To me, Sundays in France have a very distinct flavour.
When I was a kid, it was the only day we didn’t go to school—we had classes on Wednesday and Saturday mornings. Technically, it was a a day we were looking forward to because we could finally sleep in for as long as we wanted. But once we got up, boredom took over.
Everything is closed in France on Sundays and public transportation networks run a reduced schedule. We didn’t have convenience stores (so we had to remember to buy an extra pack of cigarettes, else we had to queue with dozens of other smokers at the Bureau de tabac at the train station, the only place open) and only a couple of bakeries were selling fresh baguettes.
Nothing works properly on Sunday. And if it rains, as it often does in Nantes, the empty streets can be downright depressing.
There is a French word for that omnipresent feeling—glauque. Literally, it means “murky” but also “gloomy” or “depressing”.
Sundays in France are glauques.
I found this one particularly depressing so I thought a black-and-white series was a good fit.
You can see the complete set of pictures taken in France on Flickr.