Another world in the Glenans
A year afloat: to the Caribbean and back
Sam and Alex Fortescue
Tue 24 Aug 2010 09:34
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47:43.55N
003:59.65W Monday dawned hot and clear. We floated back down
the Odet after a busy night of anchor setting and set off across Benodet Bay to
the south, aiming at the Iles des Glenans. This is a low, sandy arrangement of
islands that present more of a shipping hazard than a tourist destination. No
bars, restos or attractive walks. The place is pretty exposed to strong winds
from any direction and the swell rolls right over most of them at high
tide.
It is also the home to a world famous sailing
school run with a sort of soviet military efficiency and ruthlessness. When we
arrived under power from the north, threading our way past various hazards to
the Ile Bananec to anchor in a throng of other yachts, there were perhaps 50
small dinghies darting back and forth among us, capsizing, gybing by mistake and
generally making a nuisance of themselves. Alex says that parents send their
children here for a week to having sailing drummed into them by rote and
repetition. They were lining up on the shore for inspection at 8.30am and some
were still out at 9pm last night.
The principle is that everything is competitive and
those who are 'ill' and can't go out for the day are given chores such as bog
brushing to ancourage a speedy return to health. As we sat sipping coffee and
nibbling a pain au chocolat cadged from a passing supply boat the day before, we
could almost hear the piping of earnest voices raised in weary song from the
shore. Surely they weren't on parade?!
We motored in to the beach in the dinghy yesterday
afternoon to see what the islands were about. There is a disconsolate looking
camp site and a huddle of four Breton houses facing optimistically south, and a
big wind turbine that can be heard from everywhere on the island. By the houses
there is a stone jetty for supply boats and a bar, full of dingy
'altermondialiste' types listening to Louise Attaque, drinking Pelforth Blonde
and discussing the treachery of the ruling elite. Not having either tie dyed
under garments or matted hair, we felt a bit out of place, but stuck around for
a couple of beers. Long enough to a small hobie cat dinghy capsizing near the
harbour. A rescue boat whizzed up from nowhere and started yelling at the two
unhappy sailors - one of whom was floating in the water at this stage - the
other balanced on the side of the boat. He towed them back out into the deeper
water and then backed off to let them sort themselves out. Far from coming back
in after the expereince, the two sodden children carried on sailing. The water
is 14 degrees according to the boat's instruments and despite our best
intentions, we haven't yet been in.
Tragically, also, the fish count remains
obstinately stuck on one (got away). Hopefully we'll have better luck today as
we sail due east to Lorient on the mainland, where we're due to leave Summer
Song for a couple of weeks while we stay with Alex's family. Who knows, we may
even have a shower...
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