Conversation in Camaret

At the very edge of this continent, at the end of a cross-shaped peninsula, tucked in safely against the worst winds, the multicoloured houses of Camaret-sur-Mer reflect in the waters lapping the harbour quay. Mullets splash in the marina, cormorans dive among the fishing boats and sardines heave in black swarms not far offshore. There are fresh oysters at the end of the quay. 

 

We walk on the cliffs, following jagged dizzy paths to golden sandy beaches with surfers' waves. Cafés and restaurants' tables spill over the waterfront, a smell of butter and buckwheat wafts from the crêperies, the "Irish" pub offers Belgian beer on tap. 

 Alleyways twist and turn, artists have painted the cobblestones, flowers in tubs adorn squat granite houses with bright blue wooden shutters. It is not all a bed of roses, though. From 1960 to 1980, the cameretois had money coming out of their ears from lobster fishing in Mauritania. Tourism is now more or less the only industry but, thank God, Camaret is remaining unpretentious. No bling. A small tight-knit community. The post office clerk knows everybody by their first name. But "Bonjour madame" to me. 

The library, a modern big-windowed cube has a reassuring collection of comics. I discover a sci-fi collection I didn't know and sit in the cockpit of the boat in the marina, with the evening sun streaming through, a cup of tea by my side. I am keen to read the sequel of the "Aldebaran" stories. Gwenaëlle, the librarian, is all friendly smiles and light chuckles when I bring back the sack load I have already read through. 

'I am having a comic book orgy.' I announce, 'Do you have the first 3 books of the Betelgeuse series?' 

'Ah, I need to buy them again. Monsieur  X, (Let's call him Kerguelen) is the last person who borrowed them. 

'Ah, but he's dead' declares a lady in black, firmly ensconced across Gwenaëlle's desk for a natter.

'Ah yes, and he died suddenly' volunteers a stocky man with a weathered face. 'He's probably taken them to his coffin...'

Gwenaëlle laughs. 'That's pushing the love of comics a bit far, no?'

'It will be written on his grave', the lady in black declares. 'Here lies Mr Keguelen who loved comics too much'.