"Never forget Bigue Naste"
Mayor?
Old train station.
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Le monde, comme on l'a vu sur échasses
An important component of "la vie landaise" comes from the intersection of history and legend. In my wandering on the outskirts of town, I have trod alongside the infinite silent forests that line the roadways, seen old women cycling from the city to their country homes with dead fowl and vegetables in paniers, and seen the lazy old men pass each afternoon over cigarettes, bocce, and dirty jokes. It would seem as if the area stands still as time passes, flashy shoes and cell phones just a small reminder of the time. But Landes has not always been as it is today, and over the past two and half centuries a dramatic change has occurred in the physical landscape, the livelihoods of the people living here, and the meaning of being from here, being Landaise (or Gascogne, French Basque, etc.)
In 1857, Napoleon III saw opportunity in Landes, a region of sand and swamp, of heather and gorse bushes, and herds of sheeps. He passed into law a decree that would forest the region turning the dunes and marais of Landes in to the premier wood-producing region in France. Endless rows of symmetrical forests took hold in the former herding areas and the land was transformed. I will write more about this transformation in a future post, as I have now gone on too long without bringing up the subject of this post.
Felix Arnaudin, born in Labouheyre (center of Landes, in the middle of what is now the Parc Nacional de Landes de Gascogne) in 1844 left home in 1858 to follow his studies in Mont-de-Marsan. When he returned to Labouheyre in 1861 he encountered a landscape that he could not recognize, what he thought to be a different universe. The change proved to be too much for him and abandoning social ambition he became hopeless recluse, quarreling with his family about his anger over the changes in the landscape he saw around him. He felt the forest represented the very spirit of banality. He wandered the new forests, often on bike, and lost himself in dreams, reading, and walking.
He eventually came to realize that to save the culture he loved, he must record it for the future. He set about interviewing the old men and women of Landes that could remember the time before the forest, photographing scenes that had yet to change, compiling stories and legends of the region, and saving the patois landaise (or gascogne) from historical obscurity. He was a musician, folklorist, linguistic archivist, translator, and artist and became known as the "Pec" (eccentric) of Labouheyre. He was the first to traverse the region on bicycle. He left us with "trois mille clichés d'une rare beauté" of his beloved country. Arnaudin translated the legends he was told in to French from Gascogne (Gasconha, as they write it) and created a record of the culture with photography, sheet music, and more. He merged myth and history in a grand narrative for Landes.
He felt without his work, the culture would be lost and he wanted to save "ce ciel béant, la terre inhabitée, vide à donner le vertige . . . les bordes aux toits gris et les parcs aux toits rouges, miroirant, dispersées de loin en loin . . . et se perdant, rapetissés, à l'extrême horizon." (This yawning sky, the uninhabited land that gives one empty vertigo. . . the borders [of the land] with grey roofs and parks with red roofs, mirrored, scattered here and there . . And that which is shrinking, the farthest horizon.)
I have been reading some of Arnaudin's compiled stories and have begun translating them. Tomorrow, I will put one of them in this blog. The above picture is of his house in Labouheyre.
[Quotes and information in this post come primarily from Contes des Landes de Gascogne, collected and translated works by Felix Arnaudin, edited by Éric Audinet. Pictures were taken from around the web and if you search for Arnaudin you can find appropriate credits.]
In 1857, Napoleon III saw opportunity in Landes, a region of sand and swamp, of heather and gorse bushes, and herds of sheeps. He passed into law a decree that would forest the region turning the dunes and marais of Landes in to the premier wood-producing region in France. Endless rows of symmetrical forests took hold in the former herding areas and the land was transformed. I will write more about this transformation in a future post, as I have now gone on too long without bringing up the subject of this post.
Felix Arnaudin, born in Labouheyre (center of Landes, in the middle of what is now the Parc Nacional de Landes de Gascogne) in 1844 left home in 1858 to follow his studies in Mont-de-Marsan. When he returned to Labouheyre in 1861 he encountered a landscape that he could not recognize, what he thought to be a different universe. The change proved to be too much for him and abandoning social ambition he became hopeless recluse, quarreling with his family about his anger over the changes in the landscape he saw around him. He felt the forest represented the very spirit of banality. He wandered the new forests, often on bike, and lost himself in dreams, reading, and walking.
