25th of June. Everyone were leaving Brignogan. Before that they were waiting at the hotel lobby, it was the only place where the Wi-Fi signal was decent.

By evening, almost everyone was gone.
I made my way through the beach...

and to a nearby crepery that serves wonderful crepes.

Although I had lunch at the exact same place with Eva (before she left), I thought I would like to have dinner there as well. (there also really wasn't many other options I know of...)


Crepe with chips. Yummy.
This is Benoit, the owner. He is also involved in film stuff.
He told me that the portrait on the wall was drawn by Julien the French animator (who is also in the workshop).

I left the crepery, feeling a little melancholic. Everything around me was bathed in gold.

Click here if you can't see embedded video




It was, I thought, quite a lovely evening.
There was another wedding ceremony in my hotel. Sometime around 2am (I was reading Haruki Murakami's HARD-BOILED WONDERLAND AND THE END OF THE WORLD, I saw fireworks outside my room.
Click here if you can't see embedded video
The next morning, the nice lady who runs the hotel prepared breakfast for me.

I bade farewell to the hotel. (Yes, finally here are some photos)


And walked away, to the place where a car was supposed to pick me up.
Suddenly, I saw a woman on a horse, approaching in the distance.



"Eh?" was the only sound I made as she disappeared into the horizon.
As I was headed to the train station in Brest later, I also found out that I was on the papers (Le Télégramme).

(If you read my earlier blog posts, you might remember that I would end up not being able to catch a train and was stranded in Brest for two more nights)
I'll look forward to finishing the first draft of my screenplay, and to the next (and final) session of the workshop in Torino, Italy, in November.

By evening, almost everyone was gone.
I made my way through the beach...

and to a nearby crepery that serves wonderful crepes.

Although I had lunch at the exact same place with Eva (before she left), I thought I would like to have dinner there as well. (there also really wasn't many other options I know of...)


Crepe with chips. Yummy.
This is Benoit, the owner. He is also involved in film stuff.
He told me that the portrait on the wall was drawn by Julien the French animator (who is also in the workshop).

I left the crepery, feeling a little melancholic. Everything around me was bathed in gold.

Click here if you can't see embedded video




It was, I thought, quite a lovely evening.
There was another wedding ceremony in my hotel. Sometime around 2am (I was reading Haruki Murakami's HARD-BOILED WONDERLAND AND THE END OF THE WORLD, I saw fireworks outside my room.
Click here if you can't see embedded video
The next morning, the nice lady who runs the hotel prepared breakfast for me.

I bade farewell to the hotel. (Yes, finally here are some photos)


And walked away, to the place where a car was supposed to pick me up.
Suddenly, I saw a woman on a horse, approaching in the distance.



"Eh?" was the only sound I made as she disappeared into the horizon.
As I was headed to the train station in Brest later, I also found out that I was on the papers (Le Télégramme).

(If you read my earlier blog posts, you might remember that I would end up not being able to catch a train and was stranded in Brest for two more nights)
I'll look forward to finishing the first draft of my screenplay, and to the next (and final) session of the workshop in Torino, Italy, in November.