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The day starts on a sad note when Nick receives news that his Uncle died last night after a short illness.
Yesterday was a long day, but no need to be early today. Madame next door spends well over an hour Son her make-up before they say goodbye and leave. We are close behind, heading first through Santec.
Flowers and artichokes are all around as we take the scenic route to Goulven where we find the small aire to dump out. Onward to Brignole Plages where white sand surrounds the green estuary, but the little parking space we found in May 2014 is full of cars, probably of the people having lunch on the hotel terrace. We meander along narrow roads until we find Rue des Chardon Bleu' or road of the blue thistles and park for our lunch. There is brilliant white sand and a lighthouse and glimpses of the sea through the dunes, but the most unusual sight is the little house nestling between two rounded, granite outcrops known as the roches d'elephants. The 'elephants'' rounded backs, legs and trunks are easily imagined looking at these rocks.
Around the corner similar rounded rocks grow out of the earth around a stone church, the grounds of which are full of more maroon hydrangea bushes.
We rejoin the main road, stopping briefly in Guissen to visit rue Porthleven-Sithney. The temperature creeps up and up, reaching 32C, dropping to 26.5C as we near the coast at Portsall. The aire is only a quarter full when we park and get ready to go into town, with Ali trying out her new bike for the first time.
Last time we came to Portsall it was cold and the tide was out, but we always suspected there was a different side to it. Today what was mudflats is a harbour full of green water and little boats. Out on the harbour wall teenagers scream as they jump into the clear water.
We watch, with a little envy, remembering the long, carefree summer days teenagers have. Maybe they have dreams of travelling and can't yet, so it all goes round in the end.
But none of them remember the dark night in 1978 when the giant oil tanker, Amoco Cadiz, ran aground and spilt 220,000 tonnes of crude oil in the estuary and on the beaches around us. The clean up took years. Beside a small information board stands the anchor which failed to prevent the ship being driven ashore.
We sit at a terrace with a drink in the hot sunshine the follow the path to the inner end of the harbour where Ali buys some mackerel from a fish merchant before we wend our way through some country lanes back to the aire. The sun has moved around and dropped, rendering the awning useless, but it is fantastic at last to sit outside, and there is a refreshing sea breeze now and then.
The mackerel gets baked with pesto and served with new potatoes and mange-tout.
We sit out untIl after 22:00, (it's still daylight) listening to the swallows.
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