Angers has always been a point of arrivai for me. Coming from Paris, it was the gateway to the holidays - holidays spent at my grandmother's house, on the banks of the Loire, just a few kilometres from here. On emerging from the train station, a soft light caresses the tufa stone and reflects back off the slate rooftops. The local stone is beautiful, and the slate that was used to build King René's castle gives its silhouette an unusual and stocky character as it rises above the waters of the River Maine, with the mighty Loire only a stone's throw away. What riches ! What history ! Angers is a city of film.... It is a city of shows.... But it is also a city of books: a place where countless authors and readers corne together to discuss Ronsard or Du Bellay, Balzac, Julien Gracq or Hervé Bazin..., attracted by the charm of the place and the fine foods and wines of Anjou, which are celebrations of the region and the beauty of 'la douce France. It is always with great pleasure that I make the trip to Angers: the pleasure of discovering the other side of myself, that side I so miss in Pans, each time reciting to myself these verses by Louis Aragon : 'I crossed the bridges of Cé It was there that it ail began'.
