We woke early and headed out quickly. When we flung back the flaps of the tent we were very shocked…no fog. It had been a while since we had seen such a morning. We packed and discovered that no fog did not mean no dew. The tent was soaked and everything was just a touch damp.
We cycled into town and performed a daily routine. Heather went to the shops to buy breakfast and I guarded the bikes. I sat in the square in front of the church and nearly died when the bell rang for 9:30. No wonder you can hear the bells clear across the countryside. Deafness must be a major occupational hazard for priest and bell ringers alike.
Our ride today was more leisurely. There was an open campground not too far away and we had the chance to absorb the French countryside. When you emerge from trees and cycle along an open field, or when you crest a hill, you can see for miles. France is very liberally coated with churches and when your view opens up you can see the sharp points of spires clear to the horizon. Everywhere we go we find crosses at every corner and all along the roadside. A million effigies of Jesus suffering on the cross litter the country until they become just another part of the scenery. The cult of the Virgin Mary is strong here too and she appears almost as much as her son. You can see why. The image of Christ suffering on the cross for the sake of humanity is very powerful and inspirational but it offers little in the way of warmth. Mary is portrayed as the image of compassion embodied and all her icons gaze down benevolently. She is far more approachable than a suffering god who only looks skyward. No graveyard is without her and many buildings have small votive statues in their front yards. One farmhouse we passed had a niche hollowed out high in their wall with a tiny statue secreted within. At first we wanted to stop at every church we passed by but they have begun to blur a little and so we pass many by. Heather jokes that every hill we hit is penance for a skipped church.
Today we began to pass fields of sunflowers, though they looked decidedly unsunny. They had faded to brown and drooped like flowers depressed. There were heavy with seeds and looked like about it was about time to be harvested. Every once in a while they were still brilliantly yellow so the fields made a strange patch work of vibrant and dead. It was hard to tell if it was beautiful or ugly and eventually the whole mix dissolved in my minds eye into one massive Van Gogh painting.
Nort Sur Erdre was a nice enough town, though their church steeple was very ugly. I couldn’t tell from the brochure whether it had been bombed or struck by lightning but I know that it didn’t always look that way. The municipal campground was a little off from the town centre, set in a beautiful park that had once been the private lands of a nearby chateau. Apparently we were now entering Chateau territory and could expect to see them more and more often. The Erdre is a tributary of the Loire and the Loire is famous for its wealthy estates. The Erdre was perhaps a hundred meters behind our campsite and we watched every kind of boat from yachts to a giant red inflatable row boat ply the waters.
We took advantage of the day of sunshine that lay before us and did our laundry. Yes we are that exciting, but you live with the smell of mold for a few weeks! Heather struck up a merry conversation with the groundskeeper about his tracheotomy, I don’t know how with her French, and he lent us a bucket for our hot water and a scrubbing board. Strange to tell, but doing the laundry was almost fun, with Heather washing and me wringing. It really is amazing how much water a piece of clothing can hold. The end result of our efforts was a long line of underwear and socks strung from a tree to a bench all way across our site.
We spent the rest of the day lounging and catching up on writing. Both of us are feeling a little ill right now. Our throats are sore and we are coughing a lot so there is little desire to explore. Instead we want to sit around and drink hot substances all day.
We are having an interesting time trying to adjust to this trip. Wrapping our minds around the idea that this is not a vacation but a way of life for the foreseeable future is hard. We have to get used to the idea that living in a tent and biking is what we do, is who we are. A difficult transition since the longest either of us has ever been away from family is a month at a time. Slowly, a little bit every day, we become more adjusted to this life and think a little less of “When we go home” and more of “When we are in…”
We have noticed a lot of shooting on the far bank of the Erdre. The French seems to love hunting very much. Every day we have seen men head out in their hunting outfits, double barreled shotguns cradles in their arms. It can be very distracting to be biking along and hear shots fired. You are never entirely sure that they aren’t shooting at you. What exactly they are hunting I don’t know but a lot of birds fly up with every shot so I am guessing some kind of fowl.
The shooting has grown in intensity as the day has passed. It sounds almost as if there is a gun battle being fought in town. Wouldn’t that be lovely! Perhaps there is a shooting range nearby.
As the sun passes down among the trees to the west the air becomes very still and quiet. The only sounds we hear are those of nuts dropping to the ground and distant shots and except for the gunfire and the fact that the nuts are acorns it seems as though we could be in any campground at home. I must add, however, that I find the fire extinguisher bolted to every tenth tree delightful.
Who would have thought that such a tranquil place by day could become so noisy by night? The gunfire is almost constant and punctuated by the beat from a dance club hidden somewhere in the trees. Sleeping in the noise will be an interesting challenge. I find that when I am sick I feel terrible in the morning, fine at noon and terrible when night falls again so I am becoming a little miserable once more. I don’t think we will be getting up too early tomorrow.
