24 Octobre 2011
Sometimes I just happen to have incredible luck, despite the tales of woe that I subject my loyal readers to on this site. This past summer I happened to catch wind of the fact that the sailing team from Maine Maritime Academy in Castine, Maine was planning on attending a regatta at La Trinité-sur-Mer, in the province of Brittany. Well, that was all well and good, but I wasn’t about to be trucking my tookus down to just watch some sailboat races by myself. Not long after I learned that my bosses at Clifton Dock were planning on renting a house to watch the races, and BOOM: interest sparked.
As the fall went on I emailed Jane and learned more about the event, and even received an invitation to come and stay with them at the house they were renting. Well, the time finally arrived on the 24th, when we left Paris’ Gare Montparnasse at 8:05 am to come to Auray, pick up a rental car, and then find the rental house after spending Friday together. Having led a Death March around Paris on Friday, the early Saturday train ride was a welcome relief for everyone’s feet. When I ran down the quai on Saturday morning I was convinced that I was going to miss the train, having only really woken up an hour before, taken what could be in the running for the world’s fastest shower, and then metro’ed myself to the train station with incredible luck. Not only did I get there in time, and even got on the train before it left. Major success.
A bit more than three hours later we were in Auray, the 6 of us, hoping to stumble up on Europcar location, the Hertz of France. Upon arriving we saw lots of cars in all shapes and sizes, and we all assumed we had the biggest van in the parking lot, a large boxy thing that would hold 8, meaning space for the luggage and for us. Jane and I went in to get things straightened out with the lady at the desk, and she literally turned white when she realized that all of us and our luggage had to fit in the car we’d reserved. As Sweet Uncle Lew would say: You can’t fit a five pound tit in a three pound bag, and we definitely had a three pound bag. Well, the crisis was averted by renting a second car, but it also came with a lesson. When renting cars in France, there are two options: a car for 6 people, or a car for six people and their luggage. I don’t remember the exact French term, but it basically boiled down to including a personal bubble space or not.
Two cars later, we were on the road, with me as copilot (the stresses of being the one person who can read the street signs), a GPS on the dash, and a map in hand. After giving everyone a nice tour of Auray by circling the city center about 3 times (obviously on purpose), we were on the road to La Trinité-sur-Mer, and the house at 35 rue Carnac. We arrived in good shape, and then my second job reared its French head: translating between a French man and the people who had rented ⅓ of his his house/compound/condo-thing. He was a great person and was very animated. I learned all about his house, the electricians, the things that went well and the places where the architects screwed up. He gave demonstrations of every volet (shutter) in the house, and how to close them all, ensuring that we’d be able to sleep in absolute darkness, and also gave a thorough tour of each drawer and cupboard in the kitchen. About 45 minutes later were through with our tour and had our bags into the house.
While one car drove to the harbor, the rest of the people walked about 15 minutes to the port. We met up, looked at the boats (easily over a thousand in this one harbor, lined up like sardines, and then tried to figure out where the boats were sailing out of for the race. Like all good problem solvers, when we couldn’t figure it out, we went into the restaurant located over the yacht club, and started drinking while waiting for a table. About five 1664s apiece later and with full stomachs, we started seeing signs of the racing boats coming back in the harbor. We hustled to follow the American boat and found that we were quite a hike from their pier, but we pressed on.
The harbor at La Trinité-sur-Mer
The MMA boat docked and dealt with their stuff, while we waited on land, freezing in the gale. This harbor, which was probably a few miles long was a giant wind tunnels for the gusts, which must have been a solid 30 knots, and maybe even more. Making things even more hairy were the waves, practically tsunami in size, making everything that much more exciting. Teams started walking up the ramp, and finally the Americans made their appearances. Cold and a bit haggard, they were excited by the event, but less than enthused by the baguettes, shredded carrots, and canned pâte they’d been provided for lunch. After doing our duty of saying hello, we did a bit of grocery and drink shopping, to fuel up for the next day.
Arriving home, we found that the last people to stay with us (another kid’s mother and aunt) had arrived, and left their baggage outside, but were nowhere to be seen. We sat down, poured a drink or, in my case, tried to figure out how to tap the 5 litre kegs of 1664 to no avail, and socialized while we waited for the rest to arrive. Since the mom, Susan, had just flown from America that day, she was practically a zombie, and was more than ready for bed, but we still managed to keep her up for a little while, though everyone went to bed pretty early. That is, after we figured out the answers for all the world’s problems over many a glass of wine, scotch, or beer.
