Then I made a fatal error.I began to think.
I calculated the days in the notebook against a calendar and found, to my surprise, that today was in fact Saturday. Nantes was pulsating with activity even as we sat here doing nothing! And tomorrow everything would be closed! Two whole days spent doing nothing! Well, I just couldn’t accept that! So I bundled myself up in a sweater and sweat pants and put on my rain pants and raincoat. Heather was going to wait back at the tent for me. She needed time to get well. Running around in the rain could do nothing good for her. It would be the first time that I would head out and see something on this trip without her. I promised to bike out of my way and see only the things that together we would skip. She didn’t seem too happy about it but didn’t say anything. So off I went into a curtain of rain so thick it was almost blinding.
I followed our original route into town, along the tram paths. The streets were mostly deserted and the people on them looked at me as thought was insane. I could hardly argue with them. Water was already seeping into my jacket from somewhere, soaking the sleeves of my shirt and I was sweating so much that my legs were soaked as well.
But Nantes was very beautiful in the rain. The pavement of the streets shone like an obsidian mirror while the cobblestones that lined the route glistened like polished marble. I followed the quay into town them biked along the road of the Fifty Hostages. The rain let up for a while and the neon signs flashed, reflected from every glittering surface. In the distance I saw the bell-tower of the church of the holy cross, Ste-Croix, and I pedaled towards it, up the long narrow streets that made up the historical heart of Nantes, the Bouffay Quarter. Somehow I kept missing the church, though I could always see its tip peering out over nearby buildings. The bell tower of the church of Sainte-Croix was one the most unique I had ever seen. It’s flat topped cylindrical shape was gilded in gold or bronze and from it’s peak a bevy of angels leaned out, sounding trumpets. I would have like to have found it, but it always seemed to pass me by, hidden from view long enough to suddenly appear behind me.
I pelted through the damp streets of Nantes and I couldn’t help noticing that most of the shops were closed. Strange for a Saturday, I thought… Suddenly red banners blazed out over a building ahead of me. The Galeries LaFayette, a place that had been advertising an "haut couture" show all over the city. I knew that Heather would like to see the show so I pulled my bike into the entrance way to check prices. It was closed. Well, it was noon and things in France close around noon. I looked at the times so I would know when to come back. “Open 10 until 8 every day except Sunday” said the sign. Oh!
Things began to click.
The closed shops, the deserted streets...
It was Sunday.
Here I was, getting soaked to the skin, racing around Nantes, trying to see everything, on a day everything was closed! As if some malicious god was laughing at me the rain began to increase at that moment. Suddenly I was trapped downtown, in the centre of the city, with no shelter. Oh well, I was wet already. I headed off for home in rain that would make Noah hesitate.
I found the St. Peter and St. Paul cathedral but, mindful of my promise to Heather, I didn’t go in. The city was in the process of cleaning off the pollution that had built up and restoring the façade so the church had a very strange look to it. One half was covered in a black patina of age and grime. The other side was cleaner than new stone. A gray so perfect it looked as though it had been painted on. While the work was to beautify the place the intermediate stage, with it’s mottled patchwork of colours, was very ugly indeed.
From the church I turned right and suddenly, without plan or warning, found myself biking past Le Chateau des Ducs de Bretagne, the Castle of the Dukes of Brittany. It was an imposing sight, gray and black in the rain. Its green algae filled moat bubbling in the rain as gargoyles vomited water from above. People huddled in the protective shelter of the gatehouse and waited for the rain to pass. They had a long wait ahead of them. I cycled past and found myself in the Place de la Duchess Ann. Ann, Duchess of Brittany, had married Louis XII of France. Their heir, Francois I King of France had brought the independent nation of Brittany in to union with France in 1532. The city of Nantes seems to virtually worship Ann and you can find her name, or her symbols, almost everywhere. Nantes seems to be very much, almost five hundred years after her death, to be Ann’s city.
From the Chateau I biked up the street under which the Erdre River had been buried and found myself in the Place Marachal Foch, a square with a towering statue of King Louis XVI in the centre. To my left were the cathedral and the St. Peter gate, the last remnant of the old city walls. Somehow I was biking in circles! But I knew the way from here. I biked, rather disrespectfully, down the war memorial and headed for home. By now the rain had, if possible, become even heavier and I was biking in rivers of water.
I found the people of Nantes to be very nice with regards to my plight. Cars calmly let me cut them off and even gestured for me to pull in front of them as I pelted for home. I eventually reached the campground and cycled up to our tent to find Heather smiling sardonically up at me. After I had gone she had checked my figures once more and discovered what had taken me an hour and a soaking. Today was not a day to be biking in Nantes. I climbed into the tent, stripped off my wet clothes and huddled under my sleeping bag seeking forgotten warmth. And the rain stopped! Is there really any wonder that Heather and I have become highly superstitious? Surely the chaos of random events could not be so malicious. If only we could find the sacrifice that would propitiate the god of the rains. But I think he finds his greatest pleasure in tormenting mere mortals such as we and no sacrifice would be enough to deter him from his sport.
That afternoon we called home to check in on my mother, as my father was away in Halifax taking pictures like the mad photographer that he is. Mom was doing well but had bought a new TV and a new DVD player to sooth her loneliness. This to compliment their new internet access! We leave and they buy all the things we were deprived of as children. Typical.
We also phoned my sister. A former student of hers had died and Andrew was away in Manitoba. Talking to people, even family was awkward at first. I have lost what few social skills I had before beginning this adventure. By the time we return to a “civilized” lifestyle we will not be able to fit in. We will probably pitch a tent in a living room somewhere and disappear for weeks at a time. I can understand why the Earl of Greystoke longed for the Jungle.
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