Travelling in France, I am learning very quickly, is a game
of hurry up and wait. No one is any huge
hurry to complete tasks. All in good
time. All will be well.
Met up with the rest of the tour peeps today. Waited for one member to find us because he
went to the wrong gate. CDG is huge and
confusing. No harm done. Waited for an hour and a half to get the van
we needed to make our trip north to Arras.
For the first 45 minutes or more during the wait, the line in which our
tour guide waited did not move a bit. Ok.
Gave me a chance to get to know some of the members of the group. No harm done. Breathe. All will be well in it's own time.
The drive up was beautiful. It was a lovely day - sunny and
much cooler than it was yesterday. The
van had A/C, too, which helped a lot.
Mile after mile of wheat fields spread out across the
undulating landscape, reminding me of Alberta and some parts of
Saskatchewan. The golden blanket
immediately reminded me of being a small child in Saskatchewan, driving in the
farm truck with my grandfather – and sometimes the giant grain truck – to take
the wheat to the elevator. There is
really something breath taking about those fields.
One one thousand-
Two one thousand-
…holy shit! These
fields are full of century old war dead.
Their blood has, literally, fertilized this soil. Their bones feed the corn and the wheat and those who consume the bread from those grains.
Those bodies nourish us – literally.
The nourishment of the sacrifice…no wonder so many poets, painters, and
writers used Christ as a symbol for the Great War Soldier. It makes so much more sense now.
We checked into our hotel and rested.
While I napped, I had an interesting
experience: First of all, God help me, I
am starting to dream in French. That
could be a good thing if I get separated from the group and need to forage on
my own. Secondly, during my nap I
dreamed that someone was calling me, faintly, from far away. As the voice got closer I noticed it was a
young man. He told me he needed me to
find him. He stood beside my bed in my
dream for a few seconds. He faded as I
awoke. All I was left with was this voice,
softly pleading: “find me. Find me.
Find me” Hamlet’s father’s ghost
begging Hamlet to swear to avenge his death:
Swear…Swear…Swear. The sacred three.
Problem: I don’t know
who this lad is. I don’t know how to
find someone who is nameless in a land filled with nameless someones. Someone’s father, son, brother… I did bring a list of names with me and I
dreamed about someone named Nick Parsons before I left Mission. I just didn’t look up Nick’s resting place.
*sigh* I guess I’ll have to just look.
Arras is a beautiful town.
The architecture screams Flemmish influence, as created by the one of
the many original people to settle the area.
The facades crumble on some buildings but have been maintained very well
on others.
Cobblestone streets and
squares are everywhere. There is so much
to take in. I am glad we are here for
three days. I need some time to wander
and take more pics. |
| The Grand Place |
No comments:
Post a Comment