As we piled into the car early in the morning, we all had a sense of anticipation in our stomachs, or was that the fact that we had left without our breakfast?
The main road out of Honfleur, flanked by ancient planes, sycamores, and beech trees towering over the tarmac, was clear. The tree roots, deep and wide, provided a gateway as we trundled out of town heading towards the coast.
We were on an adventure, led at the steering wheel by a driver who had skills similar to Toad in The Wind in the Willows. Pootling and trundling were really not the verbs of choice for Colin. He preferred to veer, race, and swerve in no fixed order on our car journey that day. Racing towards the beach would have been a more judicious verb or maybe that should be a reckless verb.
We had been informed by the sensible French authorities, who did not want the masses from Paris descending on their coastal towns, that there would be roadblocks and gendarmes on duty to avoid small beaches being overrun with people. Personally, we thought it was because the beach dwellers who had their summer houses really did not want their view obscured by the out-of-towners or tourists. As we were looking up at the sky and not out to the horizon, I remember feeling quite indignant that these restrictions were planned.
The roads remained clear as we started to navigate on our paper map towards the coast where my mother-in-law’s cousin lived. Denise had invited us to come to her house and walk down to the small beach at the end of her road to have a perfect view.
This eclipse in 1999 was the first in the region for 9 years and the most viewed total eclipse ever. If you lived in the UK, it was the first total eclipse since 1925. So it was a big one – totality does not happen that frequently.
It was the first total eclipse in my lifetime and the first eclipse that I had been so thoroughly taken with. This one had truly captured my imagination. It felt like a portent of things to come. I can truly imagine what the people of the past might have thought when they saw the sun disappearing from view. It would have caused such consternation. Their sun god being eaten by the moon; what would become of them? For me, the eclipse was the sign of good things to come. This was the summer where in France we had been tasting various brands of Saumur wine to serve at our forthcoming wedding in October. This was the time of sunshine and good food, surrounded by loving people who I am grateful to have had in my life for over 27 years. This time was two months prior to the best wedding in my life.
The ‘A’ roads, or what is known in France as ‘N’ roads or Routes Nationales, were our driver’s preferred choice. He didn’t want to go on the autoroutes in fear of being stopped and turned back by the gendarmes. Our destination was Les Grandes Dalles, a distance which would take at least two hours, hence the early pre-6 a.m. start. I recall it took much longer than that as we crisscrossed the area to avoid being caught out. These were the days before we had Google Maps that we all rely on so much to get us from A to Z. Then, we literally had the A–Z to get us anywhere in the UK and had similar paper maps abroad.
I sometimes yearn for times before satnavs, Google Maps, and the like. A time when the journey was a little longer as we had to stop every now and again to read the map. As a female driver who often drove long distances on her own, I don’t know quite how I did it. No phone, a paper map, yet I did always get to where I wanted and never seemed to get lost.
That innate body knowledge of being able to navigate with the simplest of tools is an ability that is lost to so many. Many who only see themselves as a blue dot on the map. Those who only can see where they are going but have no idea of where they have come from. Being able to know where you come from is very important to me.The stories from my past make me who I am today.
But I digress, back to the trip. We had to get to the coast no later than 10 a.m., as by then we anticipated crowds. Crowds waiting to claim a tiny patch on the beach, set up their chairs, and look up towards the sky.
We got to Denise’s place well before 10 a.m., had time for coffee and croissants, and a saunter down to the beach. There was no beach when we arrived; the tide was in, so we claimed a spot on the beach wall, waiting for the hordes. No hordes came, just a few villagers and their visitors, all chatting convivially before we stopped and paused.
The sky darkened first, taking on a lilac hue reminiscent of an early dawn or sunset. The air settled and everything seemed incredibly still. It almost felt as if the waves had ceased their constant movement, in awe at what was going on above our heads.
Using the special glasses in order not to hurt our eyes, we watched as the moon nibbled slowly at the sun, taking bit by bit until it was all gone.
Totality brought a visceral response in me, a mixture of strong emotions. Fear that my beloved sun would not return and the joy of being able to witness this view with people I loved dearly. I returned to the days of olden times when a deeper part of me remembered that same view, maybe on the 21st June CE 19, when the sun stopped for nearly 4 minutes.
I had a slight anxious feeling and the question of, “What if the sun doesn’t come back?” at the back of my mind, and breathed a sigh of relief and sadness as the light shifted and changed, the sunny yellow glow of midday beckoned, and the waves echoed in my head.
That day was the day of the eclipse, but it was also Colin my late father-in-law. Colin who loved adventure, loved to journey, and never ever made a plan.
Watching the eclipse with my family last night, I had many similar emotions. Happiness to be surrounded by families all with their pinhole cameras, colanders, and sieves waiting to see the change. That same sense of anticipation in the air as we noted the changes in our shadows as they lengthened. The dimming of the light and the birds flying off in flocks to roost in the trees. I sensed the same anxious feeling as the sun darkened, and then a relief as the light began to return.
We did not have the little eclipse glasses, but just at the end, another family gifted their pair as they headed off home. Another half an hour was spent in excitement as they revealed so much more than our pinhole cameras could see. Another half an hour as we shared the glasses with young and old around us, all so impressed with the celestial event above their heads.
Eclipse times remind me of so much. Every day is an adventure, a bit like my favourite Japanese saying: Ichi-go ichi-e – one time, one meeting.
And where is your adventure, where is your journey taking you? We, like the celestial bodies in the sky, have our own orbit. What joys can you spot on the way? What road might you take and dust off from the A–Z of your past?
Go well, go safely and, from time to time, don’t stick to the map
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