on sunday rides; from car to train
with the majority of my weekday hours being overtaken by some much needed work, I now only savor my fin de semaine travels all the more. with but a brief overview of some of these recent sunday excursions, I soon return to my studio duties.
july.30.2006
vitre: of nuance and nuisances
breaking from these several straight days of under-painting people, boats, water, sky, and mountains; this sunday will be a daylong journey to the town of vitre, where I will be dropped off come 10a.m. and picked up some vague time past 8. under these hours, I am thankful to find this to be a larger small town, with decent portion contained within the walls of the old section, and a fair extension of newer development for more extensive travels beyond. beginning at the office of tourism, I ask "avez-vous une carte ou un plane de vitre? aussi, est-ce que vous avez des renseignments en anglais?". with a grimace towards my pronunciation, I am silently handed several pamphlets on guided tours and main attractions. here I read: "this is the best preserved 'old world' town in brittany; its fortified castle, its ramparts and its small streets have remained just as they were 400 or 500 years ago... come enjoy our exceptional architectural heritage, savor the delicious food offered in our restaurants and creperies, and make the most of the leisure activities available in the gently rolling countryside." traveller by trade, tourist in nature; I suppose I should be sold for the day.
yet, putting these scheduled walks and historic tours aside, the lingering presence of half a century is felt as I begin my own uncharted path around the outer wall. towards the back of these ramparts, just beyond the looming shadow of a most massive chateau, I find a dim passage of abandoned structures and overgrown foliage bearing into the rear of the town. stepping in to have a closer look, dark depths are reveled through broken glass and tight clearings in the vines, and shivers shoot down my spine as I quicken to a pace away. the overcast and chilly day (a mere 21ºC) has me colored now by an unearthly mood, and then what better place to spend my morning than in vitre's cemetery. here the immense stretch of graves laid out amongst the hilltop edge is broken by panoramic view of farmland plots and a smattering of houses. it's a sight that provides an eerie serenity to match the lacking bustle of the town's narrow and aging streets as the persistent 2-story architecture of bare, heavy timber weighs in over these desolate cobblestone paths. here was once scene of leatherworkers and weavers; a thriving manufacture for the trade of cloth and other goods. yet, now the streets are nearly silent aside from the occasional drum of a passing car or the wandering of some fellow tourists.
come 5p.m., after purchasing some baked goods at a soon closing creperie, I decide to find where a walk down one of the outer side roads will take me. from this 2 hour meandering, not only did I come across a very welcomed change of a jardin du parc, but also a not-so-welcome encounter with one of those 'aggressively persistent' european men that I was warned about just before my departure. being more of an annoyance that a genuine threat, it was nevertheless source of a final distaste to a somewhat wavering vexation of the day. all things considered, I am only left to say that 8 hours was more than ample time for a back alley exploration of this weathered town.
august.6.2006
saint malo: "merde! la mer manger mon chemise!"
looking for a more upbeat pace, the travel to saint malo is a quick 25 minutes via the local TER train, though now perhaps even shorter (if any distance at all), as I am unable to validate my purple purchased ticket in the little orange machine found off to the side of the track. wondering if anything will be said for an assumed misunderstanding, I decide to board despite this potential risk... (what a thrill seeker I am)... and I am sitting now, and the door closes, and the train begins to move, and yet I am approached by no one.
the smooth and rapid clip along the metal and rock is also a surprisingly quiet one, broken only by the sound of the hushed voices coming from the couple sitting a few seats before me. besides a single old lady further back and to the left, they are the sole other occupants of this car. as one looks up to the sound of my taking a picture, I look to my right to watch the passing countryside of cows and corn and rolls of wheat... I've spoken of all these before.
at last, the train attendant pushes the button to enter our car, and the door skates open, and my heart races. will he let me go on with my travels? will he kick me off with a big black boot while the train's still moving? what will he say and will I possibly understand? will I have to pay the supposed fine for my non-validated stub?
instead, he gives me a quick 'bonjour', an even quicker glance at the ticket in question, stamps it, says 'merci', and moves onto the next car.
a moment's weight passing, I am safe and I remember my breath.