He eventually came to realize that to save the culture he loved, he must record it for the future. He set about interviewing the old men and women of Landes that could remember the time before the forest, photographing scenes that had yet to change, compiling stories and legends of the region, and saving the patois landaise (or gascogne) from historical obscurity. He was a musician, folklorist, linguistic archivist, translator, and artist and became known as the "Pec" (eccentric) of Labouheyre. He was the first to traverse the region on bicycle. He left us with "trois mille clichés d'une rare beauté" of his beloved country. Arnaudin translated the legends he was told in to French from Gascogne (Gasconha, as they write it) and created a record of the culture with photography, sheet music, and more. He merged myth and history in a grand narrative for Landes.
He felt without his work, the culture would be lost and he wanted to save "ce ciel béant, la terre inhabitée, vide à donner le vertige . . . les bordes aux toits gris et les parcs aux toits rouges, miroirant, dispersées de loin en loin . . . et se perdant, rapetissés, à l'extrême horizon." (This yawning sky, the uninhabited land that gives one empty vertigo. . . the borders [of the land] with grey roofs and parks with red roofs, mirrored, scattered here and there . . And that which is shrinking, the farthest horizon.)
I have been reading some of Arnaudin's compiled stories and have begun translating them. Tomorrow, I will put one of them in this blog. The above picture is of his house in Labouheyre.
[Quotes and information in this post come primarily from Contes des Landes de Gascogne, collected and translated works by Felix Arnaudin, edited by Éric Audinet. Pictures were taken from around the web and if you search for Arnaudin you can find appropriate credits.]
Saturday, February 16, 2008
Walking Around: Visit to St. Pierre-du-Mont
Last week, I made a plan to walk to a nearby city called Saint Perdon. The town supposedly has a old church worth seeing From the map I was viewing it was about five to six kilometers outside of Mont-de-Marsan. To get there I needed to follow a series of local roads, but would spend the largest amount of time shadowing a national route. I reached the end of my city limits in less than a half hour and twenty minutes later I came upon a WWII memorial and a tunnel in which the regional train passes over. The sidewalk through the tunnel was narrow (about the length of my foot) so I pressed my back against the wall as I moved as cars passed by with the usual French reckless abandon.
At the end of the tunnel, about three hundred meters away, I saw the roundabout (rond-point en français) that sends cars all over the region. From where I stood, I could see the terrain was not going to allow me to pass. I would be walking along barbed wire fences, in mud, and darting across highways to reach my destination. This was badly calculated misstep. I did not realize the shoulders of national routes were not kept us and inaccessible to pedestrians. (Consequently, after doing some research, I found it would be best to limit future long-distance excursions to departmental routes which are smaller, have less cars moving slower, although not better maintained.)
Faced with this, I had the choice of turning back or going southeast to the town of St. Pierre-du-Mont. A city on a hill. I referenced a guidebook and did not find much information on the town (except that it had an old church, imagine that!). Not to call the trip a loss, I started scaling the hill, hugging the guardrail of a windy, steep road. Cars were surprised to see someone walking on the road, but this is common reaction when walking on the outskirts. Everyone here has voitures (cars) to get around as there is very little public transportation.
St. Pierre-du-Mont is a satellite town of Mont-de-Marsan, but not with lack of historical roots. The central feature of the town is a church dating to times when Romans took much of France in continental conquest (1st C. BC – 5th C. AD). It was built by the monks of St. Sever, a town twenty or thirty kilometers south (and hopefully a destination). It is probable that the importance of Mont-de-Marsan as a trading hub was cemented because these monks chose the hill to build the church. Here are images of the church . . .
I also visited the cemetary behind the church.
Receptacle in the cemetary. The signs read: "Plastique" and "Organique".
There was not much else in the town, a small shopping area with a flower shop, bakery, and salon. This was the mayor's office, but is not impressive compared to many in most other cities.
