Finistere, lands end of granite houses, slate roofs, gorse in bloom, of lace and pancakes, of cauliflowers and artichokes, and Roscoff, a small port with fishing boats, a light house, sandy beaches and a seaweed museum.  We had time to walk along the beach looking for shells and seaweed to the south west of the port.  I like seaweed, it’s strange, fleshy,  rubbery texture, the smell it seems to give to the sea and the way, though apparently unconscious at low tide, it comes alive in the water of the high tide, swaying and beckoning  to the rhythm of the waves.  It is supposed to be beneficial to health, though for how much longer if shippers continue to dump chemicals in the sea?


Finistere is not unlike Cornwall, and is the name of a young company, which makes clothing and excellent undergarments of British Merino wool, light, soft and warm. My husband, who walks long distances, and so does not want to carry much, swears by them.


Spiral Wrack and Egg Wrack





















Photography by 


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