TO EXPERIENCE FRANCE

Merci (fr. Thank you) – a word that means so much. Sometimes we just forget to use it. But it has the potential to enter the soul, take it out and shake it like we Bulgarians shake our blankets out of the window on Saturday mornings. It can rid the soul of all darkness and place it back in a way that affects even the heart.

Some people say “thank you” easily; others with great difficulty, some with no reason at all.

A whole novel could be written about Paris-Brest-Paris. My words and emotions get so mixed up that it’s hard to make a story. And no description of this adventure is enough to describe all that’s stored in the heart.  The story should be experienced. And it’s not chance that this brevet is organized once every four years. The participants’ happiness can only be compared to that of the Olympians. We were all there following the Olympic principle – Participation Matters. The good thing about brevets is that nobody is there to compete or win; we just share the pleasure of participation.

Have you ever seen 60 cyclists together? Now imagine 600. If that’s not too much, multiply that by ten. 6,000 cyclists had gathered from all around the world. There were hundreds of participants from Brazil, Japan, China, USA, and Canada. There were representatives coming from exotic and unpronounceable places.  When I heard that my Bulgarian colleague Stephen from Plovdiv was there for third time I asked him: wasn’t he bored? His simple answer was that no-one could ever be bored of it. Later, I realised that he was right. 

It would be an amazing spectacle if filmed from above. What I saw on the roads in front of me was a huge red snake, crawling up and down the hills. Its color came from the rear lights of all the cyclists pedaling through the night. Behind me, countless glaring headlights illuminated tens of kilometres. 

If I have to be honest, I’ve never liked the French. They’ve always seemed haughty, overproud and perky. They have the most beautiful women, the most delicious food, the best wine, the best politicians in the world... they are the best at everything. And I suppose I’m not the only one who thinks this way.

It’s amazing how fast one’s opinion can be changed. In few days, I discovered a completely different people – warm, affectionate, kind and humane. 

The collision between prejudice and reality was sudden and unexpected. I went there to ride 1200 km at the most legendary brevet in the world but why it was considered to be most legendary, I didn’t know. I thought it was due to the fact that it was held at the brevet’s birthplace and is successor to the first cycling competition organised on the same route. I also thought that participation in it is a matter of prestige and honor, once the qualifications are passed. 

But this wasn’t simple cycling; it was a soul flight over the French meadows, stone houses and pretty gardens with fragrant flowers. It was like a trip to paradise, a touch of God gifts. For first time I felt that my efforts through the years had been worthwhile. Once I was there I was attended by the angels of these fields. The route was not easy at all but there wasn’t a Frenchman who was not applauding and shouting “ALLEZ, ALLEZ!” Nowhere else in the would you see a man that has parked his car in a layby in the middle of nowhere at 3 o’clock in the morning, standing in the cold just to applaud you and support you. The families in every village do the same. They pile tables with dishes in front of their houses and at the top of every exhausting hill and man them day and night. And when you reach there you’re treated with coffee, tea, sweets and juice for free. They are even insulted if you don’t take anything. For the first time in my life I saw old people who had bought cartoons of bottled water to fill up the containers of all the cyclists tormented by the heat and 20 km climbs. 

The endless love of these people was exciting. There were encouraging notices and posters everywhere, but a child’s short and simple message was the most impressive. I saw it on the first morning, written with large capital letters on the asphalt: MERCI. What does MERCI mean? Why MERCI? Shouldn’t we, the cyclists, have been the thankful ones after all these wonderful people were doing for us? They received us cordially, they helped us and they tolerated us.  But THEY are grateful that WE are there. Frenchmen are people who respect others’ endeavours, enthusiasm and adventurous spirit. These things are not valuable in Bulgarians’ opinion and adventurous people are considered crazy.  Maybe this is the difference between Western Europe and the East, where it seems we still belong. Western nations know that the adventurers pull the world ahead and are not afraid of risk no matter whether they are artists, sportsmen or scientists. Nobody asks why you do it or thinks it’s strange. Instead, you may see a mother explaining to her 2- year old child how to support the cyclists that pass.

The Eiffel Tower, Versailles, Notre Dame and Louvre that I visited before the start already seemed inanimate objects to me after 90 hours of cycling from Paris to the ocean and back. In the last kilometers before the capital I began to feel sorry for myself and for all the participants. The experience of these days had reminded us that the most famous symbols of France are just monuments. Monuments that had lost their importance in comparison to each small house in the tidy villages, which had its own style and was full of people much more important than any tourist destination. Because France is not Paris, as the old hands in our team had told us on our way from Bulgaria. 

You understand at once. It’s impossible to forget Pierre and his family, who welcomed us at dawn in their cozy restaurant and cooked the most delicious omelette, baguette, butter and homemade rosehip for us. Nor the small children running for water to quench your thirst. Forever imprinted in the memory are the inhabitants of Saint Martin, who organise their town festival in honor of the brevet and celebrate day and night for four days in order to meet every cyclist with live music by local performers. It’s impossible to forget Monsieur Moric Philippe from MENEAC who treats every cyclist to a huge feast at his house and asks for only one thing in return – to send him a post card from his/her country. You can’t forget him, and many many others…

You can’t substitute all these people with the sights of any city, even if they were the 7 World Wonders. These Frenchmen are wonders and they are wonderful.  

The one and only time we realized that we had lost the route was when we cycled through a village and no-one applauded us. I was also impressed by the driving culture. Many cars and other vehicles were forced to drive for kilometres at the same speed as us, but drivers didn’t get agitated, didn’t beep their horns or rev their engines. They just kept driving safely until the right moment to overtake, even if they lost half an hour or more.

I’ve never felt like a hero but these people made me feel like one. I still don’t think that we did something extraordinary, but when we entered a small town with a control point, we were met by a crowd of thousands. People met us like we were coming back from a war. Everybody shouted and applauded the newcomers. Tour de France had finished a month ago and I could not believe that we were being met by the same reception. I couldn’t stop thinking that they had made a mistake.

It was difficult to cope with that catch in my throat. I didn’t know if it would be acceptable if I just stopped holding back my tears. I never succeeded to express my gratitude. And when I bowed down deeply before these people they burst into applause again and again. 

You can’t and you don’t want to forget experiences like these. They give you wings and make you fly higher and higher. You forget the 30 hours of riding without a break, the 5 hours of sleep during the following days and nights, the inconvenience and the pain. Because all of the misery melts in the people’s smiles and each kilometre brings you nearer to other waiting, smiling people.

Merci to all the Frenchmen. Merci to all the brevet participants. Merci to all the Bulgarian team. Merci to all the adventurers. And Merci to all of the people who supported me even when I was on so many bike rides last year, making this dream a reality.