Tag Archives: bus

Day Twenty-Nine, Palace and Mall

I know! I’ve been sharing with you all these wonderful places. When I went to the Chateau de Caen, there was just so much to see and share. This will be the third and final installment of what I’ve already done.

The white building

is where they held banquets and meetings.

It smells like age, it felt hallowed, it had bird

poop everywhere as well as their feathers.

The meeting hall is where they gathered. The stained glass window faced towards the East. The broken picture with the walls showing could feel the age it held. Even though much of the buildings that I’ve been showing you were destroyed by the bombings that took place in 1944-ish, they’ve been lovingly restored.

Why all the pictures of the floor? Because they weren’t just stone floors. They were carefully crafted of 3″x3″ squares with the brown broken up by the blue/green/and white mosaic tiles. I was impressed with the technique and the style. In addition, I could sense the thousands of people who walked those very floors whether they be nobility or a janitor. It’s an inanimate building, but I imagined the stories the history could tell if it were explained by the people who lived, worked, met, and played there.

The building on the lower left is the Meeting Hall. This picture was taken as I stepped up onto the castle wall to walk about and see the “world” layed at my feet. I wondered, since this is one of the larger palaces, what it must have felt like to keep watch from here. Pacing back and forth, ever keen for noises or visual changes in the landscape.

Gratuitous flowers for you.
Growing because they Caen.
13th century courtyard

A bit of a confession. When I exited the Meeting Hall, I went to the right. I saw a path that led up a hill to the castle wall. I really got excited to walk about the place, but instead I ended up at the wall, not a place to walk it. As I wandered back down to find the right way to get where I wanted to go, I snapped these shots to give you a bit more observational points of view.

From this opening in the wall:
I saw this…
and this…
and this…
and this. Wow!

I’m not exaggerating when I tell you I couldn’t breathe at first. After having seen pictures at the Musee de Normandie several days ago, the destruction that was brought on this city was painful to witness. But like a true warrior champion, thriving despite the terrors it’s endured, I felt the resilience of the people throbbing with life. I didn’t expect to feel emotional. Curious, yes, but to feel the collective breath of humanity pulsing was phenomenal.

An archer’s window.
The view from the archer’s window.

These pictures are of a keep being excavated. It dates back to the 11th century in some places. The round building is one of the corners. Around that is a freaking moat! I wonder if it were filled by the canal that used to run in front of the nearby church of Saint Peter.

Overlooking the recovered walls of the keep, I looked over and saw a gully like space. When I looked over the edge, to my delight there were sheep munching on grass, doing sheep things. SQUEE!
As I was getting ready to leave, I saw this cannon lined up with a place from which it could possibly have fired from long ago. There had, at one time, been stairs allowing people to get closer, but I’m going to guess this had to be idiot-proofed.

All that and a bag of chips, eh? That concludes my visit to the Chateau de Caen, former palace of William the Conqueror. I’m glad that it’s taken me a few days to get through all the pictures I took because it’s allowed me to reflect instead of react.

Thursday, the twenty-ninth.

The place where I’ve set up shop until the 20th is for sale. They call it a condo, I would call it an efficiency apartment. For a person who travels a lot or who spends a lot of time at work/play, this is an ideal place for one person to crash. Live…I don’t know. It’s functional.

Because of the circumstances, a realtor has been bringing people by to view the place. Monday and today I’ve had to make myself scarce so they could show it uninterrupted. I’m totally okay with that. In a way, because the place is small and gets untidy if you turn around, it’s holding me responsible for maintaining a cleaner environment than I would back home.

My house in Tennessee is pretty much my studio so there are a variety of projects in various stages of progress in my organized mess. My cat is a furball so I vacuum more frequently that I like, but he’s a cute asshole of a furball.

ANYWAY!

I went in search of art supplies. I’m jonesing really bad for a fix of some paint on my hands. I tried looking up art stores and art supply stores but got housewares and home decorating shops. I thought a bit and tried looking for craft stores. TADA! I found one. Address in hand, I used my Twisto app to navigate. What do you know? Not only did Line 1 go where I wanted to be, BUT the stop was a half a block away! I did the tidy up of apartment and of myself, dressed (because nudity is not acceptable as a rule) and headed out to kill some time.