The next day, having slept like rocks, we made slow moves to get dressed, but were nonetheless down by the water by 9ish, when the racing teams showed up. Having learned that racing would be cancelled for the day, everyone was free to do their own thing. Most of the MMA students took the team car to the yacht club where they were having a skipper’s meeting, but we took John with us to Carnac, where they sailors were staying in a hostel, so he could get a headstart on the cleaning that needed to be done in the dorm room where everyone was sleeping. Having dropped John off, we came across an enormous open air market in Carnac, and realized that we had to go there to do some shopping. Making a 3 minute trip to our house to pick up the giant shopping bags we bought at the grocery store, we returned to fill most of them with fresh produce, smelly cheese, and good AOC wine. All major foods were thus accounted for.
We returned home for drinks and lunch (again, priorities), and then decided to go for a car tour to find the Carnac Alignements, giant rocks that are all stood up and perfectly aligned, but completely shrouded in mystery. Nobody seems to know why they’re really there, how they got there, but they are believed to have been put in place by the Celts. Let me tell you what, if the Celts were actually able to move these 20 foot high, 10 foot wide, and 5 foot thick rocks 2000 years ago, I’ll be damned. As far as I’m concerned, it is just about impossible. There are thousands of them, literally as far as the eye can see. I can’t figure out how the rocks would be put in place, even today. They’re soooo friggin’ huge. My conclusion is that they were put in place by aliens as a way of delineating run ways. It seems just as likely, maybe even more so, than suggesting that humans moved the rocks from where ever they were, formed perfectly straight and parallel lines, and then stood them up for us to ponder today.
View from the top of the Old Windmill
After spending quite a long time looking at miles of lined up rocks, we returned home to rehydrate and relax. Before long we were on the road again, having seen a place called Presque Île, and feeling a need to see it. For those of you not from Maine, Presque Isle, Maine is just beyond East Assgrabber. It’s so far north you may as well be in the Arctic, and all they do is grow potatoes and …… well, I guess that’s all they do there. I’ve never been because it takes less time to drive to Florida than it does to get to Presque Isle and there is no reason to go. Well, not really, but just about, so the chance to go to Presque-Île without having to pack a weekend suitcase seemed to good to pass up.
Anyway, we loved Presque-Île, and couldn’t help but notice the occasional German pillbox tucked into the dunes, and built along the road. We drove along the coast, and saw some of the most amazing cliffs and dunes I’ve ever seen. It really was awesome in the truest sense of the word. These cliffs were well over a hundred feet tall, completely flat faced, and a rusty red color. At the base were the most beautiful white sandy beaches being pummeled with huge waves, in blues that I thought were only found in the Caribbean. It was really beautiful. In reading the signs I realized that these cliffs and this whole area was called the Côté Sauvage, meaning Savage Coast, and that could not have been a more fitting name. We drove for miles right on the coast, ooing and ahhing at the sheer harshness of it all, and constantly questioning the intelligence of those who decided to go windsurfing here despite the countless signs saying that all swimming and water activities were prohibited.
Côte Sauvage
We drove all the way down Presque-Île, and to the town at the southern tip, Quiberon, which was a typical French fishing port, but terribly unprotected. Everybody in the car was well acquainted with boats, and we were all shocked by how enormous the waves were in these places. At Quiberon there was a man made harbor about the size of a football field, surrounded by concrete walls, 15 feet above the water level, but nonetheless the waves in the harbor were anything but calm, and every once in a while a wave would go over the concrete walls into the harbor. We actually watched the ferry boat leave on its way to another island (which had a city called Bangor of all places), and even though the boat was quite large, it was tossed and turned as though it was a bath toy. I can’t imagine doing that trip on a regular basis!
Since there was no place else to go form there, we started our escape trip from the island, making a quick stop at Fort Neuf, a fort built and rebuilt from 1701-1886, and finally decommissioned in 1902. It was pretty much destroyed, but it did give a nice view of the east side of the Island, and the size of the waves there - not much different than the other side: damned big. We returned home for drinks, a very French dinner at 9:15 pm, and sustenance (code for ample amounts of cheese and dry sausages- donkey, boar, and pig).
