Lara

Chapter 5

Thirty minutes later I find myself completely captivated by the town of Lannion. Winding narrow streets, half-timbered houses, charming squares, and grand old churches. A town that looks like times past, right out of a fairytale. Locquirec is very small in comparison, which makes me wonder why Mémé chose it as her second home. But maybe that was it - she had her house in Paris, and in contrast, liked the respite of her tiny seaside village to escape to.

I find a place to park and begin wandering down the adjacent sidewalk. This has become my favorite activity as of late - choosing a random street or route to see what I'll discover. It gives me a sense of freedom - no demands, and a complete stranger to everyone I pass.

Passing a couple of clothing shops, a bookstore, and then a hair salon, I keep my eyes peeled for a gift shop to buy some gifts for Jade and Mom. But a whim strikes me as I pass the hair salon. I hesitate for a moment, peaking through the window at the ladies getting their hair done. On impulse, I push the door open, a tinkling bell announcing my arrival. 

A woman with a sleek bob greets me from the front counter. "Bonjour."

"Bonjour. Parlez vous Anglais?" I ask, hoping she speaks at least a little English.

She shakes her head. "Non. En quoi puis-je vous aider?"

I hesitate, not sure what she said but see a hair magazine laying on the counter. Grabbing it, I  flip through it quickly till I find a picture of a woman with a short shoulder-length cut. I hold out the magazine to her and point to the picture, and then at my hair as a way of explanation.

"Oui. Asseye-vous s'il vous plait," she says, motioning to the chair nearest her.

Sitting down where she instructed, I wonder what has come over me. I haven't changed my hairstyle since middle school. I've always worn it long, mostly because that's how Brett liked it. Out with the old, I think to myself. Besides, I've made the decision, there's no going back now.

Less than an hour later she's done, and as I turn my head back and forth in front of the mirror, I see she's styled it differently and given me a side part instead of my normal middle part. The entire cut and style frame my face better, and I can't help but be pleased with the change. I

"C'est très chic," she says. The other ladies in the salon nod their heads in approval as well.

"Merci," I answer with a smile. 

With my hair now swishing above my shoulders, and a new spring in my step, I stop in at a bakery next door and treat myself. Ordering to go, I continue wandering - a macaron in one hand and an espresso in the other - happy and content.

Rounding a street corner, I come across a large square where there's an outdoor market going on. I plop the remainder of my macaron in my mouth and approach the booths, excited to see what treasures I'll happen upon. My arms quickly fill with bags of dried lavender, some herbs for cooking, handmade soaps, and a couple of things for Jade and Mom. Everyone at the market is a local artisan and I'm thrilled at the opportunity to support local makers.

At the end of the market is a booth selling the most beautiful and unique pottery.  My eyes are automatically drawn to a piece that for some reason looks familiar. I step closer to admire the powder-blue bowl with its small rose pattern etched along the rim. The woman at the booth greets me with a warm and genuine smile. I ask her if she speaks English.

"A little," she answers.

"Your pottery is absolutely beautiful! Are you the artist?"

She nods, happy for the compliment. "Oui. Moi," she motions to herself, "and mon mari...uh, husband."