Tour de France: City 6 of 6

Strasbourg
When I arrived in Strasbourg the sentiment was bittersweet. I was super stoked to prowl around and discover a new city but I was also a little sad because it was the last stop on my French (and Swiss) journey. But I made it count. Strasbourg was AWESOME! Its got a great German fairytale feel to it, with tons of colorful little houses, each boasting flower boxes and timbered façades, lining tranquil canals and city squares.

There is an immense Cathedral in the center of town with ornate detailing that gives Notre-Dame de Paris a run for her money (bitch better watch out) and to top it off, there is this crazy cool astronomical clock inside. Every day, at 12:30pm, 12 disciples, 2 cherubs, 1 Jesus, 1 rooster, and 1 skeleton with a stick, pop out of little holes in the clock and move around!

I spent hours strolling through the charming cobblestone streets and along the tree lined canals. I even walked to Germany! It took about 3 hours (turns out the border isn’t as close as I thought) but I walked across the bridge that traverses the Rhine River, connecting Strasbourg to Kehl, and took my first steps on German soil.

My hostel was absolutely phenomenal and I roomed with a Quebecois dude, a Japanese dude, and a dude who was always asleep when I came back to the room (I call him Sleeping dude). Very clean, fun bunk beds, a big shower, and maid service! On my last evening I decided to go to a traditional Alsatian Winstub (pronounced like “vin-shtoob”) for a hearty and relaxing meal. I marched in the rain towards a tiny restaurant (only about 7 tables) called Coin aux Pucelles and sat next to an Alsatian guy and his Japanese girlfriend who warmly welcomed me as a third member of their party. It turned out to be one of the greatest experiences I’ve ever had. The Alsatian (Antoine) told me what was good on the menu, helped me cut and consume my bone marrow, and was constantly offering me tastes of his own meal, everything from his Alsatian beer, to his crème brulée. The three of us chatted long into the night about Obama, Alsatian history, the great international airport terminals of Europe, and the prospect of playing wind instruments on desert islands. I ate a wonderful terrine of some kind of fatty bird liver (listen, when it comes down to it, a lot of birds have super tasty livers) served along side crisp white and violet cabbage in a light vinegar dressing, followed by a juicy, tender entrecôte of beef served with golden, buttery-crisp Alsatian potatoes. For dessert I had a chilled chocolate mousse laced with surprise ribbons of smooth caramel, topped with hazelnuts and fresh sweetened whipped cream. I really wanted to make sure that all of the leading contributors to cardiac arrest were adequately represented. The next and final morning of my journey, I had my coffee and read my Le Monde at a charming outdoor café with a view of the lovely pastel houses and the tranquil waters of the canal below.

The train ride home was a breeze and now I’m adjusting back to life in Nantes. With one minor alteration: No Grève. A report of the elusive and undiscovered academic side of my “study” abroad experience is soon to come…

Tour de France: City 5 of 6

Geneva
Geneva is exactly what you want Switzerland to be. It delivers. There is a gorgeous lake that extends as far as they eye can see, towering snow capped mountains, laughing cows that snacking away on the hill side, beautiful flower beds lining country roads, and sporty, Germanic looking Swiss people that speak French, love their brightly colored independent currency, and smoke more cigarettes per minute than all of France combined. No joke. Its sort of like taking a trip to the American 70’s where you can smoke literally everywhere. Restaurants don’t even bother with that whole “smoking section” nonsense you just smoke where, when, and how you want. I’m sure its all part of the Swiss neutrality thing. Tell people not to smoke? “Oh no!” say the Swiss… “Sorry, but we don’t take sides.”

So despite the 2nd, 3rd, and 4th hand smoke, I stayed with a great family friend, Chloé, and we had a blast! I went to a great karaoke beer-fest reminiscent of a barn party (They had this great wooden, tray-like device that had holes for about 20 beer cups. Buying a round is serious business. The Swiss aren’t fucking around.), thermal baths that were located in a niche between two mountains (So relaxing. Falling asleep in the tub has never been more fun!), strolls along the lake with ice cream cones, and leisurely visits with Chloé’s family on her mother’s terrace, which has one of the worlds greatest views. When my mother was young, she lived with Chloés grandparents, so there was lots of catching up, discussion of family news, and overall good familial vibes.

Chloé introduced me to all of her fantastic friends and we had a great time driving through the countryside, drinking loads of beer, eating tuna pasta, and singing along to the soundtrack of Mamma Mia.

Tour de France: City 4 of 6

Aix-en-Provence
When I got to Aix it was a little sprinkly (it was actually raining for most of my journey but it didn’t bother me too much) so I decided that if I was going to be forced to be inside then I would need a good book. I found an English bookstore and bought the book “A Year in Provence” by Peter Mayle, (I know, I know, it’s a very stay-at-home mom leisure reading while waiting for your child at the orthodontist’s office type book, but you can suck it cause I loved every second of it...) and it was perfect!

While I was drinking beers under heat lamps at cafes along the beautiful but rainy Cours Mirabeau (Aix’s main drag), I was reading about beautiful Provençal landscapes drenched in sunlight, relaxation, and pastis. I read the entire book in the 48 hours I was there and it made up for anything I might have missed due to the inclimate weather! Despite the drizzle, I made it to the house in which Paul Cezanne grew up and painted (Jas de Bouffon) and also to his Atelier, where he painted still lifes and gardens until his death.

There was a gay film festival going on too, so I went to a gay Italian with French subtitles film and it was wonderfully confusing in every way! On my last night, I went to this charming restaurant in a little alley that I had scoped out earlier in the day and had one of the most phenomenal meals of my life. The restaurant was warm and filled with sunflowers, terra cotta tiles, bunches of lavender, candlelight and in the rear there was a huge open fire pit that sent smells of Provençal herbs wafting throughout the room. I had a beautiful terrine of duck liver spread on fresh crusty bread followed by Beef that was deliciously caramelized in a delicately herbed red wine reduction sauce that was so tender and juicy the knife went unused and completely ignored. For desert I had a nougat glacée (like nougat ice cream) with hazel nuts, bits of candied citrus, and drizzled with buttery caramel. The balding gay waiter apparently liked my style and with a wink and a mild, Provençal version of the “bend and snap” gave me a lemon-flavored digestif on the house. It was incredible and was like drinking sunshine with a bit of a kick.

The next day it was still raining so I spent the morning in a beautiful old café where Paul Cezanne used to hang and finished my book.

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.