We had just arrived in Northern Brittany. Our first stop was to be a field on the edge of the Ile Callot. You get there by crossing a causeway at low tide. When the tide returns and the day trippers go home, there are only a few occupied houses and the wilderness left. And ourselves of course, camping out under the stars. We woke on . . .
"We come from the sea, Tim; our blood is salt, and strange tides ebb and flow within us all.” ― Neil Gaiman, The Books of Magic It has been a month by the sea. Quite literally the sound of the waves crashing on the northern shore of Brittany has been the soundtrack to our nights here. On the last evening the wind kicked up . . .
We never know exactly where each day will end; camping on a free range duck farm, parked on the bank of a leafy river, lapping up a rose scented village. The Loire Valley has won out over the west coast and it has turned out to be a magical meandering off the beaten track. We move slowly. . . .
Farmyard black cat in the ditch is a sign of luck Around here these border collies are all known as Shep The Cat Shepherd's apprentice says hello Time to fly away for the Chaffinch too One of these days we will be leaving this sleepy patch for a bit of a . . .