Above is the tiny Chateau du Diable, isolated out on a point. Quo Vardis was written there in the 19th century. I am quite sure I could write a novel or two there, assuming I could tear my gaze from the sea.
Can you see the bullet holes in the back of this chapel? There are constant reminders of the two World Wars everywhere on the Brittany coast. It feels like it happened yesterday. In the village where we stay the houses are completely blacked out at night. People here use shutters to keep out the cold and unwelcome eyes, but the effect is one of complete and utter darkness. No streetlights. Black, black, black, as if waiting for the bombers.
This bridge led to the lighthouse
and below are the steps from the lighthouse to the sea--like a smugglers paradise. The Brittany Coast was a Wreckers Coast not so long ago.
Another great day out. I feel like Wallace (and Gromit). On a horrid note I found two horrible beetles(?) in the cottage. I'm wondering what French cockroaches look like. Even the thought makes me ill--I am such a wimp!!