The Way to Verdun

May 1: I had to leave my hotel early to catch the train leaving from the Gare l’Est station to Nancy. The front desk had warned me that few places would be open due to the French Labor Day on May 1.

They were selling lily of the valley bouquets in Gare l’Est to celebrate Labor Day. I wanted to buy a bouquet, but decided I was carrying enough as I navigated through the train station. Read more: The train to Nancy

May 2: When I checked out of the hotel in Nancy, the woman at the front desk gave me a small bouquet of lily of the valley. She explained the flowers symbolized good luck. It seemed like a good omen to me as I left for my final destination where I would enter Cote 304 to face the unknown fire. 

I arrived at a deserted bus depot with plenty of time to spare. I found a female bus driver in one of the parked buses, and using my survival French, asked her about the Verdun bus. She told me the Verdun bus would be parked in the number one space. 

I was standing in the parking lot of the empty buses with nowhere to sit. Across the street, I saw a lady pulling her luggage to a storefront, which turned out to be the bus waiting room. So, I crossed the street and entered the waiting room. I asked about buying a ticket to Verdun, and the attendant said I would pay for the ticket on the bus. The only other person sitting in the waiting room communicated through hand movements that she, too, was getting on the bus to Verdun. She spoke French, so I wildly flipped the pages of my two travel dictionaries to communicate with her.

When the bus arrived, she stood up and with her arm fully extended, pointed at the bus parked in the number one space, and issued the news, “Verdun!” It seemed ominous, this staccato directive: VER – DUN! Hearing the destination seemed as if passage into the mystery had been granted. I was on my way. The sense of departure held weight, and was far different than if the woman had only pointed out the arrival of the bus. I followed her to the bus. Another French woman joined us.

 

The two of them sat together, talked in French, adding a point and a glance to me, “She is going to Verdun.”

“Why Verdun?”

“I don’t know,” she replied, as she glanced at me again.

My reason would remain a mystery to them. Probably best it was a mystery. I looked the part of someone who was in France to tour art museums and shop, not tour battlefields and uncover clues about dead soldiers. 

The bus driver played the radio during the trip. The journey was surreal with French commentary and easy listening American tunes from the forties plus a mix of classic jazz. It felt like I had entered a time warp. The bus ride took me past rolling green pastures and plowed fields. It was early spring in Lorraine. The trees were full of small, tender green leaves.

We passed through small villages with narrow streets lined with stucco and cinder block buildings and homes. These villages didn’t reflect France’s past that I had seen in Normandy or the Loire Valley. Most villages had a post-modern utilitarian look to them. The reminders of the wars – battle memorials and monuments – dotted both villages and the countryside. As the bus passed through Foug, I saw a winged angel statue holding two wreaths. It made me wonder how my world would be shaped if I saw these types of memorials every day. Encountering the memorials as we traveled north, I recognized the loss of life in Lorraine and realized that indeed the villages did reflect their past. The Lorraine region has been torn apart by wars throughout the centuries, most recently by both WWI and WWII. The villages had been rebuilt time and time again, and the people possessed strength and perseverance. 

The bus stopped from time to time to pick up a lone passenger standing at a bus stop. Most stops were in the middle of nowhere. The bus would then drop off these individuals in another remote spot with no one around. The sidewalks were deserted. Whenever the bus door opened, a blast of cold air drifted in. I was the only passenger who took the full trip from Nancy to Verdun. I arrived in Verdun about 1:30 pm. 30 minutes before the tour departed.