Searching for silence: the peace of rural Royère-de-Vassivière
The crunch of fresh, untouched grass under my shoe with no visual image to accompany it startles me as I step out into the field from the twisted gravel path. The only form of light I have to guide me is that of the moon, glazing the ground with a thin sliver of milky white, and the house behind me, its cosy yellow glow growing perpetually fuzzier, dimmer and more distant as I take each step further away into nothingness.
With both bare feet, I enter an empty field at God-knows how many minutes past midnight on the sparse, green outskirts of the small, rural town of Royère-de-Vassivière, located in the middle of mid-southern France.
Some might prefer the term ‘middle of nowhere’.
I find myself here because my family purchased the house a few years back – sounds extravagant, but the house in question is not something of extravagance and comfort, but rather deserted and raw, having been abandoned and empty for over 40 years.
We first visited last year: the barren state of the place, paired with the feeling of complete solitude due to the nearest inhabited building being over 20 minutes away in a car, made for my first trip conjuring memories of not excitement, but fear and paranoia. Naturally, when this year came around, I was dreading the trip, and the further we drove away from Calais and towards the sensation of true isolation, the further my stomach dragged down through the ground.
However, some light renovation has since been completed on the house, reducing the haunted feeling, and giving it more of a rustic, simplistic atmosphere. Rural French architecture truly is gorgeous. Exposed stone walls, rust-coloured tiles, large window shutters: in the warm sunlight, it feels as if the complexities of the 21st century are simply the work of a lazy afternoon dream.
Something about this year’s trip feels subtly different. Perhaps it’s the fact that deep in the dusty corner of my mind, I know I’d survived the first trip; whatever it is, I find myself savouring the scenery far more than before. Being surrounded solely by luscious rolling hills which are illuminated softly by glowing summer sunlight and accentuated with shadows of leafy trees cast from the fluffy clouds above, this really is the experience of a lifetime; especially in this day and age.
With our only human company being tanned, self-contained farmers around 10 miles away who speak not a word of English, there are no pressures of making small talk; we keep ourselves to ourselves as they do, and a wave as greeting is more than sufficient.
With such advanced technological capabilities at our fingertips, the pressures of being connected all day everyday can become too much: the restricted mobile coverage and the sound of not planes and cars but gentle summer breeze through the verdant trees is enormously liberating.
As I tread lightly and carefully through the field towards nothing but darkness, the fresh dew, born just moments before and scarce in places, coats my feet gently and cools my nerves as they ebb away. I have no aim; I simply want to experience true solidarity, just for a moment.
I reach a point, no different from the rest, and feel an urge to stop.
As I lower myself down to the ground and the thousands of tiny bubbles of dew pop, I am blanketed in a light layer of moisture, and once the grass bends to accommodate my shape, all sound is eradicated. When I open my eyes, however, I am met with a sight I will never forget.
A strip of the Milky Way is fully visible, lit up across the sky like a bridge.
Every dot of a star is distinguishable, even in amongst each other, and not one patch of sky is empty. I’ve never seen the night sky in such tremendous detail before. I'd stay here forever if I could: at peace, in utter, blissful solitude, frozen in time.
Abs Epstein, Year 12
With both bare feet, I enter an empty field at God-knows how many minutes past midnight on the sparse, green outskirts of the small, rural town of Royère-de-Vassivière, located in the middle of mid-southern France.
Some might prefer the term ‘middle of nowhere’.
I find myself here because my family purchased the house a few years back – sounds extravagant, but the house in question is not something of extravagance and comfort, but rather deserted and raw, having been abandoned and empty for over 40 years.
We first visited last year: the barren state of the place, paired with the feeling of complete solitude due to the nearest inhabited building being over 20 minutes away in a car, made for my first trip conjuring memories of not excitement, but fear and paranoia. Naturally, when this year came around, I was dreading the trip, and the further we drove away from Calais and towards the sensation of true isolation, the further my stomach dragged down through the ground.
However, some light renovation has since been completed on the house, reducing the haunted feeling, and giving it more of a rustic, simplistic atmosphere. Rural French architecture truly is gorgeous. Exposed stone walls, rust-coloured tiles, large window shutters: in the warm sunlight, it feels as if the complexities of the 21st century are simply the work of a lazy afternoon dream.
Something about this year’s trip feels subtly different. Perhaps it’s the fact that deep in the dusty corner of my mind, I know I’d survived the first trip; whatever it is, I find myself savouring the scenery far more than before. Being surrounded solely by luscious rolling hills which are illuminated softly by glowing summer sunlight and accentuated with shadows of leafy trees cast from the fluffy clouds above, this really is the experience of a lifetime; especially in this day and age.
With our only human company being tanned, self-contained farmers around 10 miles away who speak not a word of English, there are no pressures of making small talk; we keep ourselves to ourselves as they do, and a wave as greeting is more than sufficient.
With such advanced technological capabilities at our fingertips, the pressures of being connected all day everyday can become too much: the restricted mobile coverage and the sound of not planes and cars but gentle summer breeze through the verdant trees is enormously liberating.
As I tread lightly and carefully through the field towards nothing but darkness, the fresh dew, born just moments before and scarce in places, coats my feet gently and cools my nerves as they ebb away. I have no aim; I simply want to experience true solidarity, just for a moment.
I reach a point, no different from the rest, and feel an urge to stop.
As I lower myself down to the ground and the thousands of tiny bubbles of dew pop, I am blanketed in a light layer of moisture, and once the grass bends to accommodate my shape, all sound is eradicated. When I open my eyes, however, I am met with a sight I will never forget.
A strip of the Milky Way is fully visible, lit up across the sky like a bridge.
Every dot of a star is distinguishable, even in amongst each other, and not one patch of sky is empty. I’ve never seen the night sky in such tremendous detail before. I'd stay here forever if I could: at peace, in utter, blissful solitude, frozen in time.
Abs Epstein, Year 12