Saturday, 10 December 2016

I listen to the wind

We listened to the wind
it told us to go south  


It told us to go west
To Piriac sur Mer
To play in the Hotel du Port

There were rugby players
noisy diners
there were cyclists
there were friendly folk 

we had a great show
our biggest hat yet

merci Vert Pays Blanc et Noir
defending nature

In St.Nazaire we came across Radio Pedale, secret underground pedal powered radio with which the french resistance was listening to the BBC.

We tumbled into alternative housing co-op in the old submarine base.
Raumlabor Berlin call it Neocodomousse and the language is all beyond us, but it was cool and all recycled stuff and maybe one day we'll all live like this.....

We were the first to play at the new cafe culturelle Sous les Palmiers la Plage.
It was a tough show.... the rain, the amap, the noisy regulars, the noisy inconsiderate parents, the acoustics....
Well we survived and some of the kids managed to enjoy it. Never play in a bar on a friday night....

The bridge we said we'd never cycle again. It was a beautiful sunny sunday day, hence no lorries on the road, no gale blowing from the atlantic. The prospect of a detour of 20km of petrol refineries et al changed our mind. It was a rather lovely crossing. 

And who should we meet coming towards us on the other side!?
Old new friends from Crac'h!

Moor, marshes and ominous cowpat sculptures. Whoopio a la poopio!

An abandoned tennis court and a tower of power, scarily secretive freemasonry.

They did invite us in for tea. - we made our excuses and listened to the wind....

... made our way past the gargoyles, eating themselves and past the tangled up runners...
... and arrived at a little house. Our shelter for the night with a wheel barrow full of hot ash to keep us warm..

The next day the ring road. The other ring road. Ringing round the roads.
This is where they all go... we carried on...
... to where the wind was taking us.... to the festival of adventurers.


Another bridge. A little rusty and rickety, up high in the sky only pedestrians and cyclists go by.

On to and up and up and up to Angouleme, city of bande dessinee.
Another two shows... the first for 60 plus children - our smallest hat yet- and the other for a hand full of cyclists. Vive la Velorution! Vive Cyclofficine!

Whoopio a la poopio!
The robin told us we were right to listen to the wind and to go wherever our hearts take us.