The names of my two grandmothers are piled on my unsuspecting head: Marguerite – Pauline. My brothers simplify the rather ceremonious names by calling me “Mimi.”
I do not remember the inside of this house as the family has moved to a large house on the main square of town when I am still a very young child. However, the smell of the sea, the fishing boats bobbing up and down in the harbor with the tides, the screams of the seagulls and swallows, the clear light, fast moving western storms accompany my first years in this world and are woven into my personality to this day.
Imagine a sleepy harbor suddenly coming into intense activity when the sardine-fishing fleet comes into the harbor, a procession of smallish boats draped in drying blue nets, accompanied by swooping seagulls overhead. The fishermen, dressed in faded smocks, bérets on their heads and clogs on their feet pass trays of glistening sardines to their women folk who have appeared on the quay at some mysterious signal, pushing wooden carts. They wear black gathered skirts and clogs on their feet. Their hair is pulled back tightly into a “chignon” covered by a delicate starched coiffe. These women and the fishermen hail from Brittany, and this is a traditional Breton headdress. I do not understand what they say to one another, as they speak a Breton patois.
Our new house on the rue Chaudrier, overlooking the Place de Verdun is inland from the harbor, but to walk along the street (also called rue du Palais) is full of delights. Like the maze of streets in the center of town, our street, Rue Chaudrier, is arcaded and mysterious. Even on rainy days you can walk nearly all the way to the harbor without getting wet, and there are so many interesting sights.