Then I walked home. These are the signs to indicate you are leaving one town and entering another. They are to the point, none of that frilly "Welcome to ......" on a wooden carved sign with pictures.
If the post lacks excitement, it is a reflection of this particular walk and the diminished expectations that I am now forced to accept living where I do. More exciting destinations unfortunately can not be walked to as the sides of roads are too rough. Because the area retains features of the swamp (marais) that it used to be, the ground is often muddy and unwelcoming to pedestrian travel. Walking several kilometers in these conditions is terrible. But, there is a light at the end of the tunnel . . . the bicycle I bought upon arrival may be the perfect tool to get me from town to town in Les Landes.
At the end of the tunnel, about three hundred meters away, I saw the roundabout (rond-point en français) that sends cars all over the region. From where I stood, I could see the terrain was not going to allow me to pass. I would be walking along barbed wire fences, in mud, and darting across highways to reach my destination. This was badly calculated misstep. I did not realize the shoulders of national routes were not kept us and inaccessible to pedestrians. (Consequently, after doing some research, I found it would be best to limit future long-distance excursions to departmental routes which are smaller, have less cars moving slower, although not better maintained.)Faced with this, I had the choice of turning back or going southeast to the town of St. Pierre-du-Mont. A city on a hill. I referenced a guidebook and did not find much information on the town (except that it had an old church, imagine that!). Not to call the trip a loss, I started scaling the hill, hugging the guardrail of a windy, steep road. Cars were surprised to see someone walking on the road, but this is common reaction when walking on the outskirts. Everyone here has voitures (cars) to get around as there is very little public transportation.
St. Pierre-du-Mont is a satellite town of Mont-de-Marsan, but not with lack of historical roots. The central feature of the town is a church dating to times when Romans took much of France in continental conquest (1st C. BC – 5th C. AD). It was built by the monks of St. Sever, a town twenty or thirty kilometers south (and hopefully a destination). It is probable that the importance of Mont-de-Marsan as a trading hub was cemented because these monks chose the hill to build the church. Here are images of the church . . .
I also visited the cemetary behind the church.
Receptacle in the cemetary. The signs read: "Plastique" and "Organique".There was not much else in the town, a small shopping area with a flower shop, bakery, and salon. This was the mayor's office, but is not impressive compared to many in most other cities.
Then I walked home. These are the signs to indicate you are leaving one town and entering another. They are to the point, none of that frilly "Welcome to ......" on a wooden carved sign with pictures.
If the post lacks excitement, it is a reflection of this particular walk and the diminished expectations that I am now forced to accept living where I do. More exciting destinations unfortunately can not be walked to as the sides of roads are too rough. Because the area retains features of the swamp (marais) that it used to be, the ground is often muddy and unwelcoming to pedestrian travel. Walking several kilometers in these conditions is terrible. But, there is a light at the end of the tunnel . . . the bicycle I bought upon arrival may be the perfect tool to get me from town to town in Les Landes.
Monday, February 11, 2008
Reasonable expectations of what might follow
As a motivational spur, I have taken up this space in hopes that it can be filled with souvenirs of my time abroad. The French definition of "souvenir" is different than the American English. A souvenir is a memory, a recollection, a lasting impression. It is not a snow globe or Eiffel tower keychain.
I have been living in the southwest of France for five months now and will be here another five months if all goes according to plan. The inability to be productive in the first half of my stay is one of the factors I am starting this, and outing myself on the interweb adds incentive.
I plan to put pictures, French experiences, travels, quotes, and anything else I can wrangle from the endless rows of pines that make up the 40th department of France, Les Landes. I'm at the center of it, in a town called Mont-de-Marsan. That is where I will start my journey.
I have been living in the southwest of France for five months now and will be here another five months if all goes according to plan. The inability to be productive in the first half of my stay is one of the factors I am starting this, and outing myself on the interweb adds incentive.
I plan to put pictures, French experiences, travels, quotes, and anything else I can wrangle from the endless rows of pines that make up the 40th department of France, Les Landes. I'm at the center of it, in a town called Mont-de-Marsan. That is where I will start my journey.
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