Aller à la Selle ! ! ! The Bar That Time Forgot . . .

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In the small city of Morlaix in Brittany the other day I came across what may be the eighth wonder of the world. I had taken a little travelled passage and found myself in a part of that town previously unknown to me, despite many years of visits. The first sights that caught my eye there were two obviously closed and abandoned nightclubs whose glory days were long past, the club La Cabane, and La Bodega. Their signs were still out on display though.
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From the Bodega, I glanced down a street and was treated to a large old train station style clock, which had no hands. Was this the clock where time stands still ? The land that time forgot ? The place where it can be any time you wish it to be ?
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Walking closer I could read the sign on the wall near the timeless clock to decipher, "La Selle Pub, the Pub In the City". Now I really didn't give this more thought than simply reading and translating to "The Saddle Pub". In French "la selle" means a saddle for a horse, or the seat on a bicycle. A great name, a good place to sit in a saddle and take a ride having a cold drink on a hot summer day.
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There were several intriguing old signs on the exterior walls which captured my attention as I admired the decorative taste of the owner, such as this faded wood sign commemorating the first balloon crossing of the Grand Canyon. Hmm, I thought, rather a fine old sign. (Apparently it is unclear if this refers to the Grand Canyon in Arizona or some other place ... )
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La Selle Pub is on the corner of la rue Haute and la rue du Chateau in Morlaix, and thus has two entrance doors, both of which are thoroughly inviting as seen from the street.
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Upon entering La Selle, one is greeted by the easy going and friendly owner, Mr Alain Robin. I have never felt so immediately at ease when walking into a bar for the first time, but here it was quickly apparent that this was no ordinary pub, on the contrary, it quickly turned out to be an extraordinarily cozy and densely decorated place, a private museum of surprising proportions. I asked if I might be allowed to take a few photographs inside, Mr Robin responded without the slightest hesitation that I could take all the photographs I wished to, "tout ce que voulez". A most pleasant surprise to be offered a chance to photograph such an amazing place, and I hadn't even ordered a drink yet. My deepest thanks to Mr Robin for his considerable hospitality.
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Thus encouraged I slowly inspected the interior, climbing the stairs to the two rooms on the upper floor, before coming back down the spiral staircase to the the ground level. Everywhere you look there is a multitude of visually captivating objects : posters, photos, books, sculpture, mirrors, bumper stickers, news clippings, a piano, a model hot air balloon, model ships, paper currency from all over the world tacked up, signs, magazine covers (including the Paris Match cover from 1963 when Kennedy was assassinated); an unbelievable, mind bending, jaw dropping, gasp provoking collection ranging from the proverbial sublime to the ridiculous.

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There was even a real leather saddle propped up against a wall. The only thing missing was one of those bucking bronco machines that some bars in Texas are equipped with. But then this isn't Texas.
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The seating areas were warm and conducive to settling in for a deep pint of beer with good friends and good conversation, along with towels on the tables to mop up the spills.
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A skeleton with legs akimbo bears a sign announcing that he is doing a lot better since he stopped drinking Coreff (a brand of beer brewed in Brittany)..

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Hardly any surface from floor to ceiling, including the ceiling was left undecorated. This is the result of 36 years of collecting, as la Selle Pub opened in 1975, and Alain Robin has been running the bar since then, encouraging people to bring back souvenirs from their travels to contribute to the museum. An awesome tableau all around, nearly anywhere the camera was pointed an amazing array of material filled the view..

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It took me a little while, but it finally dawned on me that in French the word "la selle" has two meanings in fact. As mentionned above "la selle" means a riding saddle, but when used in the plural, "les selles" also means "human excrement" (a more medically proper term than the more frequently used though colloquial "Merde"). I should have caught on faster, as there were numerous decorative items which should have clued me in to the double entendre had I been thinking more rapidly that day, but it was the photo of Frank Zappa seated on a toilet that finally brought it home for me.
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There is an expression in French, though little used, which is : "aller à la selle", which means to go to the toilets to do sitting down type business. When I departed the pub after shooting an indecent number of photographs inside, I was presented with a certificate, a diploma of sorts, on which the phrase "Je vais à la Selle, c'est encore là qu'on est le mieux" figures prominently . . . "I go to la Selle, it is there where I am the best." So saddle up your horses, mules, donkeys, zebras, get on your bicycles, Lear Jets, sailing yachts, tractors, little red wagons, or whatever, but however you travel, do get yourself in motion soon and on your way to la Selle, as it is there that you can relieve yourself of all your worldly worries, and enjoy a timeless moment in the good company and care of Mr Alain Robin. And I hope to see you there soon, as I will also surely be going back to further dig and drink in that gold mine. It could be the best bar in the world, bar none.
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