So many hours to get here! Three on the bus, eight on the plane, and almost nine by car. We could have eased the burden by taking a train, but I am feeling frugal and so we drove.
Flight gets into Paris, Ed and I linger over a petit breakfast and head over to Budget to pick up the car. We beg for tiny and get small. And we set out – toward the furthest western point in France, where the Atlantic meets the Channel.
It is a long long drive. 600 kilometers and twice that amount of strain as we battle drowsiness and unpredictable weather (sun, rain, torrential rain, part sun, thunder, fog, drizzle).
So, as I sit here battling deep sleep, I just want to say that we made it to little tiny Aber Warc’h. It’s quiet here. And so very beautiful.