After a while the city comes in on you,
and there is the need for a breeze and open space.
We hire a car and head west to the Atlantic,
and the village that I spent some time in last trip, Granville.
I have the fondest memories of this place.
It's the scene of my artistic renaissance, where I sat in my small room
and worked on a new body of art,
which I am still working on.
Granville is a small fishing port,
protected by a strong headland that cradles strong, brutish granite buildings
and naval fortifications from a bygone era.
They stand as proud sentinels to the time of the sailing ship.
It's massive sea wall indicates the ferocity of winter storms that lash the Atlantic coast.
Each morning the fishing fleet returns with cold rooms
full of the largest collection of shell fish anywhere in France.
And it's great to hear seagulls again.
Sometimes you head into a town and sort out your accommodation when you get there.
And sometimes you strike it lucky!
Above is the view from our hotel room.
Wendy walking across the seawall at Granville.
Today we had a 9 metre tidal drop, but the spring tide can be 15 metres.
A low wall becomes evident at low tide,
and holds back a body of water in the marina and bay,
that allows sailing and swimming to continue.
The evening before we leave.
