7:30 pm and I really should stop for the night, having just passed a municipal campsite next to a river. In a cul-de-sac by the park a group of partying young men shout " Le Triumph!" and wave and hoot, urging me to join them. Obviously their vision was blurred by the beers, otherwise they wouldn't have invited someone old enough to be their mother. Nevertheless, I smile and call back "peut-être je reviens" and backtrack to the campsite.
Marsac is a strange town. It has the ambiance of an old hill-billy town in Arkansas and I feel unnerved, like I'm about stumble onto the set of "Deliverance".
I have just done a Google search and almost all it gives, as apparently there is virtually nothing to say about the place, is a bit of geographical detail.
I include a snippet as it reminds me of a funeral tribute given by someone who neither knew nor cared about the deceased. It reminds me of my father's funeral and the handful of hollow sentences the priest said after he double-checked his notes to ensure he said the correct name.
| Surface : | 48.46 km² (4 846 hectares) | |||||||||||||||||||||||
| Altitude minimum : | 531 m | |||||||||||||||||||||||
| Altitude maximum : | 1 041 m | |||||||||||||||||||||||
| Altitude moyenne : | 786 m | |||||||||||||||||||||||
| Altitude de la mairie: | 545 | |||||||||||||||||||||||
|
||||||||||||||||||||||||
If one feels the need to note the lowest altitude, the highest altitude, the average altitude and the altitude of the Mayor's office, that in itself says volumes. However, there are quite a few photos of the town and its inhabitants and I'll add a few of my own. It has an individual and quirky style. I admire that. |
||||||||||||||||||||||||
 | ||
| A provincial Edward Scissorhands reference. | ||
 | ||
| Breakfast at the war memorial and now I know that a quarter of a watermelon in one sitting is too much. | ||
Further provincial references to Christo and Olsen Zander.
A local cultural festival resulted in trees and fences being wrapped with old clothes: jumpers, socks, bobble hat etc.
After breakfast, I took a stroll to walk off some of the watermelon. I bumped into the man from the campsite with the two slinky, hungry-eyed Alsatian dogs and a disabled wife who never left their camper van. He made a face and shook his head "pourquoi"? I explained the little that I knew and added that the locals seemed very honoured to be making a contribution to the international the art scene.
http://www.christojeanneclaude.net/projects/wrapped-trees#.UqzpMY1SK3c
www.thisiscolossal.com/2011/12/fabric-wrapped-trees/
No comments:
Post a Comment