Finisterre: The End of the Earth?

The Quai, Rennes.

World War II Memorial, Brest.

I love the ocean.   I always have.  As I arrive in Brest, the Finistere des Francese,  I am just reminded how much I do.   As I write this there are seagulls screaming outside my window.  Brest is more a working port than a beach resort; it is also a port for the French navy. But for the visitor, the smell and the sounds, and the sights are tremendous.

French Navy Ships and Ramparts in the Harbor, Brest.

Finisterre; whether in Spain or France, is the furthest west you can go on continental Europe.  The ancients saw it as the "end of the earth,"  hence the name.  For me it also marks the end of a journey.  Beginning tomorrow I begin my return home.  First I'll go to revisit the Abbaye S. Pierre des Solesmes to retrieve my suitcase and get a change of clothes!  Then on to the Little Sisters of the Poor in Paris for some tutoring.  

 

View of the Port, Brest.

Brest seems less French than other cities I have visited.  Partly because of geography.  Partly because of history.  Geography because Brittany and Brest have been part of other nations and cultures.  History because the bombings from World War II particularly, have necessitated so much rebuilding.  Everything is like 50-60 years old.  

Modernistic "Flower Holder" in the shape of a tree, Brest.

But the freshness in the air is very much appreciated.  France, like New York is in a terrible heatwave these days.  A forecast tonight in the low 60s is a welcome reality.  I'm thrilled since I don't have any AC!  

Modern Church of St. Louis, Brest.

Tomorrow morning I return to Solesmes to pick up my bag and prepare for Paris and my visit with the Little Sisters.

The Chateau, Brest.