One of the great treats of writing are those serendipitous moments when one finds oneself looking at a person or in the middle of a place that seems right out of your own stories. I went to Finisteri yesterday.
Finisteri is a place in my Settlement novels. I knew in theory such places existed. I knew in theory there were parts of the world where rolling low mountains give way to salt marsh give way to tidal flats, where the land peters out into the ocean in a slow, easy decline, and the wind perpetually blows through the eel-grass.
It wasn’t a peninsula, and The Settlement is supposed to take place on the east coast not the west, but what-evs. I was happy.
There was a pleasant walk through the woods to get to the salt marsh. We found wild plums, rosehips, and (eek!) nightshade. On the beach I found pretty snail shells. A little dungeness crab hid inside one I was carrying around, and politely tickled my fingers to ask to be let out. A sunshower caught us by surprise, but we didn’t mind.
Loved it. Would go back any time. Absolutely knackered afterward, though. I am out of walking shape … or maybe it was hard walking.