The ride was very city view. Twisto warned of protests in the city center of Caen that were possible disruptive of the bus service, although I didn’t notice delays. I rode to the end of the line.

Color me so very American because I was perplexed at what I was seeing. I even asked the conducteur if I was at the right place. He assured me I really was at the mall. I didn’t think to get a picture because I’ve never seen anything like it.

Think, strip mall made up of big name box stores (each with a separate entrance but not connected inside), surrounding a more American version of mall familiar? The mall was made up of a variety of shops and boutiques like what I’m used to. I visited a shop called “Normal” because…

Have you ever seen the videos of sheep being put through a chute to get sheered? That’s pretty much how this store was set up. A guided maze with products in white wooden sectionals towards the inside of the store, the walls holding shelves of products. The shop primarily sold toiletry items. Colognes, face masks, makeup, cleansers, bodywash, razors, lotions, etc. There were some things that didn’t seem quite right in the Normal store, but it wasn’t a bad experience.

Food courts weren’t a thing. It had casual dining places around the periphery of the mall proper. There wasn’t a central place where you could pick and choose from a variety of gluttonous gorging.

There are a LOT of hair salons in this town and in the mall. There are also a large number of lingerie stores. Side note relevance: Along Clinton Highway (25W) from inside Clinton (TN) all the way down to I-40 (near Knoxville) there are a ridiculous number of car dealerships both old and new. FINANCE HERE! is a common hawk. In comparison, there are as many hair salons here as car dealerships there.

Having walked the circle, returning to my entry point, I stepped back outside. I went to the left (East I think) where I found another store.

Context: I left my apartment at 1PM (7AM East Tennessee time). I didn’t get back until 7PM (1PM East Tennessee time).

I went into every freaking store they had. Turns out, I wasn’t at the right place for the craft stores. I popped (typoed and wrote that pooped) back on the bus which took me to a place called Mondevillage.

It was like a shopping community. An outdoor mall, per se. The middle of the complex had an island shopping area with a variety of restaurants, chocolate shops, toilets, and a security office. That island had a bus stop on each side of it, but each side was one-way. The next layer was parking lot broken up by color. Example: You parked in Rose 3 or in Aqua 4. It’s a much better system than the parking lot marking in American malls. You parked in…G7? H6?

There it was. The craft store. It had a list of things it contained. I could pick out beaux art, musical instruments, books, and a couple of other things. I felt proud of myself that I could recognize the names of things even though they were spelled out in French.

I entered the store and felt a bit confused because it was similar in style to say…Books-A-Million or a single story Barnes and Noble. Undaunted by the books I couldn’t read, I checked out a few things, browsing about.

Next I found the musical instruments section. It wasn’t as flashy as Guitar World, but there was enough to do basic instrumentation. I plugged on.

Need a planner? Agenda books lined shelf after shelf. I like the idea of making an agenda better than a day planner. It sounds more like you’ll get something done instead of writing it down hoping to cross things off a list you planned to do.

Next came a beginning art section. I didn’t realize it was beginner. Dude, I can’t read French as well as I’d like! But, I found a small set of paints, a small set of brushes, some graphite pencils, a small sharpener, and a gum eraser. The paper they had was in envelopes, not books or pads. I searched through, looking at the pictures that showed what the paper could be used for. I couldn’t find any that would work with gouche. I asked and was shown the correct paper to purchase. Hot diggety!

CHRISTMAS doesn’t come just once a year. It shows its ridiculous face in October here too. Meh. Don’t get me wrong, I’m fine with the holiday season. But, it should not be bleeding this far into early autumn.

I turned the corner and found a painter’s dream. I looked at what I’d selected, thought about what I already have back in Tennessee and what I would need bare minimum to get my “fix.” After checking out some of the pricing, I can honestly say, I was much happier with what I’d already selected. Less than 20 Euros too!

Okay, let me confess one more thing. The checkout line was rather crowded. Off to the side was a self-checkout. I thought, what the heck. It means I don’t have to use the translator to communicate. I can just ring up my stuff and go. I’ve done it reluctantly before, how hard could it be?