arriving at the saint malo station, I fumble with the calendar bound street map that yann gave me just before I left. the streets look much bigger than anticipated and are surrounded by port-like sights of generic industrial buildings atop expansive concrete slabs that are laden with flats of fright and a near equal number of corresponding lifts. distracted by it all, I characteristically take a few wrong turns before I find the right path- for of course I wouldn't opt to follow the mass of people hauling backpacks and beach chairs departing from my very same train. I spot them now several lengths down the street before me and I suppose to myself that it may be wise to actually keep with the crowd come these future occasions.
nevertheless, the walk is long and filled with sights similar to those seen just beyond the station. finding little more interesting to look upon, I catch myself lingering on various bugs and other small details along the way, and continuing in the same manner as I reach saint malo's surrounding bay. spotting minnows and jellyfish floating alongside tires and various other bits of trash aesthetic, the water is still clear enough for me to see the bottom.
looking up, I am now at the foot of saint malo's boat-lined ramparts. there's a line of people to my right pouring into the main entry and passing carousels and ice cream stands, tents full of street art and various other tourist-ready junk. getting a heaping dose of that 'oh-shit-this-is-disney' feeling, I decide to cut down one of the nearly empty side roads found close to the gate and I put away my map. in a full out wandering, I make my way through these delightful streets of residential sound that only occasionally meet up with the still heavily weighted tourist caravan. yet, with only 5 minutes of mooing and baaing along with the rest of them, I am shortly back onto those more personal confines. here I pass a couple cafes and a few surprisingly urban boutiques, then looking past the telltale mass of backpacks of some nearby fellow travelers, I now spot my window of blue.
my heart beats that I've found the ocean and I quicken to a pace set for the sea.
passing through the thick rampart wall, I am suddenly breathless and teary-eyed and writing poetry in my head over the sight I see before me; and I even consider for a moment to jot down some of the unavoidable cheese. yet, instead (and in sparing both you and myself), I simply walk on, attempting my breath, and hoping that the expression on my face is not as emotional as I feel... though it probably is, and do I really care?... for now I press on in a dream world of my own through boulder-carved paths and stepping stones on crystal-blue waters towards island castles and their sailboat neighbors. yes, I am dreaming and I'm wishing for others in my life to do the same. yet, as the case has only been, I fear that all I can give is an injustice of pictures and these equally failing words.
*sigh*
coming out of this moment and my swim in the clouds, I find place on the beach to begin writing it down, but instead I'm more interested in enjoying the simple warmth on my skin as these mid-day hours at saint malo pass.
marked by this time, I'm beginning to burn so I reach for my shirt but am surprised to not find it within that predictable distance from my head. sitting up now, but still seeing it nowhere in sight, I check my bag, and beneath my towel, and back to my bag, but only to assume that its gone forever... and so I am left without. what more can I do but laugh out loud as the ocean's tide is in and I'm sure that my shirt is floating somewhere amongst it. ah, la mer! your mischief changes the day!
now, with only a partially clothed self, I step back into the city to be amused by staring eyes, and making bold entry into one of the tres-chic boutiques that I had passed by before, I'm faced with looks and smirks all the same. quickly picking up a decently priced tank (and thankfully so, as the sun blazes down), I try to explain to the young girl at the counter that the sea ate my clothes, and would she mind if I wore this out? laughing either at my story or my attempted translation, I was nevertheless pleased to find her so gracious. still, I giggle at the thought of a semi-dressed return on the train.
returning to my shoreline spot, and so as not to be defeated in desire, I once again am thwarted now by the most bizarre of atmospheric conditions. from across my seaward view I see a low hanging fog rolling in across the flat blue ocean bearing sea crafts and jagged land forms. this dark gray cloud quickly consumes the boats in the distance, then the island chateau that I had just trodden upon mere hours before, and now both myself, and the beach, as well as the city behind me. looking through this thick mass to check for any expressions of equal bewilderment, I find none and so I go on with my writing.
packing back into the city, the fog remains thick and the once hot and sunny air is now replaced by a cool dampness. as that afternoon heat passes into an evening gray, this timely weather draws a now ready end to my sunday phantasmagoria at saint malo. now walking and watching still once again back to the station, I look forward to a reflective train ride home to an awaiting combourg closure.
