The woman boarded the TER to Les Sables d’Olonne in Nantes a few seconds after us. She must have been in her fifties, or maybe in her late forties—it was hard to tell because she was dressed like a madame but she didn’t look that old.
Her husband—I assumed it was her husband, not a lover she had picked up in Nantes—stayed on the station platform, eyes glued to the window. In hindsight, I suspect he wanted to make sure she was actually taking the train, the poor guy must have needed a break.
She took the window seat in a bay of four and kept her handbag on her lap and her suitcase on the empty seat next to her.
A mother and her daughter took the two remaining seats facing her and her luggage. The French don’t mind sharing public space, it’s completely expected to sit next to perfect strangers for a few hours. The expectation of personal space is lower on this side of the Atlantic Ocean, especially on a sunny Saturday in July, on a train heading to a popular seaside town.
However, the expectation is that perfect strangers will politely ignore each other for the entire trip.
The woman didn’t get the memo.
She started by asking the young girl in front of her if the woman next to her was her mother or her grandmother—not the most tactful way to phrase the question and frankly, who cared. Then she explained where she was living in Nantes, why she was going to Les Sables, what she was planning to do in Les Sables, where she would be eating…
I dozed off.
When I woke up an hour later, she was still talking even though everyone around was trying their best to look asleep or engrossed in a book.
We all got off the train as fast as possible because I think she would have followed anyone who was still listening to her endless monologue.
The sky was a gorgeous shade of blue, the sun was shining, and the beach wasn’t far but first, we needed coffee.
We took the long way, along the huge harbour. Les Sables d’Olonne is a city that takes sailing seriously—this is where the Vendée Globe, a single-handed non-stop round-the-world sailing race, starts and ends.
It was low tide at noon, so I took Mark for a long coastal foraging adventure. We spotted periwinkles, a red sea anemone, crabs, oysters, mussels and tiny fishes and shrimps tickling our feet in shallow water.
Then the tide came in and the beach got busier and busier in a messy and fun way. We all had to move up every fifteen minutes until there was no sand left.
And as usual, we took the late train for Nantes and arrived full of sand, salt and memories.
