Between the Pirate Coast and the aberries, in northern Finistère, the Coast of Legends and its hinterland are a treat for all the senses. The wind, the spray, the caress of the sun through the clouds, the pleasures of the table, the warm encounters, everything is done to leave a memory that makes you want to come back.
Everywhere enormous rocks polished by the sea, it is believed, or by gigantic beings, say the legends. Everywhere the excessive trace of a mythical hold. It is the Pink Granite Coast blue gray version. It is Ploumanach with more savagery. It is pure, raw, massive happiness that fits these glorious megaliths. With the legendary smile of the locals. No more words, just the beautiful images of Noémie that carry me as if I was still there.
Between the Coast of the Pirates and the fairy forest of Huelgoat, the menhir of Berrien, its inscriptions and its cupules, is placed under the guard of a good horse which waits the walker in its case of greenery.
Anna, the Blessed Virgin and Mother Goddess, has lived so long she has no age.
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