The blister from my walking says more about the state of my exercise regime than the suitability of my boots.
Over breakfast, the nice man in the hotel offered to look after my bags for me in the hours between checkout (11am) and train. Initially I considered getting an earlier train so that I’d have a change in Bordeaux with time for lunch, but it became apparent I wasn’t going to make it to the station from where I was when I looked at my watch. My inability to make an actual decision left me, by default, with time enough to walk around some more and have some lunch in Mont-de-Marsan instead.
This was the weekend of the Journées du Patrimoine and had I known, I’d have made more of an effort to be a diligent tourist had I known, but in any case the main attraction that interested me was the dungeon. This, according to the sign on the door when I got there, is closed until the end of 2024.
Instead, the Parc Jean Rameau occupied the first part of my day, which was spent looking at even more sculptures.
The most impressive and conspicuously mamilla-free of these is a wooden replica of the statue of Maréchal Foch on horseback, the original being at the Trocadéro in Paris. Robert Wlérick — a local after whom the museum is named — was one of two sculptors of the original, and this wooden replica was gifted to the museum by the family of the other sculptor, Raymond Martin. At night it is illuminated, which would have been lovely to see as by day it’s noticeable that the glass screen around it needs a bit of a wash which makes for a slightly sad horsey. Nonetheless, I was happy I got to see it because I learned about it only last night just as my feet had declared mutiny and feared it might have had to wait for another visit.
Puppet spent the rest of the visit photo-bombing various works, before some sort of lunch was required. The place I found for my liquid first course was an Irish pub (yay, cider!) with a terrace overlooking (one of) the river(s). The first course was liquid, naturally, followed by some veggie Thai lushness just off the Place du Général Leclerc.
Around the same time yesterday this square was heaving with a wedding, some livestock, and a man on stilts, but it lay eerily quiet today. Most of Mont-de-Marsan seems to be closed on Sundays. I’m used to this, living in a place that’s mostly closed on Sundays, but I was surprised how many bars were not taking advantage of the glorious weather and the number of thirst people milling around.
After lunch I strolled back to the hotel, collected my bag and then had a wander round the Arènes du Plumaçon. Mont-de-Marsan has been home to bullfighting since the 17th century, though thankfully there was none of that nonsense today and the place was quiet, save for some straw blowing around (presumably from yesterday’s parade) and some youth playing pétanque to dubstep below a nearby awning. There are even more statues to be seen around the arena, all bovine-related and mammory free, and even a chapel — useful perhaps if your loved-one has just died in some kind of bloody cow-related tragedy (they’d only have themselves to blame).
After more lazy tourism, I got to the station in plenty of time for the 15:47 train to Bordeaux. It was waiting on the platform when I got there but was locked until about twenty minutes before we were due to leave which meant it wasn’t full when it left Mont-de-Marsan but filled up quite quickly. After a few stops and the non-working air-conditioning started to become a problem for some, and the nice man in the SNCF hat let me sit in first, which had lovely expensive cold air. That made for a very acceptable 1€ ticket indeed.
A connecting train towards Périgueux was waiting on the platform at Saint-Jean but I got off in Libourne to spend the evening with friends and regail them with stories of nipples.
