There’s something rather comforting in revisiting a place you love. There’s no pressure to sightsee, paths are known and well trodden, favourite restaurants identified and there’s even pleasure in seeing buildings completed. And so it is on our third visit to Verdun.
Our drive there belongs in an art gallery – coloured by Van Gogh, gloriously lit by Turner. Endless fields of sunflowers lifting their bright faces to the sun, shorn golden fields marking the end of farmers’ toil, harvested in neat straight lines. Deeply satisfying, I’d imagine, to harvest a crop you’ve grown. It’s been a bumper year for farmers – meadow hay would easily be on its fourth harvest. It’s sweet, I imagine, filled with wildflowers. I still remember the meadow wildflowers of my childhood, on walks from my grandparents’ farm.
We cross paths with tractors occasionally and wait patiently as they lumber to their duty. Always a good game to guess the function of their varied attachments. Meccano for big boys.
We arrive in Verdun late in the afternoon and it’s hot, hot, hot. Himself is disinclined to ride into town – too hot, says he. Usually my lament. But there’s no pressure – we’ve explored before and we’re here tomorrow. And there’s a pool! Moments later it’s swimsuits on and into the water – there’s nothing better on a hot summer’s day. Sunbeds set the stage for a never-ending loop of kids zipping through a water slide in an adjacent pool. So much energy – they shoot out then fly up the ladder to do it all again. I dare Himself to go through but he can’t be budged from his sunbed.
There’s a cafe on site (too hot to ride into town = too hot to cook me thinks) so it’s naughty burgers for dinner. That’s my polite one – Himself has a double. His reasoning? It’s only one that has bacon on it. Hmmmm. This little piggy went to Verdun…
It’s still hot the following day, but bikes are at the ready. It’s a short ride into town but even so, quite a bit has changed. The citadel has a brand new entrance – a curved glass wall featuring scenes of soliders and their letters home. Himself toured the citadel on our first visit and deemed it excellent, very informative. We’ll explore the new entrance on our way back.
A new apartment complex on the canal has been completed and elsewhere I see an historic house has been razed – sadly lost to a fire in 2018. It sat in charred ruins the last time we were here.
The city gates make an imposing entrance. Imagine being on the wrong side of those pointy sticks…still sharp enough to be called into action at a moment’s notice.
Across the canal, the WWII memorial remains pristinely maintained. Its WWI counterpart is uphill. The WWI battle here was particularly brutal, lasting almost the whole of 1916 with 370,000 French casualties, 330,000 German, hundreds of thousands more injured. So much loss – virtually a whole generation of young men, brutally removed from their future.
The promenade is busily preparing for lunch. You’ll not be surprised that menu selection is Himself’s immediate focus. I barely have time to spot my favourite buildings before he shepards me away. I squeeze a few in along the way nonetheless. Himself has to fed on time or he gets grumpy. Meanwhile, I’d explore until nightfall with with an apple and a camera.
He’s soon selected – fish for a change. Melon and jambon cru followed by cod in a sweet and sour sauce for him. Lemon sole meuniere for me. Divinely buttery and garlicky. I’ll have to master that recipe.
We explore a little further after lunch. There’s the 18th century theatre building, the covered market in the process of packing up and boats lined up along the canal.
Even with the bikes though, the heat is overpowering. The memory of the pool’s cool waters is a powerful siren call.
Before we head home, the citadel’s new entrance has to be explored. It’s very well done – a series of glass panels linked by photographs and letters transcribed in French, English and German. They’re incredibly moving and I’m soon sobbing. Hopes and fears are laid bare. So many didn’t survive. I urge you to read them – they humanize loss in a way monuments cannot The pictures can be clicked into and enlarged if needed.
I’m glad of the hard ride up hill to refocus my mind. Those letters will stay with me for a really long time.
Miss Baci Travels 