Over the sea in a Trislander…

This morning I left the Island in a tiny plane. The wind was howling, my beret almost ended up on the other side of the airfield/in the parish of Torteval, and whilst I wouldn’t exactly say I was in fear of my life, there was definitely some doubt on whether the journey to France would be smooth.

Whilst the first five minutes of turbulence were reminiscent of my foray earlier this year into the world of rollercoasters, the journey was great. The sea looked like a thick blue oil painting with aggressive waves of white smeared through it.


There were not very many fishing boats out today, although I did catch a glimpse of one! After 25 minutes or so, the plane arrived at Dinard airport – the most exciting airport in Europe…. it is so small it does not have anything in it apart from a hire car stand and a bar which is seemingly always closed… (and also, as we discovered today, the airport also pays host to one lone aggressive fireman) but, hey, we love it anyway!

P.S. The beret is safe. Thank goodness – it’s Granny Jo Couture (my gran is an expert with knitting needles)

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