weâre eating mussels. You have to come here when youâre in Brittany. Tomorrow Iâm going to buy the Agatha Christie book to know what happens at the end! Love.)
Â
Adèle replied:
Â
Not hard 2 guess wat happens @ end. let me kno wat u think of bk. I think not best AC. I prfr and then there were none.
(Not hard to guess what happens at the end. Let me know what you think of the book. I think not the best Agatha Christie. I prefer And Then There Were None. )
Â
Come evening, George couldnât resist texting back:
Â
Prfr classic: mrdr on orient xpress. cnt w8 2 read crkd house. hotel in st brieuc awful, loud ppl evrywer. gd nite.
(Prefer a classic: Murder on the Orient Express . Canât wait to read Crooked House . Hotel in Saint-Brieuc awful, loud people everywhere. Goodnight.)
Saturday 4 October
Saint-Brieuc (Côtes-dâArmor)âSaint-Malo (Ille-et-Vilaine)
The next morning, George was in a foul mood. He began by complaining about his bedroom, then about the breakfast room, which was too cold, too large and too quiet. George thought of family breakfasts in the days when they all still saw each other regularly, with Arlette, Françoise, her husband, and little Adèle. The kitchen would be filled with the smell of toast and coffee, and the sound of everyone talking. But even at home on his own, breakfast was a noisy affair: the sound of the coffee machine, the stove heating up, the radio in the background, the pop of the toaster. Here everyone spoke in a whisper, and blushed if by accident they made any noise.
Another reason George found the room depressing was because the lights had been turned on at eight in the morning. Large dark clouds were gathering in the grey sky, making thestreets of Saint-Brieuc look almost forbidding. They had become used to the pleasant and sunny early October weather, but winter was clearly descending upon them and was already making his joints ache.
âThe weatherâs turning.â
âMmm,â replied Charles, who was sipping his own green tea that he brought to breakfast every morning.
âCanât you feel it? My joints are stiff again; I donât think thatâs a good sign.â
âOh, itâll be fine. The weather changes all the time in Brittany, you know. In the morning the weatherâs foul and by the afternoon youâre sunning yourself on the beach.â
âMmm,â said George, not convinced.
A little break would have suited him just fine, but Charles was having none of it. They had all of the Emerald Coast to go before Saint-Malo.
âItâs fantastic, youâll see, and thereâll be loads to tell Adèle about.â
An hour later, they were back on the road.
Â
The drive from Saint-Brieuc to Saint-Malo was not part of the Tour route; it was more of an âin-betweenâ stage. But it was their favourite one so far. Once again, George and Charles regretted not being able to stay longer, in spite of the wind and the threatening clouds. Here, unlike anywhere else, the visitors were enchanted by the bad weather. It revealed the mysterious nature of the region, its capricious character. It revealed the strength of Brittanyâs spirit.
By the time the two adventurers arrived in Erquy, forty kilometres from Saint-Brieuc, George had already sent two texts to Adèle.
They walked along the beaches at Cap dâErquy at high tide, passing the windswept dunes with the grey moor beyond them. They had put on their fleeces and jackets, and clutched their caps with every fresh gust of wind. The sound of the waves, the smell of iodine, the sand, the fleeting clouds, the cries of children darting about around their parents â it all seemed to dance in a vivid whirlwind, all seemed so alive. They felt as though the swirling, exotic air was purifying their lungs. Nevertheless it was bitterly cold and after a while the companions sought refuge in a restaurant that looked out
Â
Adèle replied:
Â
Not hard 2 guess wat happens @ end. let me kno wat u think of bk. I think not best AC. I prfr and then there were none.
(Not hard to guess what happens at the end. Let me know what you think of the book. I think not the best Agatha Christie. I prefer And Then There Were None. )
Â
Come evening, George couldnât resist texting back:
Â
Prfr classic: mrdr on orient xpress. cnt w8 2 read crkd house. hotel in st brieuc awful, loud ppl evrywer. gd nite.
(Prefer a classic: Murder on the Orient Express . Canât wait to read Crooked House . Hotel in Saint-Brieuc awful, loud people everywhere. Goodnight.)
Saturday 4 October
Saint-Brieuc (Côtes-dâArmor)âSaint-Malo (Ille-et-Vilaine)
The next morning, George was in a foul mood. He began by complaining about his bedroom, then about the breakfast room, which was too cold, too large and too quiet. George thought of family breakfasts in the days when they all still saw each other regularly, with Arlette, Françoise, her husband, and little Adèle. The kitchen would be filled with the smell of toast and coffee, and the sound of everyone talking. But even at home on his own, breakfast was a noisy affair: the sound of the coffee machine, the stove heating up, the radio in the background, the pop of the toaster. Here everyone spoke in a whisper, and blushed if by accident they made any noise.
Another reason George found the room depressing was because the lights had been turned on at eight in the morning. Large dark clouds were gathering in the grey sky, making thestreets of Saint-Brieuc look almost forbidding. They had become used to the pleasant and sunny early October weather, but winter was clearly descending upon them and was already making his joints ache.
âThe weatherâs turning.â
âMmm,â replied Charles, who was sipping his own green tea that he brought to breakfast every morning.
âCanât you feel it? My joints are stiff again; I donât think thatâs a good sign.â
âOh, itâll be fine. The weather changes all the time in Brittany, you know. In the morning the weatherâs foul and by the afternoon youâre sunning yourself on the beach.â
âMmm,â said George, not convinced.
A little break would have suited him just fine, but Charles was having none of it. They had all of the Emerald Coast to go before Saint-Malo.
âItâs fantastic, youâll see, and thereâll be loads to tell Adèle about.â
An hour later, they were back on the road.
Â
The drive from Saint-Brieuc to Saint-Malo was not part of the Tour route; it was more of an âin-betweenâ stage. But it was their favourite one so far. Once again, George and Charles regretted not being able to stay longer, in spite of the wind and the threatening clouds. Here, unlike anywhere else, the visitors were enchanted by the bad weather. It revealed the mysterious nature of the region, its capricious character. It revealed the strength of Brittanyâs spirit.
By the time the two adventurers arrived in Erquy, forty kilometres from Saint-Brieuc, George had already sent two texts to Adèle.
They walked along the beaches at Cap dâErquy at high tide, passing the windswept dunes with the grey moor beyond them. They had put on their fleeces and jackets, and clutched their caps with every fresh gust of wind. The sound of the waves, the smell of iodine, the sand, the fleeting clouds, the cries of children darting about around their parents â it all seemed to dance in a vivid whirlwind, all seemed so alive. They felt as though the swirling, exotic air was purifying their lungs. Nevertheless it was bitterly cold and after a while the companions sought refuge in a restaurant that looked out
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