Tour de France: City 3 of 6

Montpellier
Opening the doors to my room in Montpellier was seriously better than Christmas. The room was clean, bright and smelled like expensive soap and Saturday mornings! It was perfectly appointed and at 33 Euros a night, the greatest thing that could have ever happened to me at that moment.

Montpellier is this amazing, tropical, Paris of the south. Its not far from the Mediterranean sea (located in the Languedoc Rousillon region) and is filled with Palm trees, cream colored houses with blue shutters, stately architecture, and the oldest botanic gardens in all of France.

I saw an amazing art exhibit featuring the paintings of Emil Nolde at the Musée Fabre, had tea in an indoor-garden-courtyard-antique-velvet-upholstered-land of herbal wonder, saw a legit break dance battle in the park, ate light and fragrant cous-cous until the wee hours of the morning in a dark and moody cave-like restaurant, bought a blue v-neck sweater, read many a page in many a garden, and just sort of smiled and loved on Montpellier in general.

Tour de France: City 2 of 6

Saint-Emilion
I was up and out of the shit-sty in about 7 minutes, back pack packed, a little dirty (showering in the weird free standing tin-can style shower in the room would have meant becoming dirtier) and super excited to be on my way. I arrived in Saint Emilion just as the sun was rising (around 8am) and it was about a 20-minute walk from the train station up to the village. As I walked the sun was washing over the vineyards on the hills around me, gently awakening the vines from their slumber, and by the time I reached the village, with its cream colored houses and rust colored tile roof tops, I was greeted by an incredible view.


I found a killer bakery, got some pastries, and then went to the tourist office to rent a bike. I was in the mood to do some wine tasting (Saint Emilion is one of the great wine regions of France, chock full of vineyards and wineries) so I called a few Chateaux to arrange a degustation and hoped on my bike. Totally had one of those smiley, “hair blowing in the wind” bike ride moments (minus the hair and the blowing).

The Chateau was called Haute Lavallade and was fantastic. I had a private tasting with the vintner woman who was giving me all the facts, in French, in her sassy baby blue fleece, complete with wine stains and dirt cakes. I bought two bottles, popped them in my backpack and headed back to town to write post cards and read in the sun.

That night, back in Bordeaux (in my crack-den of a room), I drank my bottle of Saint Emilion grand cru while sitting on a folding chair watching the tiny TV suspended from the ceiling. I had some quality bread and cheese that I bought earlier and after drinking half the bottle, things weren’t so bad. Ok they were pretty bad so I decided to leave the room and I went to a bar, drank more, met a friendly Spaniard named Alberto, talked about beaches and zippers, and was rendered sufficiently indifferent (i.e. wasted) to spend a final yucky night in my scary room.

Tour de France: City 1 of 6

Bordeaux
The trip starts here. After a long walk through the not so attractive part of Bordeaux, I reached the lovely area around the Opera House where my hotel was located. My hotel however, was a shit box. It was located in a sort of “annex”, across the street from the actual hotel and it was a creepy, filthy room with 3 beds, the delicate fragrance of old beef and feces, and featured a make shift bathroom room “section” where the walls didn’t quite reach the ceiling. It also had that subtly elegant crack-house style lighting, the kind with the exposed single light bulb. Classy.


I decided that the best way to deal with the filthy room was, well, not to deal with it, so I spent the afternoon sitting in a GORGEOUS garden in front of this beautiful square, right on the banks of the Garonne river. There was a gurgling fountain, lots of sunshine, and lots of people smoking and getting drunk in public.


Later that evening I went to a romantic dinner by myself, also near a gurgling fountain, where I had foie gras, duck confit, and tried to get as drunk as possible so that I could get up the courage to face the creepy hotel room. I slept for about 3 hours, with my shorts and socks on (for protection), and tried to move as little as possible, hoping that the insects who lived inside the bed wouldn’t notice me.

