The "Côte d'Émeraude" is a wild, jagged coastline along the Channel, with tides that take on a palette of pale green and deep turquoise as the light changes with the hours. It is also a place I never thought I would get to see, even while here in Brittany. Yet on a dark and rainy Saturday, Yseult insisted that we drive to the cape. The rain comes down in misty, slanted sheets, and the walk out to our first stop of Fort La Latte is a steep and sandy pathway that tests our balance as well as our shoes. I can already tell that the elements up here have a vastly different temperament than they do inland. The air is biting, the sea is riotous, and there are moments when the wind is so strong that it is almost impossible to inhale. But the rain lightens up just enough for us to see the fort, and looking out over the edge, I am speechless. All I can see is an abyss of emerald ocean.
We cross the first barbican into the fortress and the walls are still as thick as they were centuries ago. Yseult tells me that Fort La Latte used to be the first edifice that enemy British ships would encounter as they sailed towards the French coast, and that these walls were built specifically to withstand their cannon fire from sea.
As typical Brittany weather would have it, the rain suddenly stops and the fog dissipates. Looking out, we watch quietly how the sea changes its color, and even Yseult says, "Oh, c'est beau, ça."
At the top of the fort there is a sharp turret with a lookout point, and if it were not for the drawbridges and staircases, Fort La Latte could easily disguise itself amongst the cliffs. Yseult tells me there are moments, especially when the fog rolls in, that these cliffs jut out so far into the open sea that their end becomes enveloped entirely by mist.
Next we drive to Cap Fréhel, on which stands one of the most powerful lighthouses in Brittany, its light reaching out over thirty miles to sea and its mist siren over fifty. The lighthouse itself, made of Chausey granite, is a chalky slate in the daylight, but at night, turns a brooding, breathing Celtic blue. The more I am here, the more I realize that everything in Brittany, especially nature, is regarded as sensate, mutable, if not ensouled.
By the time we reach our next stop of Saint-Cast-le Guido, there is not a cloud in the sky, and the sun is brilliantly strong despite the cold wind. I do not think I will ever get used to the inconsistency of the weather here. But I guess I could say the same about of the beauty of its ancient, hidden places.
Le Château du Guildo
We end the day in Saint Jacut-de-la-mer, Yseult's favorite place where she used to have a summer home. She explains to me how many of the houses here are built facing away from the sea to protect against the strength of the wind and the damage of the rain during storms. Even as we drive through the narrow little streets to the ocean, I can tell how excited she is to be back here.
She cuts flowers from a wild bush to bring back home with us, and we walk to the beach to feel the frigid water before heading back.
Normally, Yseult and I never run out of things to talk about, but today, standing here and taking all of this in, we are both quiet. There is really no other way to describe the overwhelming beauty of this place.