july.30.2006
vitre: of nuance and nuisances
breaking from these several straight days of under-painting people, boats, water, sky, and mountains; this sunday will be a daylong journey to the town of vitre, where I will be dropped off come 10a.m. and picked up some vague time past 8. under these hours, I am thankful to find this to be a larger small town, with decent portion contained within the walls of the old section, and a fair extension of newer development for more extensive travels beyond. beginning at the office of tourism, I ask "avez-vous une carte ou un plane de vitre? aussi, est-ce que vous avez des renseignments en anglais?". with a grimace towards my pronunciation, I am silently handed several pamphlets on guided tours and main attractions. here I read: "this is the best preserved 'old world' town in brittany; its fortified castle, its ramparts and its small streets have remained just as they were 400 or 500 years ago... come enjoy our exceptional architectural heritage, savor the delicious food offered in our restaurants and creperies, and make the most of the leisure activities available in the gently rolling countryside." traveller by trade, tourist in nature; I suppose I should be sold for the day.
yet, putting these scheduled walks and historic tours aside, the lingering presence of half a century is felt as I begin my own uncharted path around the outer wall. towards the back of these ramparts, just beyond the looming shadow of a most massive chateau, I find a dim passage of abandoned structures and overgrown foliage bearing into the rear of the town. stepping in to have a closer look, dark depths are reveled through broken glass and tight clearings in the vines, and shivers shoot down my spine as I quicken to a pace away. the overcast and chilly day (a mere 21ºC) has me colored now by an unearthly mood, and then what better place to spend my morning than in vitre's cemetery. here the immense stretch of graves laid out amongst the hilltop edge is broken by panoramic view of farmland plots and a smattering of houses. it's a sight that provides an eerie serenity to match the lacking bustle of the town's narrow and aging streets as the persistent 2-story architecture of bare, heavy timber weighs in over these desolate cobblestone paths. here was once scene of leatherworkers and weavers; a thriving manufacture for the trade of cloth and other goods. yet, now the streets are nearly silent aside from the occasional drum of a passing car or the wandering of some fellow tourists.
come 5p.m., after purchasing some baked goods at a soon closing creperie, I decide to find where a walk down one of the outer side roads will take me. from this 2 hour meandering, not only did I come across a very welcomed change of a jardin du parc, but also a not-so-welcome encounter with one of those 'aggressively persistent' european men that I was warned about just before my departure. being more of an annoyance that a genuine threat, it was nevertheless source of a final distaste to a somewhat wavering vexation of the day. all things considered, I am only left to say that 8 hours was more than ample time for a back alley exploration of this weathered town.
august.6.2006
saint malo: "merde! la mer manger mon chemise!"
looking for a more upbeat pace, the travel to saint malo is a quick 25 minutes via the local TER train, though now perhaps even shorter (if any distance at all), as I am unable to validate my purple purchased ticket in the little orange machine found off to the side of the track. wondering if anything will be said for an assumed misunderstanding, I decide to board despite this potential risk... (what a thrill seeker I am)... and I am sitting now, and the door closes, and the train begins to move, and yet I am approached by no one.
the smooth and rapid clip along the metal and rock is also a surprisingly quiet one, broken only by the sound of the hushed voices coming from the couple sitting a few seats before me. besides a single old lady further back and to the left, they are the sole other occupants of this car. as one looks up to the sound of my taking a picture, I look to my right to watch the passing countryside of cows and corn and rolls of wheat... I've spoken of all these before.
at last, the train attendant pushes the button to enter our car, and the door skates open, and my heart races. will he let me go on with my travels? will he kick me off with a big black boot while the train's still moving? what will he say and will I possibly understand? will I have to pay the supposed fine for my non-validated stub?
instead, he gives me a quick 'bonjour', an even quicker glance at the ticket in question, stamps it, says 'merci', and moves onto the next car.
a moment's weight passing, I am safe and I remember my breath.