Greves, Guerande, and Gremlins

Howdy. So you may not believe this (I sure know I don’t…) but the Grève may have come to an end. Well that’s silly, “The Grève”, the force that binds all French people together and gives them the false hope that collective bitching and moaning (as opposed to rational discussion and negotiation) will solve all of their problems, THAT will never end. I’m simply referring to the Grève at my University. BUT, before I make any promises, I will make the now unfamiliar journey to the academic classroom at the allocated time and see for myself if learning will indeed actually take place. Stay tuned.

Last weekend I went on a fun jaunt 1.5 hours east of Nantes to explore more of Brittany’s charm and spunk. The day trip was put on by a group geared towards international students called Autour du Monde and this particular excursion featured the Marais and Salt-flats of Brière, and the Medieval walled city of Guérande. The trip began in the Marais (not like the one in Paris with all the gay bars. Marais = Swamp) and it was beautiful, tranquil, and fresh (fresh=cold. I was actually freezing my balls off for the whole day, so you could say the weather was “fresh” for the entire visit). It was early morning so the geese were having their morning swim, the Ibis’ were stretching their ivory wings, and the wind was whistling its morning tune through the reeds. We explored the Marais via flat bottom boat, which was marvelous and our guide maneuvered the vessel using a big long stick. The whole thing was very Venetian (minus the singing and the spiffy outfit).

The Salt flats were very cool and we were able to see where ocean water from the Atlantic is dried during the summer, to yield the grey salt of Guérande. I learned that Fleur de Sel is extremely expensive when purchased in bulk and should only be used sparingly as a garnish when used for cooking. On the other hand the caramels that I found in the gift shop, made with salted butter, weren’t that expensive (I bought in bulk) and should NOT be used sparingly but in fact should be shoved into one’s mouth as frequently as possible.

The third stop of our tour was to the walled city of Guérande. I had visited this city before while on vacation with my family so it wasn’t an entirely new experience. I sort of wandered away from the tour guide whenever we got too close to retail stores (they had a lot of pretty biscuits and heat). Once the tour of the city ended, we all crowded into a charming creperie for cider and sweet crepes (I had one with salted-butter caramel… I wanted to keep theme going) and I met some fun German ladies. Good trip.

The next day, I was invited by the aforementioned Germans to watch a Parade that was going on in the centre-ville of Nantes. It was delightfully tacky and hand-made and featured more confetti than I’ve ever seen in my life. It was unreal. Listen up anyone who would like to make an easy buck: Sell confetti. They were charging 1 Euro for a bag of confetti, which was then feverishly sprinkled around the street (or down the back of a parent’s shirt in the case of the many confetti-wielding children who were seated on their parents’ shoulders for prime parade viewing vantage). Its pretty much like legal littering that one has to pay for (through the nose I might add) and then the CITY cleans up after you. Another PRIME example of the exemplary French social governance that I’ve come to know and love. Keep up the good work France. Still cleaning confetti out of my laundry. Thanks a lot.

For the video highlight of the week, check out this FANTASTIC Gremlins float. Why a float featuring a mildly successful, out-dated American horror film that few Americans saw or even remember? Why not? This is France. You don’t ask why. Asking “Why?” in France is sort of a backwards, un-fulfillable inquiry. Its like asking why apples are red or why kittens are fun. Just cause. That’s how the French Universe intended.

Breton Rennes

Last Saturday I took a fantastic day trip 2 hours north to visit the Breton capital city of Rennes. Rennes is known for its half-timbered Breton houses, excellent Creperies, young student population, and its connection to Breton history and culture.

I was jonesing to get away from Grève-land (Nantes) for a minute and feel the energy of a new city for a day. The train ride was pleasant, a little under 2 hours, and the scenery out the window was beautiful. Rennes is super walk-able and I was able to go straight from the train station to the center of town on foot, in only a couple of minutes.