There was a security guard standing watch over this particular section. A good looking fellow with dark skin and a bright smile. I went to the one he directed me to, looked at the screen, and froze. A big red button on the touch screen had words I didn’t recognize on it. I looked around the area but didn’t see anything else. I pushed the red button.

I understood that it was ready for me to begin ringing up my items. I scanned each item and set it on the loading shelf to the right. When I’d done that, I wasn’t sure how to tell the machine I had completed my transaction and was ready to pay. I stared at the screen willing myself to understand. The security guard came over and showed me how to push the red button again. OY! I gave him a tiny yellow duck as a thank you.

My Twisto app kept crashing so I couldn’t figure out how to navigate back home. I deleted it, redownloaded it, signed in again and I wasn’t at the right stop. Are you seeing a pattern here? I sure as heck am!

I got on Line 21 which would take me to someplace around the halfway point where I would transfer busses and get on a different bus to get back. BUT! As I was following the location finder, the correct bus I was on, was NOT going on the route shown on the map. Crap!

Luckily, as the bus was turning, I saw the stop with the bus that I KNEW went in front of my house and back to the stop I’d first got on from. Thank the stars someone had already dinged for the stop. I got off, made it to the correct Line 1, waited briefly, and made an uneventful trip back.

What a glorious day. Tomorrow I’m going to do laundry, wash the sheets and towels, and relax. Saturday morning, I have to find something to do again. I’m thinking of taking the bus out to the airport to see what’s shaking. Or I’ll head to the Twisto bike stand and pick up a bicycle to ride around for a bit.

May peace be with you wherever you are. You are loved!

Day Sixteen, Packing

I have spent the last twelve days in an apartment in the middle of Caen. It feels comfortable enough to poop with the door open. Oh, come on! You know that kind of freedom is a luxury! I’m reluctant to begin the packing process, although I won’t have to do it again for another 20 days.

What does home mean to me? I’ve been thinking about this all day since my life has become rather transient since I arrived here. I have walked more here because I can that I ever did back in Tennessee. I’ve done this solo. Although I get to work with my clients regularly, I’m on my own the rest of the time.

In the Captain’s chair (which is what I call where I like to sit in my kitchen), I feel at home. I’m surrounded by my things that I’ve collected. Each item has a story behind it of how I got it, who it came from, where I got it, what the sentimental value is to me. It feels safe.

Home is a haven for me. It’s a place where I can think at my own pace. I can clean or not. I can interact with the world or not. It’s a place where the coffee is always a brew away and the door is open to my friends (family by appointment!). It’s the place where I can be honest with myself about what it is that I actually want to do with my time. It’s a place where I make my own decisions about my life. It’s my space.

Here I am today with a different take on it.

The walls here are without ornamentation. They are plain white with deep red curtains hanging around the three windows that fill the room with natural light during the day and an annoying security light by night. (I just figured out I could pull the curtains last night, OY!). But home? This is where I am. This is where I’m staying, but I’m still me.

I thought home was a place as I’ve described, but it’s transmogrifying in my perception. Home is where I am. Home is the feeling of purpose and belonging. Right now I feel like I belong to the world. The space I take up here, although small by physical standards, is an explosion of my senses. It’s a courage and bravery that I suspected and had periodically reinforced with choices, but dudes, I can’t even speak the language here!

I’m doing it. I’m taking in everything I can see. Each time I ride the bus I see something I hadn’t noticed before. I’m engaging with life in a silent role out of necessity. I don’t have to make small talk. I don’t have to fill silence. I can just be. It’s been the ultimate practice of Dudeism for me.

I got up this morning and went to the laundromat. I washed what needed to be including the towels and pillowcases I’ve used. I didn’t do the sheets though because I’m still going to use them tonight. While I was waiting, the double espresso kicked in. I needed to use the restroom. I asked the location manager where the nearest bathroom was. She directed me to a Tabac/Brassiere down the street. I followed her directions (her pointing), found it but it was closed.

I returned to the laundry. She asked if I went. Non. Closed. She gestured for me to follow her. She brought me into a room behind the dryers that was filled with clothes in various states of neatness. In the corner was a lidless toilet. Merci!

With all that accomplished, laundry warm out of the dryer, I folded what I had and stored it in my rolling buggy. Good stuff, that.

