Blessing of the fleet
With strong winds blowing in from the west we ended up staying in Camaret-sur-Mer for five days.
Great walking along ridgelines.
Though the town wouldn’t win any prizes for excitement, a stay of this length was hardly a trial as up on the ridgeline of the Pen-Hir Peninsula, between the town and the open sea, there was plenty of walking to be done through open, low heath above cliff-lined shores and dark, splintered, and wave-washed shores.
Rugged shorelines of the Pen-Hir Peninsula.
More Vauban
On one knobbly finger-like peninsula, the Pointe du Toulinguet, a ‘secret’ military communications establishment hid ineffectually behind a classic bit of Napoleanic rock and earthwork. This included a deep and wide trench hewn into the rock and bordered by a 4m high rock wall on its far, ‘secret’, side.
The secret establishment on Pointe du Toulinguet.
The wall stretched from cliff edge to cliff edge across the peninsula with just a narrow gate and bridge giving access to all the sneaky military stuff that may or may not be going on further along.
Fortifications at la Pointe du Toulinguet.
We were pleased to hear that, back in the day, Vauban had done some construction here as well. Apparently, he is also responsible for a couple of other buildings behind the wall but we will never know.
More menhirs
Closer to town lies a rather forlorn megalithic alignment, the Alignments de Lagatjar. Forty or so smallish stones standing in lines that run off in a couple of directions.
The Alignments de Lagatjar bordering Camaret-sur-Mer.
A thin but steady stream of people, tourists and locals walking their pooches, meander through this alignemnt, their varying degrees of enthusiasm for what can only be described as slightly underwhelming neolithic rock endeavours measured in the generally short length of their stay. Being easily amused, we stayed for ages.
More binioù khoz and bombards
On Sunday morning we were surprised by a gathering outside the small fisherman’s chapel at the harbour. The first sign that something was going on were the distant but piercing sounds of binioù khoz and bombards. God, even at a distance of a couple of hundred metres they are just wonderfully bad instruments (I (D) would dearly love to be able to play the bombard) (I (F) would throw him, and the bombard, overboard).
Decorated boats in the harbour.
Just as strange, though much less unsettling, was a mob of small boats milling about in the inner harbour. These were traditional sailing work boats and modern things of all kinds, all formally dressed with strings of festive signal flags, burgees and colours.
A Sunday outdoor service
Intrigued, we followed the trail of the ‘music’ up onto the harbour breakwater where we found a group of musicians leading a small procession of very nicely dressed folk and slowly making their way towards a covered stage next to the harbour’s stone chapel. Once the procession had arrived and everyone had arranged themselves, two priests, kitted out in their very finest dresses, gold embroidery and bling, climbed up onto the stage and began the service.
The small gathering outside the ‘chapelle Notre Dame de Rocamadour’.
Off to the side a bunch of blokes held up a trio of staff-mounted, golden crosses and red velvet banners depicting the Virgin Mary in gold thread were lent against the chapel’s wall. With great solemnity the priests delivered their sermon and led the congregation in song and prayer. Everyone looked as serious as the occasion clearly demanded, except for the Search and Rescue boat blokes next to us at the back; they carried on chatting about the football as if there was nothing going on at all.
Blessings from the land
Once the service was done the congregation followed their spiritual leaders off to the ‘Bureau du Port’ (Harbour master’s office). Here, looking out over the harbour proper, the priests proceeded to bless the harbour and its contents by dipping leafy sprays in ‘special’ water and flicking them in the direction of the harbour as they pronounced their benedictions.
Blessing of the harbour, the boats and the congregation.
The harbour duly blessed, they turned to the throng of congregants close pressed around them and gave them a bit of a freshen up with quick flicks of wet leaves and presumably a benediction or two that we couldn’t hear or understand.
Boarding the vessels
Once the harbour, its boats and the congregation had been adequately blessed (hopefully it was a divine vaccination against misadventure for Yuma and its crew as well), everyone marched down onto the pontoons and climbed aboard awaiting boats.
The procession making their way to the boats.
The official party came first in solemn order, first the three cross bearers, then the musicians with wreath bearers immediately behind them, then the priests followed by the Mayor with the Chief of Police and a couple of Navy officers close around them, then a smattering of town councillors and assorted dignitaries and finally the rest of the town folk. While the official party climbed aboard the fully dressed Search and Rescue boat, the hoi polloi moved off to their vessels spread through the harbour.
God or lifejackets?
We’re not sure how to interpret what happened next, but despite the fact that they were in the official business of dispensing the protection and blessing of God on Camaret-sur-Mer’s harbour and fleet, no sooner had the two priests clambered aboard the Search and Rescue boat than they donned bright orange lifejackets. What? It was a clear, calm and sunny day and these servants of God were immediately seeking the assurances of the devices of mankind despite their close working relationships with the all powerful and benevolent Divine.
God or lifejacket? Best to not take any chances.
This was either a stark and sobering indication of the extent of their faith in the divine services they were rendering to their community, or yet another demonstration of the outrageous over-reach of health and safety regulations in modern society. Surely the distributors of divine maritime protection have no need of such devices?
And off they go, to bless the Camaret-sur-Mer fleet afloat.
Blessings from the water
With everyone safely lifejacketed and loaded on the boats, they all motored in convoy a short distance out into the bay whereupon the fleet did a bit of circle work around the official Search and Rescue boat with the priests and presumably got more personalised blessings for their efforts. Once everyone was fully blessed up, they all then trundled back into the harbour, packed up and headed off home. For the Dutch member of Yuma’s crew, this whole scene brought back memories of the ‘intocht van Sinterklaas’ in her younger days.
The boats were done up beautifully to receive their blessings.
A special occasion
While to a pair of non-believers this whole affair seemed to border on the comical, it was obvious that for the participants it was an important occasion; religious, personal, and communal. A reminder for us of the deep human need for something, be it a being, a system, or a philosophy, that provides guidance, solace and cohesion in an uncertain world. It was an privilege to have been witnesses to this special occasion.
I had to laugh at your curiosity re god and lifejackets! If heaven is a realm of eternal bliss, why don’t those who believe in it drop everything and go there right now?
Things would be much quieter if they did. I guess faith only goes so far. Or perhaps checking out early in order to enjoy the promised eternal bliss might be viewed by the responsible deity as impolite.
Of course! There’ll be a rule, or at least an addendum to one, stating that to send yourself off will commit you to a life in purgatory (or the waiting room as some more witty than me call it).