There is always a little bit of sadness for me when it comes time to draw the shutters closed. I stepped back into time for a brief moment, I felt at peace and in harmony with my surroundings. All good things must come to an end as someone once wrote and so it is with a long weekend in Brittany. Where time once stood still must now resume its march forward and something I wasn’t particularly relishing. Reality intrudes near the end of most people’s vacations, sometimes it never leaves. We begin to think about little things that need our attention, people to call or write to. We start thinking in horror about the accumulation of emails covering everything from the urgent, to job offers to jokes from friends somewhere on the other side of the world. One begins to think about work, memos, reports and analyses neatly stacked on our desk waiting our return, perhaps. How quickly reality interrupts a vacation.
I decide to say one last goodbye to the coast before tomorrow comes. I take the beach road just past the bakery where on the corner one use to see the women pounding their laundry clean on the rocks by the little stream. The beach road has changed considerably with more houses appearing each year or so it seems. I drive past by the “crazy boy’s house” and wonder to myself whatever happened to him. So many years ago. Arriving at the beach I park on the side of the road, take off my shoes and walk down the little sandy trail to the beach. It’s low tide and rocks covered with mussels are clearly visible. One year we picked buckets of them for a wonderful lunch. I brave it and decide to dip my feet in the ocean. It’s clear and still very cold. Two couples are leisurely taking an late afternoon stroll, a dog runs past them barking. A wind surfer complete with wetsuit appears on the beach and takes in a long look at the waves before reaching the water’s edge. I take my own long look committing to memory the beach, the white sand, a cloudless sky, the rocky coastline and the incredible fresh sea air, then turn and slowly head for home.
When leaving the house, like arriving, there are rituals and procedures to follow. One has to make sure the house is properly closed down patiently waiting until the next time a family member arrives to open her up. Shutters latched shut, I check and double check making sure everything is turned off, floors has been swept, dishes cleaned and put away, refrigerator emptied of remnants from my wild cooking, trash disposed off. Finally I go from room to room checking. There is a list of things that need to be done. I can no longer wax nostalgic because now I am in the here and now, the reality mode of what has to be done. The little Peugeot seems to be packed with a few more things than when I arrived. I close the back door one last time. I have a direct train to Paris-Montparnasse with a stop at Rouen and Le Mans. I should be back in the rat race by late afternoon.