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In Which I Meet Butterflies
August 23, 2007 by Mike
La Rochelle
Route: Saint-Michel-Chef_Chef - Noirmoutier - St-Gilles-Croix-de-Vie - Jard-sur-Mer - La Rochelle
Today I could have stayed in bed. But it wasn't raining any more. I moved on.
The countryside here isn't inspiring. It's flat and repetitive. The towns and villages are uninspired, too. Row after row after row after.. you get the idea.. of low, beige bungalows. It smells good though. After the harvest, fields have been ploughed: the heady scent of earth and earthworm. (And one village smelled of fresh laundry for no discernible reason.)
Another small town was advertising a "Monster Truck" night, all monstrously oversized trucks with oversized wheels and, I imagine, oversized spectators eating oversized burgers. I also notice a few mobile home parks that appear to be lived in all year long, as opposed to during the holidays. There are truckers with huge sideburns. Truly, I am heading for the Deep South.
I could have stayed in Noirmoutier. Technically, it's on an island so I could have ignored it but there is a road across from the mainland at low tide, so it is sort-of part of "Le Continent", as road-signs on Noirmoutier describe it. My highlight: the île aux papillons: Butterfly Island. For perhaps an hour I wandered through a moderate-sized room that is home to thousands of the critters, floating, feeding, sleeping, breeding, pupating, metamorphosising and generally fluttering by. There's something magical about their movement. And such beauty!
Perhaps precisely because it isn't on Le Continent, though, there were hordes of British tourists in Noirmoutier. Daily Mail readers, probably. I moved on.
I could have stayed in St-Gilles-Croix-de-Vie. Certainly. Mid-sized town, decent looking record shop, beach and rocks and small cliffs and interesting houses on the seafront across the bay with wonderful views. No beige bungalows. All points on my secret tick-box for a new home.. tick tick tick tick. Hmmmm.
I moved on, though, having arrived in this area - the Vendée - all set not to like it. I am a History graduate, after all. During the French Revolution the Vendée staged a monarchist revolt. Off with the heads of anyone who doesn't say 'Off with the heads of the monarchists'. I was also wary of liking it because the land to the north had been dull. So I was taken aback to realise the coast here has almost as much drama -- rocks, cliffs, breaking surf -- as Brittany. But in more modest portions.
I could have stayed permanently in Saint-Vincent-sur-Jard. Quite a pretty town, surrounded by fields of sunflowers, although it wouldn't have been through choice. Coming through a rooundabout I was almost side-swiped by a car jumping in too fast from my right. Missed me by inches. Or centimetres, as they say in French. (I was all set to shout and wave my fist at the driver, but she was beautiful and gave me a stunning smile, so I just waved instead.) I moved on.
I could have stayed in St-Michel-en-l'Herm to watch another Zavatta Circus -- this was Cirque A.Zavatta, as opposed to, for example, Cirque Achille Zavatta (fils). Or, later in the day at Lagord, even more confusingly and I now realise completely unrelated, Cirque Zavatta pere et fils.
But instead I stayed in La Rochelle. On which, more in the morning, when my head clears up.
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By Andy | August 26, 2007 6:30 PM
"I moved on." You are such a disappointment.