A Saturday in Vannes.

This weekend I decided to once again go by another town in Bretagne. I wasn't sure where to go so after getting a breakfast of a caramel crêpe from the market I went to the train station and looked on the ticket machine for the next departures and were I was leaning towards going by Saint-Malo again I thought that I should once again try someplace new, so I saw that the train for Vannes was leaving in the next 10 minutes and I knew nothing of the town. A few moments later of pressing on a glass screen I had a ticket and was sitting on the train shuffling my tarot deck.

Upon arriving at the town I couldn't quite figure out where I was or where to go. The train station appeared to the on the outskirts of the town so I followed some people who got off the train with me to see if they would lead me to centre-ville. Although I lost them when I started taking photos I still soon made it to centre-ville.

In knowing nothing and just seeing the town to me it felt like perhaps it had seen action during the war. Old buildings next to new. Too close to one another. The new industrial buildings, post 40s, don't appear to age well. Buildings covered in glass end up being covered in broken glass.

 The roads were a maze, or perhaps a labyrinth. Not too difficult to figure out. I stumble upon the Saturday market as they are closing up.
 For some reason the town kept reminding me of spring in Ballard. I think it might have been the weather, with its cool breeze and overcast not too dark but not too sunny sky, and the way the buildings touched the sky. It was also strange to see a lot of houses not being connected to their neighbors but instead having brick walls establishing their property line. Less like the communal living situations like I have see in France so far. Still not american architecture though. I started to look at the houses I passed by thinking about what it would look like to transplant one of these French houses back to the States. A nice little four story French building dwarfing all the single story buildings around it. Or just being some strange object popping up of the ground. A building out in the middle of the plains.

After wandering though the neighborhoods of houses and buildings that felt too new to be the France I have been seeing I came though to see a carousel with some masts of boats sticking up behind. A line of little booths for booksellers lined the dock. A few postcard sellers, but not for browsing.
At the end of this there were some large cafés, like those on Paris. Rows upon rows of outdoor seating. Perfect for this spring day, although once I stop walking I realize that the breeze is still slightly too cool to not wear a jacket. I sketch the street lamp.
I continue wandering the town, trying to find a hidden gem. I come across that parts of the original city wall are still there. Turned into something to separate the shopping area of the town from a decorative park. A little stream flows through and old men walk up and down it with fishing poles in their hands. A building exists on the edge of the stream with a covered patio area to hang ones feet off of and to look into the water below. I can only see the feet of couples as I walk by.
Across the road is another park on a hill. Dirt paths have been given road signs saying that each of the paths is an 'alley' with a name connected to war somehow. At the top of the hill a statue of what looks like to be lady liberty. She is surrounded by smaller plaques covered in names. I look at the resistance. The names are all shallow with some red brown paint painted in. A metal washer is stuck under one of the names in with the concrete the plaque is made out of. It is kind of a strange sombre feeling that I keep coming across these here in France. One for each town. Each with names of the people from the town lost to the occupation.

 Along one of the sides of the park there is a wall. Covered in barbwire, but I can see trees sticking up above. Old trees. Being covered in vines. I hear birds and wildlife. I am hoping that this is one of those French parks I have come to love where things are manicured, but yet still wild. Somewhat like a Rococo painting. I wander around the area trying to find a way in, but the more I wander the more confusing the space becomes. I see through a metal fence that there are some geometric sculptures on a field of grass before another beautiful little stream with a decorative bridge to cross it. From what I could figure out the park was only for the people who worked in a large governmental facility that stood before it. Perhaps a throwback to the times in France where parks were only for the nobles. It added to the strange feeling of this town.
I was hoping to find some nice dinner or a nice little bar like the one I found in Saint-Brieuc, but as I wandered more and more I couldn't find an antique filled bar, and all the restaurants were closed until 19h. So I made my way back to the train station out of fear of missing the last train. It was a kind of strange existential day.

I make it back to Rennes and go by Le Sambre for some pastis and later find a cheese plate for dinner.