At dinner we discussed plans for the next day, knowing that there wouldn’t likely be any racing due to crappy weather coming in. We looked into the beaches at Normandy and the American cemetery there, talked about Mount St Michel, and even about the chateaux of the Loire Valley. Since we didn’t have internet, it was sort of difficult to do much real planning. All we had was my Cambridge Illustrated History of France, a AAA France Guide, some maps, and a handful of local brochures. When she got a French simcard for her phone, Jane also paid the 9 bucks for internet, but it wouldn’t be available for two days, meaning Sunday, and even then we couldn’t figure it out, so it was back to travel arrangements the old fashioned way. Going from the fact that she could use her Android as a WiFi hotspot, everyone was up shit creek, with not a paddle in sight.
In the end we decided to go to Mount St Michel, since it was only about 2.5 hours away, and since I had to be at the train station in Auray for a 6:45 pm train to Paris. Around 7:40 the next morning, in the pitch dark, our two-car convoy left, with Captain Alan and Willie the navigator leading the expedition. With only a few slight hiccups, we arrived at the Mont St Michel around 10:15, in one piece. Despite the rain and incredible wind we had at La Trinité-sur-Mer at o’dark thirty, Le Mont St Michel, was beautiful and surrounded by blue skies above and mudflats below. We climbed to the ticket booth and started our adventure. (Thank you, SciencesPo for another free entry to a French national monument.) It was just as amazing today as it was two weeks ago. With its massive spire piercing the sky and surmounted by the gilded St. Michel, it really is a spectacle from the exterior, and awe inspiring from the interior. Like the monolithic alignments of Carnac, one has to wonder how in Hell any human being could possibly construct such a massive structure on such an inhospitable piece of land. Of course it only two 1500+ years to construct, but still, there are some massive pieces of granite there.
After a thorough visit of the Mont St. Michel, we went to grab a bite to eat in an overpriced galette and crêpe shop. They were very good, and you can’t fault businesses for wanting to make money, but still…
Le Mont St Michel
Having spent a fair amount of time on the phone with the lovely people at Orange, the French phone company, in getting the internet working between my navigational duties on the way to Le Mont St Michel, we were able to use the phone to find other nearby si(gh)ts to visit on our way home. I looked at a bunch of castles and churches on the phone, but then I found that the American Cemetery at Brittany was only a half hour away! That had to be the destination, since a trip to see the American Cemetery in Normandy would be another 2 or 3 hours. I plugged the address into the GPS, and also into the phone, and we made our way, winding through cow fields and tiny villages. When the GPS ended up failing and not following through, the phone held strong and we were there in no time.
This cemetery, much smaller than its Norman cousin, is still very impressive. With very minimal signage, it wasn’t easy to find, and it only has a tiny parking lot, but since we were the only ones visiting when we arrived, we really got to take it all in. Entering on a small paved road there was a visitor’s center on the left and a very simple, yet very elegant modernist style Gothic chapel ahead on the right. As you walked toward the church, you approached it from the rear, so you had to walk down the side, facing the 4400 white headstones before you could turn and enter the chapel. Quite a vision, to say the least.
4400 stones seems like a lot, but it’s less than ½ as many as are at the famous Normandy cemetery. This isn’t meant to imply that the Brittany cemetery is any less important or moving than that at Normandy, because it isn’t. In fact, I think you could argue that the Brittany cemetery is more accessible and less overwhelming than the one on Omaha Beach. The fact that there were so few people there was also a very nice difference.
Another fairly interesting thing that I noticed was that the stones are not arranged in an orthogonal grid; they are not all aligned in columns or in rows. There are very clear rows, but toward the edges the rows curve up, almost making a very wide semi-circle around the chapel. The stones do line up in columns based on the section, but the sections themselves don’t always align. I wasn’t crazy about the unaligned columns, but I really enjoyed the wide semi circular rows. It was almost like everyone was gathering to get the best view of the chapel, and it seemed so much more welcoming than the stark gridded arrangement of the Normandy cemetery.
After spending a good chunk of time at the cemetery it started to drizzle, and we moved on. I set the course for the Auray train station, and we were off. Arriving around 4:45, I said my thank yous goodbyes, and bid adieu to my adopted family for the weekend. While waiting for my 6:45 train I went to look at the bookshop, and even found the October issue of WoodenBoat (only 7 €), where the Museum is mentioned, which made me smile. Now on the train, having just eaten a mediocre sandwich, I’m finishing up my fourth blog post in as many days.
Tomorrow it’s off to SciencesPo for my class from 10:15 until 12:15 and then a quick trip home to do my packing for my solo voyage to Belgium for a week before catching a late afternoon train out of Paris for Belgium. Lots to do, not much time, but I’m definitely looking forward to my vacation, and more time in trains zooming through the countryside.
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