. But he comes back and climbs the stairs back up to the promenade lugging his case. Which I can see now is container for water. He has gone down and collected the sea water then carted it back up all the stairs. He takes his trolley up first then goes back down and lugs his water up. It’s really heavy and he struggles with it. I will also add that he is in his Calvin Klein undies, not swimmers. What does he do with the water? Why doesn’t he wear togs? How far is he now going to take the water on his little trolley? Does he do this daily? Some holiday questions shall always remain an enduring mystery to be pondered on in the rocking chair.
PS. WH read me out a local news story recently where togs where being banned in the town including the promenade. The townsfolk evidently being sick of bikini clad and undie wearers on there promenade and in there streets. They would now be met with a fine. The beach below however appears to say you can’t wear full covering. It is possibly supposed to be a burqha but I am going to leave it to ponder.
