I wanted to write about a little town that seems to only have a church, a few little houses, and a simple bakery. And crêpes too. French people love crêpes.
I took the train from Lyon and it sucked. Waiting times and trains weren’t too frequent but I had a croissant to help pass the time.
When I got to Ars, I was expecting to check out some clubs, bars, restaurants, and maybe even a barcade if I had the time. Instead, I entered a potently humble town of about a population of twelve. For some reason, I enjoyed its pseudo-isolated tranquility. Also, a saint was canonized here; I’m not surprised. I’m sure the quiet, the big church, and the access to religious stores is within feet away from each other (That’s how they roll).
Listen, I am a New Yorker kind of guy. However, the grass here was so green that I felt like a cool “manly” farmer in the country side. I had the temptation to ring a stranger’s doorbell in order to offer a helping hand in exchange for some dinner. But no. Instead, I bought a crêpe laced with some Grand Marnier.
I don’t have much to say about Ars.
However, I feel that I could define it in one picture. (See below).
If you read about the history of Ars, you’ll know who this is. That’s pretty much it, really.
If you know who this saint is, you’ve got to see his daily schedule. This person used to hear confessions for seventeen hours a day. That’s some serious dedication there, buddy.
Happy Easter. ♣