Brest day 1

It's hard to convey the spectacle here. We're sailing in close proximity to boats with 20 sails up, square, gaff, lug, gunter, combinations of the above, and hundreds of traditional craft of every description. One gets so engrossed in watching the boats that one can easily be distracted from the close quarters sailing. We sail over to La Cancalaise, a Bisquine, with square sails set on two masts, but crooked, like a lugger. When she came ghosting into the harbour later this evening in the nightly parade of sail, she looked like a something out of a dream. Unfortunately plastic boats are not banned, and there are dozens of the bastards getting in the way and spoiling the view. A particularly ugly motor cruiser, making a big wash, was surprised when he waved to us by me giving him the finger. We go round in a huge circle, big boats slowly, us quite fast in the brisk breeze, and one is amazed at the ingenuity of boat designers through the ages making shapes of hull, rigging and sails to suit particular conditions and purposes. Richard, my crew, being a dinghy sailor, is gung-ho about the close quarters, but I am terrified, knowing that the French regard the port/starboard rule as a game of chicken, rather than a sensible way of dealing with close encounters. He is proved right every time.
We return to our pontoon to find our convenient hammerhead berth pinched by a lovely French pilot cutter. We raft beside another one, French but English owned, and when we meet the crew in the morning, they are delightful.
The berth is bumpy, but we are so tired it doesn't matter.
The pic is the scene on the water, but it doesn't begin to convey the magnificence of the spectacle.