What's going on with the boat?

After ten years living on Tarquilla we have moved to land. I'm often asked if we love the house or miss the boat and the real answer is - both. We still have Tarquilla and we are open to all options at the moment as far as her future is concerned. We will carry on working on her, it would be great to be able to sail her again. The Scilly Isles, Portishead marina, Bristol harbour and Falmouth are all places we have talked about as well as many others further afield. But, on the other hand, if a family was looking for a boat, ready to do the preparation she needs and wanted to take her on then we would sell her. She is not ready to sail off into the sunset but has a lot of life left in her. If you or someone you know would be interested then please contact us. She is 3 ply cold moulded, 42 foot long, one off design built in the 1960's. She has 2 double cabins and 2 single berths, a good size saloon, a decent size galley, head and a covered cockpit. She has two engines and a full suit of sails. We have lots more photos and can provide more details or answer questions. In the meantime, this blog has come to a natural pause for now as we take on new adventures.

Sunday morning market.


‘The traveller sees what he sees, the tourist sees what he has come to see.’
Gilbert K Chesterton.

 
We’ve been to many French markets but Brest is the biggest one we’ve seen. On a Sunday morning it stretches across the centre of the city. The pitches line the sides of the roads and march their way around the square.

 
The wriggling body of people squirms its way along the market, the long line broken only where the tram line crosses. The ringing from the tall Vauban bell tower calls the faithful to mass, the sound mingling with the noise of the crowds.


It feels as though there is a general bonhomie, helped by a brief appearance of the sun after all the wind and rain.
‘Bonjour, bonjour.’ Groups gather, kissing on both cheeks and chatting animatedly.

 
There are stalls with bread sold by the weight, bowls of spices with tiny, long handled spoons which the vender uses to deftly scoop up tiny portions from behind the stand. Some sellers have only a single table and chair displaying a few wine bottles or pots of honey, others are many tables long with several people working to serve the lines.

 
Long queues reach from the most popular bread and cheese sellers, customers are handed samples to incite them to buy more and keep them happy whilst they’re waiting. The patter of traders ‘You speak English? We love tourists, I give you extra,’ fills the roads making us grin.

 
The seafood stalls have crabs with waving legs and bigorneu clambering slowly up the sides of the baskets as if trying to get back to the water. The fruit and vegetable stalls are bright with citrus, reds and greens. Fruits are cut open to display the tempting flesh, boasting of juiciness and flavour.

 
We wander round the market, familiar now with our own favourites.
‘Do we need…’ or ‘…can we go to the normal sausage man?’ the children ask as they deftly make their way through the crowds, stopping every now and then to stroke a dog waiting patiently in a queue with it’s owner.

 
The sights of cakes and pastries jostle alongside shoes and handbags. Heady aromas fill the air, giant skillets of paella, roasting chickens dripping fat, sweet chestnuts and jacket potatoes.

 
With two long baguettes, a bag of assorted saucisson and images of the jostling, colourfulness of the market we head home with our purchases, feeling content.


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