Nantes to Brest

Nantes! I went riding on the island Sunday morning to look at the renouned (at least in Nantes) modern architecture and go graffiti hunting. The island used to be industrial, but has since become both residential and recreational. The industrial history of the island has been preserved--there used to be a thriving ship building industry here, and there are several hangars and gigantic pieces of equipment that have been brightly painted and transformed to interact with pedestrians and cyclists. As well, Les machines de l'ile are there...

I could here this crazy low sound like something big running at a construction site, and, turning off the empty roads onto the concrete pad that lines the river, I suddenly had a mechanical elephant headed straight for me!

I think it's from growing up during an era of post-apocalyptic movies (Blade Runner, Terminator, Mad Max, Running Man...) that I am immediately overcome by dread when I see something big, animated, and unaware. There is something strange about robots, machines that resemble living things. It seems they should have some sense of self within them, locked into subservience to their driver, but at the same time, it seems like they are some massive, unaware thing that is out of control. It's both sad and a little frightening. Then I get over it--it's a human construction of pneumatics and levers.

The machines are beautiful. The elephant is the only one active, it was the first built, finished only a year ago, I think. They are building a multi-level carousel with a sea theme, and each creature is a wooden shell around a half-human powered, half-machine powered body. The style is 100% Jules Verne, fantastical and beautiful. There was the most elegant and fantastic carousel at the entrance; unfortunately, my camera chose then to break down...

Nantes was a great break from camping and cycling. I had woken up in St Hilarie-de-Riez to the sound of what turned out to be my tent pole snapping. There was a Decathlon there, so, after a little bit of polite arguing with the woman at the counter--she wanted me to buy a new pole that was expensive and didn't fit the tent when she should have just replaced it--I ended up with a new tent. When set it up for the first time, I immediately christened it 'The Cave'. It was completely black with the smalles windows possible--more like a Vancouver basement suite than a tent. And it was huge! Poorly designed--my Feringo took me less than two minutes to set up or take down, the fly was removable...the Quechua (France's only option--nearly--and comparable to Canadian Tire quality) was finicky to set up, even after I got used to it. I could put all my stuff inside, though...

While in Nantes, I spent most afternoons drinking beer in the sunshine and reading Suite Francais by Irène Nemirovsky--a very beautiful, sad novel. I discovered some great spots: Le chien stupide, L'absence next to the School of Architecture and in the craziest, smallest, bluest building in the world (it must be!), and Le lieu unique, a modern art gallery and community space with a chill little pub/café. The exibition at the time was a retrospective of Pierrick Sorin's work--bloody weird stuff that I, for the most part, really liked.

It was the next day that I discovered that my rear tire was wearing out...I had thought that I'd ridden through something red, until I noticed that the red ran a rather uniform ring around the entire tire...

It took two days and eight bike stores--since I'd left Nantes before I'd realised it's worn state--to find a 27'' tire. 27 is Dutch, not French, so they are more difficult to find.

And onward toward Brest! I went over a rather large bridge, past a typical fishing hut (bad picture, but you can see the thing that looks like a square trailor beside the old, broken bridge--they suspend huge nets from the front of the fishing hut. They are everywhere, and not always for the tourists).

Then on to Carnac, a rather...I don't know how to describe it. It's not stunning, but it's...surprising? It's basically field upon field of large rocks lined up in rows. And it goes on for kilometers!

France is full of crosses--every town has at least one hanging Jesus, suffering at the crossroads. But the style in Brittany is remarkably different. It's almost cartoonish, and the figures are much more child-like, especially Jesus.

On a hilltop heading onto the Presque Ile de Crozon, there was this great church, fringed by hydrangeas in full bloom, and decorated in the Brittany style. I don't know if it's typical of the area, or if it was just this one church, but the figures on the crosses had their left foot wrapped around the base of the cross. The church itself is really old, and devoted to Brigitte, whomever that is (!) It's at the crossroads of what has been a busy trade route for thousands of years.

Then Camaret, which is Cameled in Breton, and makes me think of Camelot, which is not surprising since the Celts/Gauls were present in Brittan and the French Atlantic coast. Camaret was a peaceful place to stop for a day, but really, really touristy. I rode around and saw plenty of WWII scars, since Brest, which is across the straight, was heavily protected by the Germans and heavily bombarded by the Allies. Brest was almost completely levelled durning the war.

I have no pictures of Brest. I camped a little way outside the city, and was really excited to visit it. In the late 40s, some big names and big money were redesigning the city for reconstruction. However, by 1950, the workers had had enough, and held a massive, unprecidented strike. I've read graphic novels about it--the authorities had police pulled in from the surrounding area, officers who had no connection to the people striking, and who would be less reluctant to react with force. A young man in his late teens or early twenties was shot and killed, shocking everyone, and, perhaps ultimately, ending the strike quickly on terms favouring the striking workers.

Modern Brest--Brest Metropole Océan, as it has been renamed recently--is not so interesting. At least not in a day. I really should have been more organised, but there was construction everywhere, and not central hub to the city. It wasn't even particularily pretty, and even looking for a café was a bit disappointing. I'm sure Brest has much more to offer, but it eluded me. I did, however, find a rad little crepe shop in the middle of nowhere on the side of the road. It was someone's back yard set up with little table and lanterns, very informal and cute as can be. I want a crepe stand like that!