Vive la Bretagne!!

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So after my stay in the South I made the long and treacherous journey across France to Brittany, by train, lugging about 45kg of luggage behind me. I set out at 11 o'clock from Toulon - luckily my pastor was kind enough to escort me to the train or I might have had some difficulty battling my way down the stairs and up the escalator.

When I got on the train I felt I was about to re-live the unpleasant memories of my first train journey in France all those months ago and that’s more or less what happened. Only this time it was worse. I braced myself for the hour journey to Marseille, standing up, wedged between the luggage. It would seem that as much France prides itself on efficient and punctual public transport, they still have a few areas to improve on, seating for one. As more and more people piled on with mountains of luggage, it soon became like a sea of human bodies and suitcases pressed together as tightly as possible. We were soon forced to advance into the small toilet cubicle for space and at every stop a woman’s high-pitched, sing-song voice sounded across the speakers to ask us to move further into the centre of the carriage. French men raised their eyebrows and the women shook their heads as we were instructed to move into the imaginary space. A few heated arguments began, a woman opposite me looked like she was about to collapse, people discussed the London Olympics, some tried to laugh and I did my best to enjoy the view.

At Marseille, I had a three hour wait before catching the TGV to Nantes, down in the South of Brittany. I changed one last time, made one final struggle up a flight of stairs with a kind gentleman helping me (I’ve never had to be a travelling damsel in distress but I was surprised that men actually OFFERED to help me!) and then caught the last train to Redon where Cécile was waiting to meet me. By the time I arrived it was quarter past 10.

Having been to Alsace and the Côte d’Azur, I understand better now why people say Brittany is like the UK. First there’s the green fertile landscape with fields of grazing livestock, then there are the grey stone and tile built houses which look like something you might find in a rural English village, or a Welsh one for that matter and after that, there’s the weather: the rain, the sporadic rain showers, sun one minute, rain and cloud the next. It felt strange coming from the South where I’d lived in flip-flops, shorts and sunglasses to come here and find myself wrapping up in socks, trousers and jackets. It’s only now that I’m beginning to see how varied France is geographically but also culturally and how wildly stupid and untrue are the French stereotypes and generalities.

My time in Brittany has been much as I expected it to be: quiet, relaxing and slow. Apart from going into the nearest town, La Gacilly, today and Monday and heading over to the coast on Tuesday, I’ve spent most of my time in my room or outside. Some might call it boring but I’ve welcomed it and there’s a relaxing feel about the place. Not having much to do has also allowed me valuable time to spend with God and recharge my spiritual battery before going home. I’m sure going to need it. It’s also given me time to reflect a bit about my past year and to see how far I’ve come. I came to France and I’ve conquered the language, the culture and the spiritual battle and all because God gave me the grace to do so.

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