I had a doctor’s appointment at 1PM (7AM in East Tennessee) for a prescription refill. The woman behind the reception desk didn’t speak English but a tiny bit. Like me, mostly numbers. With a little help from my trusty companion, we conversed enough for me to know I was paying a whopping 25 Euros to see the doctor. No kidding.

The doctor was pleasant, spoke English, explained how my prescription was going to be filled (in a box not a bottle) and I have to go back in 30 days to get the other half of the prescription. He also prescribed me lancets because I didn’t bring enough with me. He wasn’t pleased that he could only do 30 days at a time, but I got the prescription so I’m a happy camper.

He had a scale in his office. I asked if I could check my weight. He enthusiastically agreed. As it turns out, walking does wonders for ones weight. I’ve lost nearly six pounds since being here. I’m still eating mostly like an American, but I’m walking everywhere. Grocery store? No problem. Walk. Pharmacie? Close enough to walk. Laundromat? Down the road and around the corner a bit. I’m absolutely enthusiastic about the walkability here.

As I was walking to the bus stop to catch the bus to my job (37 minutes by bus), I passed by the headquarters of Twisto (The public bus company in Caen. They also rent bicycles by the hour, I’m debating). I wanted to know when my month pass expires but I couldn’t figure out how to find that information. A friendly woman tried to help me, but she wasn’t familiar with the app either. Her supervisor wasn’t sure either. Several phone calls later, multiple times hearing my name spelled out in French, and they had an answer. Since the infinite use ticket is good for a month, it goes from the first time you board the bus. Each time it’s validated, it checks against that date. Good to know.

As I waited at the stop, I got thirsty. I went to the MonoPrix store that was not even a block away. I picked up a couple of drinks and some croissants (Buy 3 get one free! WOOT!) I pulled out my handy foldable bag, loaded the goods, and off I went. By the way, dollar bills aren’t a thing here. They have coins. 1 penny, a nickel, a dime, twenty cents, fifty cents, 1 Euro, 2 Euro. I’ve been hesitant to pay with the coins because it gives me a bit of anxiety. Today was different. I counted out the coins with little trouble. Gold star on my forehead!

Back at the stop, I decided to eat a croissant. An ordinary pigeon with two toes on one foot that didn’t appear to be hindering its stroll, walked around in front of me. What the deuce? I tossed a tiny piece to the bird. That was like an alarm siren going off because almost immediately there were about eight of them hunting by my feet.

These are just a few of them. They have such unusual coloring compared to what I’m used to seeing. The bird practically in the middle had a dark green ring of feathers around his neck with a purple (although it looks brown in this picture) ascot. That was a really pretty bird. They all were. I gave them a bit more and watched them battle for crumbs. When I put it like that, it doesn’t sound quite as pleasant as what I experienced.

After getting my prescription filled on my way back from work, I was walking through that bistro area I described before. It was filled with what looked like University students. Every chair was filled with lively conversation, lots of cigarettes, and beer. Off to the side was a trio of men, likely in their mid 20’s.

One of them men was laying down, tucked up against the building with his coat pulled over his head. He was sleeping. The dude on my left, in front of the sleeping man, had long, dirty blonde hair that had braids sporadically placed. He looked like he was pretty high because his eyes were nearly closed, bloodshot from what I could see, and his body swayed as if gravity was coaxing him to do the wave.

The man to my right had quite the collection of sketches splayed out on the ground. As I approached, he was having a conversation with a pretty curly haired blonde girl whose arm was in an immobilizer. Her friend kept looking up the road where all the people were gathered as if silently imploring her friend to leave. When they did, I stepped up to admire his work. I asked how much, but he didn’t understand. A woman dressed in combat fatigues that fit her very well, translated. He said, free choice. I selected the ones you see here, plus one you don’t. I asked his name.

I told him it was important to credit the artist when you like their work. He gave me this.

I have two family members in the hospital right now. One is in rehab gaining strength to go home, the other is in ICU on oxygen after being rushed to the hospital by ambulance. Covid. Their spouse also tests positive so they can’t visit their very sick partner. Say a prayer if you got’em. P.S. My mom is out of the hospital and doing pretty well considering.

I’ve dawdled long enough. Off to pack for my move in the morning. Thank you for reading. You are loved!