We cycled into town and performed a daily routine. Heather went to the shops to buy breakfast and I guarded the bikes. I sat in the square in front of the church and nearly died when the bell rang for 9:30. No wonder you can hear the bells clear across the countryside. Deafness must be a major occupational hazard for priest and bell ringers alike.
Our ride today was more leisurely. There was an open campground not too far away and we had the chance to absorb the French countryside. When you emerge from trees and cycle along an open field, or when you crest a hill, you can see for miles. France is very liberally coated with churches and when your view opens up you can see the sharp points of spires clear to the horizon. Everywhere we go we find crosses at every corner and all along the roadside. A million effigies of Jesus suffering on the cross litter the country until they become just another part of the scenery. The cult of the Virgin Mary is strong here too and she appears almost as much as her son. You can see why. The image of Christ suffering on the cross for the sake of humanity is very powerful and inspirational but it offers little in the way of warmth. Mary is portrayed as the image of compassion embodied and all her icons gaze down benevolently. She is far more approachable than a suffering god who only looks skyward. No graveyard is without her and many buildings have small votive statues in their front yards. One farmhouse we passed had a niche hollowed out high in their wall with a tiny statue secreted within. At first we wanted to stop at every church we passed by but they have begun to blur a little and so we pass many by. Heather jokes that every hill we hit is penance for a skipped church.
Today we began to pass fields of sunflowers, though they looked decidedly unsunny. They had faded to brown and drooped like flowers depressed. There were heavy with seeds and looked like about it was about time to be harvested. Every once in a while they were still brilliantly yellow so the fields made a strange patch work of vibrant and dead. It was hard to tell if it was beautiful or ugly and eventually the whole mix dissolved in my minds eye into one massive Van Gogh painting.
Nort Sur Erdre was a nice enough town, though their church steeple was very ugly. I couldn’t tell from the brochure whether it had been bombed or struck by lightning but I know that it didn’t always look that way. The municipal campground was a little off from the town centre, set in a beautiful park that had once been the private lands of a nearby chateau. Apparently we were now entering Chateau territory and could expect to see them more and more often. The Erdre is a tributary of the Loire and the Loire is famous for its wealthy estates. The Erdre was perhaps a hundred meters behind our campsite and we watched every kind of boat from yachts to a giant red inflatable row boat ply the waters.We took advantage of the day of sunshine that lay before us and did our laundry. Yes we are that exciting, but you live with the smell of mold for a few weeks! Heather struck up a merry conversation with the groundskeeper about his tracheotomy, I don’t know how with her French, and he lent us a bucket for our hot water and a scrubbing board. Strange to tell, but doing the laundry was almost fun, with Heather washing and me wringing. It really is amazing how much water a piece of clothing can hold. The end result of our efforts was a long line of underwear and socks strung from a tree to a bench all way across our site.
We spent the rest of the day lounging and catching up on writing. Both of us are feeling a little ill right now. Our throats are sore and we are coughing a lot so there is little desire to explore. Instead we want to sit around and drink hot substances all day.
We are having an interesting time trying to adjust to this trip. Wrapping our minds around the idea that this is not a vacation but a way of life for the foreseeable future is hard. We have to get used to the idea that living in a tent and biking is what we do, is who we are. A difficult transition since the longest either of us has ever been away from family is a month at a time. Slowly, a little bit every day, we become more adjusted to this life and think a little less of “When we go home” and more of “When we are in…”
We have noticed a lot of shooting on the far bank of the Erdre. The French seems to love hunting very much. Every day we have seen men head out in their hunting outfits, double barreled shotguns cradles in their arms. It can be very distracting to be biking along and hear shots fired. You are never entirely sure that they aren’t shooting at you. What exactly they are hunting I don’t know but a lot of birds fly up with every shot so I am guessing some kind of fowl.
The shooting has grown in intensity as the day has passed. It sounds almost as if there is a gun battle being fought in town. Wouldn’t that be lovely! Perhaps there is a shooting range nearby.
As the sun passes down among the trees to the west the air becomes very still and quiet. The only sounds we hear are those of nuts dropping to the ground and distant shots and except for the gunfire and the fact that the nuts are acorns it seems as though we could be in any campground at home. I must add, however, that I find the fire extinguisher bolted to every tenth tree delightful.
Who would have thought that such a tranquil place by day could become so noisy by night? The gunfire is almost constant and punctuated by the beat from a dance club hidden somewhere in the trees. Sleeping in the noise will be an interesting challenge. I find that when I am sick I feel terrible in the morning, fine at noon and terrible when night falls again so I am becoming a little miserable once more. I don’t think we will be getting up too early tomorrow.
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