Category: France

Lourdes 2025: A Father–Son Farewell Tour

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When your son tells you 2025 is going to be his year, you smile, nod, and try not to think about how quiet the house will be once he’s gone. But before Killian set off into his new chapter, he offered me something unexpected: one last road trip—just the two of us.

You might well be aware that I have a son. His name is Killian, he’s 26, and he’d been living at home since a rather painful break-up. My wife had been dropping “subtle” hints for months, wondering aloud when her boy might consider leaving again. Last year, he brashly declared that 2025 would be his year.

The little bugger was true to his word. I now live with my wife and daughter, firmly in the minority. Molly, the dog, and Zombie, the cat, are both girls. The only other male left in the house is Mamaduke, the other cat—and he was neutered as a kitten.

Feeling somewhat emasculated, Killian offered to accompany me on one final road trip before leaving me alone with all this oestrogen. He suggested we return to Lourdes, as we had done back in 2019. He was a different man back then—brighter around the eyes, more reckless, maybe—but he has since matured through his heartache, and the healing that followed.

The Airbnb was booked and paid for. The car was ready. We were ready. My wife was looking forward to some peace and quiet. We’d be fine, and yes, we promised to send messages on the way to let her know where we were. We had the whole week off work, and this four-day visit would give us a bit of time together before he started this new chapter of his life. One last Ian-and-Killian trip.

On the way down, I quickly learnt that I’d have to hand over control of the music. That was going to be interesting.

He still hates selfies, and is terribly self-conscious about being on camera. So when he spotted my phone recording the both of us, he just muttered, “Mais quel enfer…” The road was very quiet for most of the journey, and things only got rough around Bordeaux. We passed a lorry on its side, cargo strewn everywhere. We said a quiet prayer for the driver. It was a sobering reminder of how fragile life on the road can be.

Killian kept a close eye on me as we tackled the ring road around Bordeaux, directing me with impressive calm. Once we got past the city, things settled down—so did we. Frequent stops for coffee, and fresh air at service stations helped. I wasn’t about to push through and risk ending up like that poor lorry driver. My wife would kill me if I died…

We managed to find our digs for the stay, and although small, it was perfect for the two of us. Killian made us dinner, and we got to bed feeling happy to be alive, and happy to be once again in Lourdes.

We would go down to the Sanctuary the next morning, say hello to Our Lady, maybe go to confession, and visit the baths. Killian wanted to go to Spain, but since I didn’t have our passports, that wasn’t going to happen. I had decided not to overdo anything, and just see where the trip would lead us. No stress, and no rigorous schedule. All I wanted to do was to get to confession, to Mass, and get some water, take some photos, and film to make a video. Killian wanted to go to the Pont d’Espagne, which—despite the name—is in France. But more about that later…

The Opening of the Film Archives – March 2017 with Kate in the Vines

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Hello you! It’s great to have you back for another dive into the archives. Over the past few posts, you might have noticed a recurring star of the series: my Canon AE1. While it’s true I’ve leaned on this camera heavily for many of these moments, I promise there’s more variety to come—even some colour film photography! For now, though, let’s continue exploring these Canon snapshots together. Thank you for sticking with me—it means a lot to me.

This time, I took my daughter Kate for a walk among the vines—a walk I used to do with Killian when he was about her age. Admittedly, it wasn’t the most creative choice for me, but for Kate, it was a brand-new adventure. That’s my excuse, and I’m sticking to it.

The day was all about Kate, the wind, and the way it danced through her hair. Unlike me, where the wind barely leaves a trace, it created a beautiful, dynamic subject in her. There’s something magical about how the movement of hair and clothing in the wind adds life to a photograph. I captured some truly memorable shots that I now treasure as priceless souvenirs of a fleeting moment.

Maybe they were some of those famous Kodak moments… Whatever the case, they bring back lovely memories of simpler times. Looking back, it reminds me how the simplest moments—like a walk through familiar vines—can hold so much meaning. Sometimes, what’s close to home can be just as captivating as far-off adventures.

It also reminds us that though we might be in familiar territory, that territory can look entirely different to someone seeing it for the first time. The soft, diffused light that day brought out rich textures in the vines, and Kate’s sense of wonder made even the most ordinary details come alive.

When you’re out with your camera, maybe, just maybe, that’s something to keep in mind. How might your everyday surroundings look through fresh eyes—or through the eyes of someone discovering them for the first time?