arriving at the saint malo station, I fumble with the calendar bound street map that yann gave me just before I left. the streets look much bigger than anticipated and are surrounded by port-like sights of generic industrial buildings atop expansive concrete slabs that are laden with flats of fright and a near equal number of corresponding lifts. distracted by it all, I characteristically take a few wrong turns before I find the right path- for of course I wouldn't opt to follow the mass of people hauling backpacks and beach chairs departing from my very same train. I spot them now several lengths down the street before me and I suppose to myself that it may be wise to actually keep with the crowd come these future occasions.
nevertheless, the walk is long and filled with sights similar to those seen just beyond the station. finding little more interesting to look upon, I catch myself lingering on various bugs and other small details along the way, and continuing in the same manner as I reach saint malo's surrounding bay. spotting minnows and jellyfish floating alongside tires and various other bits of trash aesthetic, the water is still clear enough for me to see the bottom.
looking up, I am now at the foot of saint malo's boat-lined ramparts. there's a line of people to my right pouring into the main entry and passing carousels and ice cream stands, tents full of street art and various other tourist-ready junk. getting a heaping dose of that 'oh-shit-this-is-disney' feeling, I decide to cut down one of the nearly empty side roads found close to the gate and I put away my map. in a full out wandering, I make my way through these delightful streets of residential sound that only occasionally meet up with the still heavily weighted tourist caravan. yet, with only 5 minutes of mooing and baaing along with the rest of them, I am shortly back onto those more personal confines. here I pass a couple cafes and a few surprisingly urban boutiques, then looking past the telltale mass of backpacks of some nearby fellow travelers, I now spot my window of blue.
my heart beats that I've found the ocean and I quicken to a pace set for the sea.
passing through the thick rampart wall, I am suddenly breathless and teary-eyed and writing poetry in my head over the sight I see before me; and I even consider for a moment to jot down some of the unavoidable cheese. yet, instead (and in sparing both you and myself), I simply walk on, attempting my breath, and hoping that the expression on my face is not as emotional as I feel... though it probably is, and do I really care?... for now I press on in a dream world of my own through boulder-carved paths and stepping stones on crystal-blue waters towards island castles and their sailboat neighbors. yes, I am dreaming and I'm wishing for others in my life to do the same. yet, as the case has only been, I fear that all I can give is an injustice of pictures and these equally failing words.
*sigh*
coming out of this moment and my swim in the clouds, I find place on the beach to begin writing it down, but instead I'm more interested in enjoying the simple warmth on my skin as these mid-day hours at saint malo pass.
marked by this time, I'm beginning to burn so I reach for my shirt but am surprised to not find it within that predictable distance from my head. sitting up now, but still seeing it nowhere in sight, I check my bag, and beneath my towel, and back to my bag, but only to assume that its gone forever... and so I am left without. what more can I do but laugh out loud as the ocean's tide is in and I'm sure that my shirt is floating somewhere amongst it. ah, la mer! your mischief changes the day!
now, with only a partially clothed self, I step back into the city to be amused by staring eyes, and making bold entry into one of the tres-chic boutiques that I had passed by before, I'm faced with looks and smirks all the same. quickly picking up a decently priced tank (and thankfully so, as the sun blazes down), I try to explain to the young girl at the counter that the sea ate my clothes, and would she mind if I wore this out? laughing either at my story or my attempted translation, I was nevertheless pleased to find her so gracious. still, I giggle at the thought of a semi-dressed return on the train.
returning to my shoreline spot, and so as not to be defeated in desire, I once again am thwarted now by the most bizarre of atmospheric conditions. from across my seaward view I see a low hanging fog rolling in across the flat blue ocean bearing sea crafts and jagged land forms. this dark gray cloud quickly consumes the boats in the distance, then the island chateau that I had just trodden upon mere hours before, and now both myself, and the beach, as well as the city behind me. looking through this thick mass to check for any expressions of equal bewilderment, I find none and so I go on with my writing.
packing back into the city, the fog remains thick and the once hot and sunny air is now replaced by a cool dampness. as that afternoon heat passes into an evening gray, this timely weather draws a now ready end to my sunday phantasmagoria at saint malo. now walking and watching still once again back to the station, I look forward to a reflective train ride home to an awaiting combourg closure.
posted by Kellie Moore at 8:00 AM
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