On my way to find lunch I stopped off at an English bookstore in order to find some travel books in English (REALLY hard to find in France). I bought an English guidebook to Florence that was delightfully over-priced and then continued on.
I have been using the “Let’s Go! Guide to France” to maneuver around many of the cities I’ve been visiting and for the most part it has been full of great recommendations but in Rennes they sort of fell asleep at the wheel. None of the restaurants were marked correctly, one was closed, one was a big stone wall, and the one I was looking forward to the most, a creperie described as reminiscent of a seaside cottage turned out to be a kebab stand with an angry Lebanese dude reminiscent of someone who’d kick your ass. The very last recommendation I tried, Creperie des Portes Mordelaises, was down a tiny side street and was fabulous.


Tons of families enjoying their Galettes and Crepes and the food was awesome. Crepe eating in Brittany is much different than in Paris (and of course the states). Most people think of the sidewalk, street-food style crepe that’s usually served sort-of half assed with an old jar of Nutella and a smile, but in Brittany its so much more! One always orders 2 crepes, beginning with a savory crepe called a Galette, which usually has meat, egg, and cheese, followed by a sweet crepe that can be served with almond paste, ice cream, crème anglaise, or warm honey. The Galette is made with a sort of whole-wheat flour so it is a darker brown color and it is usually served open in the center so you can have a peek at what’s inside. The sweet crepes are a golden color, and are basically crispy butter-sponges with fun toppings. Oh, and the kicker is that you always drink alcoholic cider out of little bowls (not cups) while you enjoy your crepes.

Post-Crepe I strolled around little streets looking in shops and observing the architecture as I made my way towards the Jardin du Thabor. The Garden was absolutely fantastic! Beautiful and stately, full of blossoming trees, surrounded by old mansions, and filled with little treats like a parakeet aviary and a statue garden.


Post-Garden I found a great comic book store where I bought a Tin-Tin book for the train ride home. I had about an hour to kill before my train left so I went to the PACKED Place Ste-Anne, got a coffee and played my favorite outdoor café game: Hot Guy Ratio. Its best played with sunglasses to enable shameless staring. The rules are simple: Check out the first 10 guys under the age of 25 that walk past your table. Out of those 10, decide which ones you think are attractive. Then figure out the ratio. Very scientific and very definitive. From my careful study, I concluded that in Rennes, 8 out of 10 guys under the age of 25 are Bangin’. (Nantes is usually between 6 and 7 so Rennes is doing really well for itself.)

After my coffee I caught my train, got my Tin-Tin on, and then dozed as I watched the sun crawl below the horizon. Great day!
Grève-Watch: Still on Grève (strike) at the University, therefore still have yet to do any actual "study" while studying abroad. Enjoy this fun video of some Parakeets I found in the Jardin du Thabor.

Parisian Getaway

Paris is perfect place to go if you want to run away from your problems (and your budget). The monotony of the Grève was beginning to get to me and seeing as how I don’t really have much obligation to hang around Nantes (its not like I have classes or anything), I decided to run away to Paris for the weekend. I packed a bag, hopped a train, and got to my friend Nicole’s apartment in the 1st arrondissement in Paris just in time for a fabulous cocktail party. The crowd was delightfully international (as was the booze) and rife with scarves, ray-bans, cigarettes, champagne, bangs, and all other things French. I feel like some people showed up just to be photographed, have a glass, and then leave.


Once the liquor ran out, everyone stumbled to a nearby nightclub to finish off the evening (morning) and get down on the dance floor.


The next day we arose from our slumber at around noon and had a delightful lunch at a sidewalk café, which was followed by shopping in the Marais. Later in the evening I met my half-sister Penni, her husband and their two kids for dinner at a wonderful Moroccan restaurant called 404. It took us forever to find it (mostly because we were circling a 2 block radius for about 45 minutes) but the food was outstanding (beautifully spiced cous-cous, tagines, and oriental pastries) and the décor was super chic (think exposed wood beams, stone walls, illumination by candle, and lots of intricately woven, luxurious fabrics). After dinner I met up with Nicole at her friend’s apartment near the Champs-Élysées for some conspiracy-theory movie watching (Zeitgeist), herbal refreshment, and general confusion and fatigue.

