While I was vising Oday in France, we spent a day in La Rochelle, a port town on the Atlantic coast. We took the train in the morning from Poitiers to La Rochelle, arriving with plenty of time to wander before lunch. We passed up on visiting the three towers that guard the port, opting instead to explore the city. We saw all matter of bizarre treats, a man cleaning up dog shit with a scooter-vacuum, lots of signs pointing to attractions that only barely qualified as attractions (La Rochelle must have a VERY active tourism board), people in strange clothes, and a MUSEE DES AUTOMATES. We stopped for lunch at a little cafe where O had oysters (moules) that had him nearly in tears, and I had a magnificent ham and cheese crepe. Mipsy, our constant travel companion, held things that were just her size. In the afternoon after lunch, we walked along the mouth of the port, O on the path and me up on the wall. Sailboats were coming into the harbor, and the light was – not quite as saturated as the light in Spain, but remarkable in the way of afternoons caught between winter and spring.
There was so much more to that day – ridiculous jokes, lots of laughter, constant pointing at the ocean – but what I’m remembering right now is sitting by the harbor, our feet dangling over and near the water, drinking Cacolac and watching the sun linger casting shadows on the water, killing time before our train back to Poitiers. Tired and happy. I’m not sure what brought this to mind today, but La Rochelle has been on my mind all day.