Last week was pleine de choses pour moi.
For my Tuesday off, I took the bus to Krista’s tiny lil town, Les Herbiers, and chilled there for a couple nights. We saw some cows, took a walk in a forest, were watched by frowning old French men, were then ignored by her French roommates, and ate some gourmet feasts. On my way there I got to see green hills, grape vines, and bunnies. On my way back (5:30am) I got to see bleary eyed French travelers making their daily two hour commute into Nantes. I returned their bleak stares with my own barely-functioning expression.
All in all, it was a nice break from Nantes. Small town livin’ and the smell of cows reminded me just enough of Cheney. (sidenote 3 more weeks America!)
|Les Herbiers’ Cows and Jennifer *|
Saturday, I decided to go to Clisson. Actually, I’ve decided to go to Clisson every Saturday for the last two months but have never quite mustered the resolve to get on the train. This chronic inability to make it to Clisson isn’t because I drink too much wine on Fridays, thus rendering walking impossible the next morning. Obviously it can’t be blamed on cold weekend weather either, or me having zero money in my bank account . No, if this were the case then I wouldn’t have actually made it on the train last Saturday, despite the existence of this combined trifecta of doom hanging over my head (recap: hungover, broke, and freezing).
Krista and I actually conquered all three of these possible deterrents and found ourselves standing in Clisson at 1:03pm.
6 minutes later, I found myself on the train headed back to Nantes. Seems the return train to Nantes on a Saturday is either at 1:09 pm or after 6 o’clock. And, well, Krista and I had places to be in Nantes before then. Plus, I’ve been told you can see all of Clisson in less than two hours, so we weren’t keen on waiting around an extra three.
Therefore, I’ve stood in Clisson, I’ve looked at its trainstation parking lot, but I still have never actually been there.
So, using a complicated application of physics and the proven theories surrounding fate, the build up to me actually seeing Clisson means I can expect to reap a truly great reward upon achievement. I’m hoping this reward will take shape in the form of a very dapper looking Vincent Cassel waiting at the castle, eager to make the acquaintance of a 20-something-year-old girl with an adorable American accent. Let’s cross our fingers. Or at the very least, let’s hope my next attempt in Clisson will result in me getting out of the parking lot of the gare.
|A dapper looking Vincent Cassel.|