Groix Afternoon

On the cliffs we saw gulls soaring and diving – doesn’t sound like much but they were so close we could see into their eyes. And why do they do this? It just looks like they are having fun – no feeding involved – is it something to do with social bonds? Lots of animals seem to have a happy hour or mad time when they just seem to do things because they feel good.
Walking along the coast path hardly a kilometre away from the port, we come across an ancient looking circus tent. No caravans, or animals, even people, just the tent. I tightrope walk across the grass outside the tent and Al takes a photo but I just look mad. We walk around and find the entrance. It seems pitch dark inside. We call ‘Bonjour’ and a man emerges from the gloom. He tells us that there is no circus, now or ever. This circus has definitely left town, but the tent is used for summer festivals, dances, gigs… he’s probably making a living out of hiring this tired old tent to the commune for its summer entertainments. That’s why we love the French!
Shortly after it began to shower and a rainbow appeared over the sea. There was an odd perception that it was travelling towards us, like a searchlight beam. This has to be an omen. (Al’s been reading Paul C….’s ‘The Alchemist’ and now everything is a ‘sign’…. How do writers signal irony?) But it was pretty spectacular and not easily forgotten. Tried to photograph it, but just not possible.

NEXT DAY
The other side of the island – has one sizeable village, Locmaria. Once another thriving tuna port, it is now a ghost town. The butcher, baker and several cafes are now holiday homes, the trade names painted over to match the walls but still visible . You could almost believe that the town doesn’t have a population any more, just walkers passing through and summer people in August. We pass on the 'Bateau Ivre' with its up-market menu and prices and eat at a more modest brasserie a little further up the road. The Bateau is for sale, as are many of the ‘fisherman’s cottages’ in the village itself.
There is a sizeable drying harbour (all the water goes away at low tide so single keel boats like ours would fall over if moored there). A couple of boats are anchored off. The wind came up to a decent 6 last night with a nasty looking sea, so most people are staying in today. But this side of the island (the Atlantic side – South coast) is oddly calm. Well, it makes perfect sense but it’s still a surprise when we encounter it!
A party of local school kids arrive, all girls. They wear black, with occasional flashes of pink in T-shirt or sunglasses. They chatter away, teenage magpies, drinking Coca or Orangina. One has something that looks a lot like absinth but can’t possibly be. (I think it may actually be illegal in modern France, although it fuelled Toulouse Lautrec and a good few other bad boy artists.)
After lunch it’s low tide so we go rock pooling. So much life – sea anemones, hermit crabs, shrimps, little fish… they dart away as soon as they see our shadows, must have great eyesight. Fantastic rock pools – just about the best we’ve ever seen, and the rocks are very flat and easy to walk on. Oh yes, and there’s loads of iron pyrites – fool’s gold glitters everywhere you look. There’s also garnet on the island and we find a big sea-smooth lump of it. We leave it in its place, taking only the pleasure with us.
Soon a wreck, huge, rusty and spread over many hundreds of square metres. Recognisable bits make it very creepy – probably a coaster, decades old, but a reminder of just how dangerous this coast can be. We carry on the coast path and soon we can see Les Chats, sharp sharp claws of rocks. There’s a pheasant on the path, walking just ahead of us, popping around a corner just as I lift the camera. Al says it was a shaman. (This borne out by the fact that I deleted all the pictures of this walk, including the wreck – clear bad luck – and the shaman.)
Next in spooky happenings, we met a 97-year old priest who seemed to recognise us from our last visit 3 years ago. He had apparently walked the very rough and steep path from the port, and he invited us to visit him. Almost certainly an apparition, he radiated some sort of positive feeling that we both noticed. (This was not irony.)
As a finale we found some secret steps down to the corner of the harbour where the wind was lashing the waves into a frenzy on the rocks. A solitary young woman gazed into the waves and we took photographs (Al) and video (me). The photographs are lost, but the video might make it.
All in all a pretty good day. Groix is truly a magical island.

Sorry the blogs so out of sync. - I prefer to keep you - and myself - up to date.