Opening of the Film Archives, Château de Clisson, February 2017

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I had obviously taken a break with the Canon AE1 and spent the whole of December and January in hibernation, as most grumpy bears of my age do. Get Christmas over with, then go back to bed… I like my bed. No, I love my bed!!

Spring was just around the corner, and Kate had managed to awaken the beast and proceeded to tell me what she had planned for the day. It included me, a camera, and the Chateau de Clisson. I had just been “told” by my daughter, and off we headed to Clisson.

Now, the Chateau de Clisson is no small affair by any means. It dominates the centre of the town, sitting atop a hill as an imposing structure. I remember Kate having begged me on numerous occasions to actually go inside, and this time I acquiesced.

It was the perfect opportunity to not only document the inside of this historic site but also to let my playful daughter do what children do best: be cute, or as they say in French, espiègle. At that age, she was still content to pose for the camera, unlike the moody teenager she has become. Yet, sometimes, that same playful nature still manages to shine through.

If you’re curious to learn more about the history of the Chateau de Clisson, I’ve included a link for further reading.

After our outing in Clisson, I retreated to the quiet of my darkroom, where the real magic happens—transforming the captured moments into tangible memories. The familiar routine of developing the film, loading it into the tank, and watching the images slowly emerge never fails to captivate me. Once the negatives are ready and the scans are complete, I file them away in both my digital and analogue archives.

Then, a few years later, I get to share these memories with you. It’s a special kind of nostalgia—the kind that comes with taking time to slow down, reflect, and preserve what matters most. Thank you for joining me on this journey and for allowing me to share these pieces of the past with you.

The Opening of the Film Archives – Chaussée des Moines, Autumn 2016

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It was one of those sunny late autumn days we sometimes get here—warm, golden, and untouched by the inevitable rain, wind, and cold that would soon claim the season. This time, I wasn’t in Nantes, or exploring the Forest of Grasla like last week’s outing. Instead, I decided to take my Canon AE-1 for a walk down by the river—more precisely, along the Sèvre Nantaise—to explore the Chaussée des Moines.

Chaussée des Moines translates to “the monk’s pathway,” and no, it’s not a detour through Iowa. I always get the name wrong, thanks to the cheese Chaussée aux Moines. Freud would probably call it a slip—though even he might have struggled to find better footing on this trail.

The pathway, bathed in the low autumn sun, was serene. Its golden light skimmed the water, creating shimmering reflections on the surface, while the riverbanks glowed with the last stubborn hues of the season. For those of you looking at the photos in black and white, you’ll just have to imagine the colours. The Canon AE-1 was a faithful companion that day, helping me focus on the interplay of light and shadow, the quiet stillness of the river, and the textured beauty of autumn’s final stand.

The Sèvre Nantaise is a river that flows into Nantes at the Bras de Pirmil. The Chaussée itself is a weir—a place where, weather permitting, you can walk across the river, loop over a nearby bridge, and return along the opposite bank. It’s a lovely little circuit, especially on a crisp autumn day.

The photographs from this outing were taken with the Canon AE-1 using Ilford HP5+ film, shot at 400ASA. I later edited the images in Lightroom to bridge that gap between film and digital. Some might call me a charlatan, but even in the darkroom, we worked our magic with tools akin to what Lightroom offers today—just a bit more hands-on and aromatic.

When I was learning how to draw, I was often reminded of the importance of contrast: darker, more defined elements in the foreground and softer, lighter tones in the background. Looking back at these photos, especially the ones of trees and fields, I’m struck by how naturally this principle seems to have played out.

All in all, it was lovely being out in the autumn sun, soaking up the scenery, and enjoying every minute of it. The boat moored along the bank, the cascading weir, the solitary man fishing—it all added to the charm of a wonderful afternoon. And if you’re wondering, the slice of cake and cup of something nice at the café overlooking the river had absolutely nothing to do with how fondly I remember the day… or so I tell myself.

The Opening of the Film Archives – Le Forêt de Grasla, October 2016

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It would appear that I was quite the busy bee, snapping anything and everything with the Canon AE1 back in 2016. It seems to have become my “everyday carry” and the camera I always had with me.In 2016, I was all about exploring the world using just Ilford’s HP5 Plus black-and-white negative film. On this particular day, I had gone back to the Forêt de Grasla. I remember it being a fairly warm day for October, and it was wonderful to be in the outdoors.

