L'Isle de Groix

Here’s what it is:

Being in France is like drowning. That’s what it is. It’s like my brain is drowning, and French is the water, but English is air. So basically, I have to turn my brain into a fish. Complete with scales and gills and googly eyes and a tail.

The next time you see me, I shall have fins.

If I’m lucky.

Now, on to other things.

This weekend, I went with my family and my friend Grace and her family (they’re friends with my family; we’re neighbors) to the lower west coast of Bretegne. It was quite the trip, we fit in an unbelievable amount of sights into Saturday afternoon and Sunday. But here’s the rundown:

We started on Saturday in this tiny fishing village just on the coast. It was quaint and lovely, really lovely. At least one hundred years older than anything I’ve ever seen in the States. We just walked around and saw the classically Breton things there were to see. So that was nice. Everything was cobblestone or wood and crumbling in the authentically tired way that makes you feel like years and years of different people have seen this little part of town in varied states of being. It was very cool.

Then we went to the Trinite sur Mer, and stopped in a little bar for tea and cookies, and looked at the boats on the water as the sun started setting. It was really calming and small, an intimate sort of tourism. Great cookies, too. They were bought cheap in bulk from the crazy patisserie/marche next door, but they were unbelievable. Buttery and crumbly and thick. I had four without thinking. Ah, so good.

Then we drove a little to the little tiny plot of land that the Houssel family owns just outside of the Trinite. They just use it to store old bikes and grow squash and tomatoes and peaches and radishes. It was one of the randomest things I’ve ever seen. But that was fine too.

The real amazing part of Saturday was the drive to Annie’s parent’s house in Lorient. The sun was making its final descent, and the sky was partly cloudy, and the colors were starkly contrasted and really one of the most purely beautiful things I have ever seen. The clouds were black and then in the gaps there was a yellow light, which changed to a deep orange, and then a thick pink, until it was purple, and then faded right into navyblack night. It was ridiculous, seeing these colors over the Atlantic, and then over the countryside, and out across cityscapes. They painted everything; it was like sitting in the middle of a postcard. I’ve never been so astounded by the sheer force of color, its depth and its brilliance. Grace took pictures, so I should hopefully be able to post them here once she emails them to me, but it’s something I don’t think you can capture. It was magnificent.

Then we passed through this little tiny town with one of the most beautiful church entryways I’ve ever seen, and the picture we have of this is fantastic, so that I think will be shown unabashedly and without pretense. It’s really awesome.

Then we got to Annie’s parents house, and ate, and slept.

And then the next morning, we work up at seven, and drove out to the coast, where we got on this massive, smelly boat, and sat there for an hour out to this dinky little island called the Isle de Groix. I did not have high expectations for this day, and to be quite honest, it was one of the most high-and-low days I’ve ever had, but that’s hard to explain.

So we get to this island, and as we’re getting off the boat, I slip down a flight of stairs.

And then we rent bikes. All eight of us. They’re great bikes, but the brakes are a little sketchy, and the gear shift is really hard to maneuver. So, alright, they’re not great bikes. The Bikes are just fine.

And we proceed to bike around this little island for seven hours. And let me tell you, this is no simple task.

First of all, it’s a small island, so that from wherever you are standing, in most cases, unless there is a big tree or building next to you, you can see the ocean. So that’s really cool. But the vegetation on this island is pretty much untouched, so the bugs are very eager and come in big groups to feast on any exposed skin you may have, and the paths are very overgrown and scary and bumpy with potholes and roots and other craziness. So it’s a hardcore bike trip. But in between the extreme riding, we stop on the different rocky coasts and beached of the isle. And these are astounding.

On the cliffs, the drop is steep. They said about 150 m, average. And it falls to these rocky cauldrons where the water looks like churning glass. It rises and falls in patterns you wouldn’t think possible, like it’s defying the laws of nature, when really you’re seeing the laws of nature at their finest. The colors were steely and opaque and cool; the sky was overcast and gray. And the wind was whipping and fierce, the kind of wind that blows during the scariest scenes in Disney movies, the kind that foretells bad, bad things. But it was so beautiful. You’d see someone on another cliff a few meters away, and their hair would be flying everywhere and they’d be crouched over the edge of the drop, staring at the sea, and you’d think immediately of some movie scene where the leading lady runs to ocean with her skirt tangled and flapping and her hair falling out of its bun and crying like there is absolutely nothing else she can do. That’s the kind of coasts they have, that’s what belongs there. You have to come see it.

And the beaches always have waves and most interesting sand and there isn’t as much to say, but they’re breathtaking. There’s a beach here that is concave instead of convex (meaning that the sand actually goes further out in the center than it does at the sides) and it’s the only one in all of Europe that’s like that. We didn’t get to swim, it was way too cold, but they were definitely cool.

But all of it, all of the beautiful stuff, just made me wish that I could see it with all of the people I love. I’ve never seen a world like that, and not being able to marvel in it vocally with someone who knows just why I love it so much, or someone who appreciates it the same way I do was just terrifying. I tried to describe the churning glass to my French mother in French, and that was just silly. It not only made me sound stupid, but I felt completely adrift. She didn’t even really want to know, so I was mostly struggling pointlessly. All of these beautiful things and no passionate appreciation. It was frustrating! I kept feeling like I was on the verge of tears. That was frustrating, too. I hate the cheek kissing. I want a hug, I want someone to hold my hand, I want everything to be comforting and warm and close.

This place is the loneliest place I’ve ever been.

But it’s also the most beautiful.

So wherein lies the answer?

That’s about all, I think. Oh, except! I saw dolphins in the Atlantic Ocean!!! There were two of them, they were really dark, and we were on boat back to Lorient. They swam right up to the wake and were jumping and diving along side us for like twenty minutes, and they came all the way into the harbor. It was incredible. I’ve never seen anything like that in my life. They were a lot darker skinned than I thought they would be. Not at all that crazy silver-blue color that I drew all over all of my school supplies in elementary school, which was something of a let down. But you know, it was still amazing.

So everything has a happy dolphin ending.

And now, homework.

I wish you were here.

Until Next Time, “That’s when I miss you, that’s when I miss you, You who are my home.” (please go listen to that song, right now.)

COUNTDOWN to return: 247 days