The Dentelle de Calais-Caudry label. Lace made in France. Leavers looms. Lace produced at about 2 meters (roughly 2 yards) an hour. What did all of this mean? Why were these phrases so special? On a chilly November day, I was on a mission to find out.
Part of the experience of visiting these sites of expertise is the journey. This trip to Caudry was no exception.
The plan was to visit both Caudry and Calais in one go. To maximize the day — very New York of me. France had other plans for me that day, and it was a lesson to slow down, savor the moment and not rush.
From the Caudry train station, the walk to the Musée des Dentelles et Broderies de Caudry (Museum of Lace and Embroidery) opened my eyes to how ingrained lace was in this town. Lace ran through its veins. Nearly every house had lace curtains, and there were nods to lace at almost every glance.
The museum is housed in a restored lace factory. It looked modest from the outside, but there was far more inside than its first impression suggested.
I was guided into a room where a film on lace had just begun. It brought to life not only the lace, but the community, and all that I had seen on my walk to the museum.
From there, our group headed to the demonstration. It was larger than I expected, and mostly French, it seemed. The visit itself was in French.
A gentleman, a tulliste, stepped onto the platform, well above where we stood, in ideal alignment to operate the machine. Ahead of him stood a 6-meter-long (nearly 20-foot) Leavers loom of cast iron, weighing more than 10 tons. As soon as he turned it on, it began to whirl. It was electric.
It was hard to fathom that something so delicate could come from a machine so heavy, so loud, so masculine. Without my realizing it, that moment planted the seed of a juxtaposition I appreciate so much.
After the demonstration, I kept exploring the museum, reading and rereading each display. Only then did I realize how quickly time had passed, and that I needed to leave. But I couldn’t. I needed to learn more. The museum’s expertise in lace was at every turn.
It was hard to fathom that something so delicate could come from a machine so heavy, so loud, so masculine.
Ultimately, I would not make it to Calais that day. My train was held on the track for far too long, for a time without electricity, as the cold settled in. Eventually it was canceled. Another train would have left me little time in Calais. It would be saved for another day. Still, the day showed me northern France as it really is, and that, too, is part of the journey.
— Aimée