The forest was one of my favourite hunting grounds for wild mushrooms, and Killian would be there with me, helping to find some “fungis to be with.” An old joke, but I am a dad, after all…

As you walk through the various parcelles of the forest, you can smell the mushrooms in the air, the decaying wood, and hear the rustle of wind rushing through the trees. The ground is slightly damp underfoot—hence the walking boots.

Now for a bit of history. I suppose you have heard of the French Revolution and its wide-reaching effects on my adoptive country. Well, not everyone at the time was very happy about the whole shebang. The “Chouans” from Brittany and the Vendée decided that they quite liked the idea of having a king, and perhaps this Republic idea might not be for them.

This led, of course, to the Guerres de Vendée, with Republican troops sent to massacre the counter-revolutionary Vendéens. Most places in France are wary of Parisians, but there’s an extra edge to this in the Vendée, and with good reason. Even now, the Vendée has a very independent mentality and has never forgotten what the Republic did.

The Forêt de Grasla was a lot larger than it is now, and the rebels would hide there, hoping to escape the Republican troops. There is now a museum, the Refuge de Grasla, showing how they lived hidden in the forest.

The idea of the outing, however, wasn’t history or mycology, but woodland photography on film. I think I managed to get some half-decent shots!

The Opening of the Film Archives—Abbaye de la Grainetière, October 2016

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“They” say that if you leave your child to the Jesuits for seven years, then that child will belong to the Jesuits for life. I am not a Jesuit, but I was heavily influenced by the Benedictines when I went away to prep school in 1980. Mummy, Daddy, let me reassure you, this isn’t about Gilling—some things are better left in the past. This article will instead focus on a different Benedictine site, one that I visited much later in life: l’Abbaye de la Grainetière, a peaceful monastery here in the Vendée.

The Abbey of Notre-Dame de La Grainetière, on the outskirts of the town of Les Herbiers in Vendée (France), encompasses nearly nine centuries of tumultuous history. For over 50 years, numerous restoration works have been undertaken. These efforts allowed for the re-establishment of a community of monks at the end of 1978, nearly 200 years after the abbey was abandoned by the monks, shortly after the Revolution of 1789. Classified as a historical monument since 1946, many volunteers are working to continue the legacy of La Grainetière.

To those of you unfamiliar with the ins and outs of the Catholic Church, the role of monks is to live in community, and their main duty is to pray for us in the wider community. The monks elect a Father Abbot, who is responsible for running the monastery. In centuries gone by, the Abbot would wield a huge amount of influence, but this power has been reined in over time and is less evident outside the monastic community.

When I visited l’Abbaye de la Grainetière, I couldn’t help but reflect on how different this Benedictine monastery felt from my school days. The quiet prayer, the stillness—it offered a kind of peace that I hadn’t experienced for a long time, and a life that was once very appealing to me.

The monks follow the Rule of Saint Benedict, a foundational guide for monastic life that addresses not only prayer, but also how to live both within and beyond the monastery walls. Though written for monks, many of its teachings have been adopted by the laity seeking a structured, spiritually focused life.

I could almost say I envy them the simplicity of monastic life compared to the complexities of modern society and family life—juggling careers, responsibilities, and the endless distractions of today’s world. While I don’t regret the joys and vibrancy that come with having a family—something perhaps lacking in monastic life—it’s hard not to admire the stillness and purpose that a simpler existence can offer. We all have different vocations in life. Mine was to be a father.

As I packed away my camera and left the grounds of l’Abbaye de la Grainetière, I found myself still pondering the contrast between the quiet, ordered life of the monks and the complexity of my own. In some ways, visiting the abbey felt like opening a door to a simpler time, a place where life seemed more focused and more deliberate. Yet, as much as I admire the peace found within those ancient walls, my own path has led me elsewhere—to the joys, challenges, and unpredictability of family life.

In the end, it’s not a question of envy or regret, but rather a reminder that we all find our peace in different ways. For the monks of l’Abbaye de la Grainetière, it lies in prayer and solitude. For me, it’s found in the laughter of my children, the shared moments with loved ones, and yes, even in the rush and noise of everyday life. Each vocation, after all, carries its own kind of grace.

Perhaps that’s what lingers with me most from my visit to the abbey—not just the tranquillity of the place, but the realisation that we each have our own rhythm, our own way of navigating the world, and there is beauty in all of it.

Post Scriptum:

The photos were taken with a Canon AE1, and its FD mount 50mm F1.8 lens, using Ilford HP5 + black and white film.