An Irish blessing on a French isle

And learning how to rest

Ooh these rest days are a challenge. I’m supposed to rest. I told my daughter there was a lovely beach an hour’s ride to the end of the island. No, ma. Don’t go there. Rest, she said. So I compromised and rode my bike about 10 minutes to the beach that my host said was the nicest one for swimming.

It’s impossible, isn’t it, to capture a beach in a photograph. The expanse of sand and sky left, right, and center. The waves and people look like a thin ribbon in a photo but when you’re there, that water line is where all the movement is.

It was nice, but at low tide it was a long trek to the water. I asked some women next to me to please watch my things—I’d heard English and correctly guessed they were Irish. They sweetly agreed and off I trekked. Even when I got to the gently lapping waves, there was more walking because it was so shallow. I walked and waded and finally started getting hit by a few baby waves. The water turned cold. I kept walking. A woman was to my right, doing the same thing, but she seems unbothered by the occasional rock or splash.

Finally, both up to our butts in the water, we were doused by a few bigger waves, and the woman submerged as another passed. Darn, I thought. I can do that, too. I can do it. And by the time she had walked all the way back to her stuff, I managed to do the same. A quick dip as a larger wave hit me. I was under. And wet and cool.

I loved this quintessential French beachgoing couple. Fully committed to the tan and the beachside life. Retired before the world went to hell.

Turns out that she was one of the Irish women next to me and before long we were all chatting and I took their group photo. Later I met two of them and their sweet toddler at the café on the corner and we chatted a bit more. So fun.

As I was leaving, one of them left me with an Irish blessing: Go n-éirí an bóthar leat. May the road always rise to meet you.

My happy feet

(I don’t remember the Irish words she said, but she kindly suggested I look them up, and she translated for me.)

Of course I gave them my e-Jane cards so they could find me on Substack.

Tomorrow I’m heading north again. It’s supposed to be hot again with possible thunderstorms so I’ll see how it goes, but I’m aiming for a campground in La-Tranche-sur-Mer. I’ve run out of Airbnb funds so it’s the camping life for me! Now that I can (mostly) reach to pick things off the floor, go from lying to standing, and even roll over in bed without the knife in my ribs, I’m hoping it goes well. Apparently ribs can take weeks to heal so I’m just learning to live with it.

I think the rest day has been good. I’ve seen a lovely island, gone for a dip, and eaten some good protein and veggies. A challenge equal to the sore ribs is my lingering Long Covid fatigue and temperature disregulation. At the end of a long day, especially a hot one, I have difficulty cooling off and getting my heart rate down. It’s not alarming, because I know what’s up, but it can be hard to cool off and settle.

The first time I went camping it was fine because it was nice and cool but the second time was terrible and I couldn’t cool off. (Fellow Texans, don’t laugh but I’m calling 85 hot when I’m riding in the sun all day.) This time I have my cooling necktie and frozen water bottles ready to go. And I’m going to take more breaks. I can do it! The road will always rise to meet me! Allons-y!