Oh, side-bar: Nicole decided to dog sit that weekend as well, so we spent the majority of the time worrying about this terrible golden lab puppy (it was actually super cute but it shit and pissed everywhere but out of doors). I just swore a lot while Nicole giggled and the dog wet itself out of shame and confusion. We decided that we weren’t thrilled with its given name so we called it “Boyfriend” for the weekend. Seriously the worst boyfriend we’ve ever had.

The next morning, before catching my train back to Nantes, I stopped off in the Saint-Germain des Près neighborhood to buy literally the BEST Macarons in all of Paris, at Gerard Mulot on Rue Seine. The Caramel ones are the best and you have to buy the large ones to get the full experience. The ooze factor when biting into the Macaron is much more pronounced with the “Grand” because there is more buttery, salty, smooth and velvety caramel to massage and pleasure every taste bud. But be careful, the sensory experience can be a little intense so I recommend enjoying them while either seated or leaning against something firm and solid (like a man. Actually I recommend leaning against a man whenever possible. Especially in Paris.)
After nabbing me some Macarons, I watched a street performer working wonders with a glass ball outside of Eglise Saint-Sulpice. I captured the magic on video for you lovely people to enjoy.

Grève Watch: The Grève is still on at my university (I believe its going on 6 weeks…) and there is a National Grève for all of France this Thursday the 19th. It really couldn’t get any Grève-ier.

I'll have Saumur of that...

Black plastic bags. Mushrooms. Dank. Underground. Alcohol. Stoned. Foreign Currency.
Ok I know what you’re thinking and I’m not talking about buying drugs (although with the continuation of this strike, some drug use might be in order… kidding. Sort of.)



I’m actually referencing my rockin’ day trip to the medieval town of Saumur in the Loire Valley! I went with a student group from the University so transport, food, and companionship were all included.

Stop 1: Complete with a castle on a hill, winding cobblestone streets, vineyards, and subterranean stone tunnels that were once home to farmers and country-folk, Saumur is the perfect place to spend a sunny Saturday afternoon! The castle was super fantastic and totally Cinderella status (I’m sure she was inside chatting and picking out her clothes with birds and rodents). We picnicked on a grassy knoll overlooking the Loire river, the castle, and the town, and it was magical! I was tempted to put the moves on myself.


Stop 2 was to a vineyard where we ran around underground learning about how wine was made, how bubbles get inside sparkling wine, and why some people insist on only speaking English in foreign countries (oddly enough it was the Chinese contingent. The Chinese contingent also got lost in the town center (which is seriously 4 streets) too. Really good at the Olympics and making shoes, not so good at France.) Once we reemerged from the wine caves, there was a great wine tasting. I made friends with two German guys and then bought two bottles of wine (that’s where the aforementioned foreign currency came in) and carried them around in my backpack (felt just like highschool!).


Stop 3 was to more underground caves where different types of mushrooms were grown as well as snails. There is a lot of intricate soil mixing and mold observation that goes into the process of mushroom cultivation. Mushrooms are really smart too and can grow without sunlight and poke out of black plastic bags. Really bizarre but very cool. Another tasting followed (of mushrooms, no escargot) in a restaurant that was also underground and the whole thing was very hobbit/mole-people-esque. Gollum even joined in for a round.



Nantes check-in: Fuckers are still on strike. Had a meeting with my advisor here in France and we have crafted a contingency plan so I will indeed get credit thanks to some independent research projects. My advisor happens to be French Canadian so we bitched about how the French students here are overly idealistic sheep who don’t do work, don’t understand the academic system, and don’t understand that contrary to popular belief, this won’t be the French Revolution part deux. Sorry guys! Just because you spent all that time making signs, drawing those anarchy symbols in the bathroom, not showering, and making poor choices in footwear, doesn’t mean you’re revolutionary. It just means you’re loud and that you look like an unmade bed. Whatever, I’m still keeping it fresh (and French). Until next time…