from Brittany, France: the tip of the pinkie

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.