End of Nancy

Saturday morning's walk along the river took me past the Moulins de Paris plant, seen here from across the canal feeding the mill. The plant still makes a lot of noise, but none of it comes from the water-driven part over the river.

The canal now just ends here. A little water seeps over the edge, just at that iron passageway. Looking down, it's just a damp mess of debris.

A bright spot of street art under an underpass. Up close you can see this canal has flooded over the entire image, leaving bits of vegetation behind.

One of the main churches in the old part of town is a perfect candidate for my Sights Under Scaffolding album. Before cleaning (right) it looks quite dull and forbidding, but the results are quite nice.

Statues in front of it: lion with wings (common), angel with wings (normal), eagle with wings (obligatory), cow with wings (???).

From the other side. I never did find out what was up with the cow.
By 5 on Saturday I've been to the Museums (not going to the regional museum; two is my limit for one weekend), gone back across town by bus to the section of riverside I hadn't seen yet, discovered it's just as dull as the morning's stretch (less the interesting wrecks), and find myself wandering the shopping district. Anny Blatt yarns has four gorgeous balls of purple cotton-silk for half price. No idea what I'll make of it, but it's mine now.

At a bookstore I gather up four before taking stock of their weight and that of my shoulder bag, which weighs a ton with just the camera, the extra lens, my notebook, and 200 grams of yarn. Remember the luggage! Put down the books! You may have one. The biggest one, naturally.

Also acquired: two cotton tops, a silk scarf, and a necklace I'll wear for a week then forget.
For dinner, in a tiny family-run place, only five tables occupied this Saturday night but with an interesting menu and pleasant decor, I have a nice, regional meal. I learn tourte Lorraine is not the same as quiche Lorraine, but it's ok. I notice a family seated in the corner. The daughter, about 10, is absorbed by her electonic gadget. The dishes are cleared away, Mom and Dad are on their coffee, and two untouched glasses of champagne send their bubbles skyward. The couple doesn't talk. They barely look at each other, or at anything. They look like they're just marking time until they can decently leave. Why the champagne? Why order it and just leave it there?

Their coffee finished, they sip their champagne at last, not remarking on it. As if it's just some wine still hanging around on their table and they're not yet ready to go and face an evening at home. I leave before they do.

Then Sunday, not too early, is homeward. Fast train to Paris, 90 minutes. Just time for a bowl of onion soup and a beer before catching my second train. Home by 5, to three very happy cats.

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