Posts Tagged ‘Bordeaux’
• England
Yes, Bordeaux. Because instead of jetting off for a weekend in Ibiza or Malta, as some partying youngsters are wont to do, my friends and I decided to head to Bordeaux for a weekend of culture. Also, it actually was the cheapest flight we could find.
Our journey began Saturday morning at 4 am when a taxi picked us up to take us to the airport (sounds luxurious, but also was the cheapest mode of transport we could find). Actually, I should back up and point out that we had all been at a “Bop,” a costume party, to celebrate the end of our first set of exams, until 1 am. The bop was great! But we therefore had very little sleep. So the taxi ride and subsequent airplane ride is all a bit of a blur. Luckily we landed rejuvenated in Bordeaux, where we all noticed immediately that it was warm and sunny. We knew this going in but, much like how in May in Chicago you know that a warm summer is out there somewhere but can’t quite remember what it feels like, we have been deadened by an English summer in which it is 60 degrees and cloudy every day.
One of our friends rented a car, which I will admit to having been skeptical about at first. I am a person who firmly believes in public transit. Plus, said friend had only just learned how to drive manual and I (who took her drivers test in a manual car) was not about to toodle around France in a rental car under someone else’s name. But said friend turned out to be an excellent driver, and being able to drive was a highlight of our trip.
From the airport we went immediately to Saint Emilion, a town in the middle of a wine-making region whose first vines were planted by Romans. We had a brief highway detour as we tried to figure out the French highway system and got our window washed against our will by a woman who laughed at our inability to make her go away but then cursed us when the only coins we had were English currency. Apologies, lady. Eventually we realized that the best way to get anywhere was just to follow the signs to certain places, as opposed to looking for certain exit numbers or road names, which sometimes changed spontaneously or were just absent.
We made in to Saint Emilion in time to have a tour of the Chateau Beau-Sejour Becot winery. I’m not very interested in wine but I appreciated how it has been made in this region for basically two thousand years. This particular vineyard sits on top of a series of limestone caves made in previous centuries by people quarrying for stone for the town. Now they use to caves to age the wine. Our guide was very nonchalant about some bones lying around that had been disinterred from the cemetery above by the digging. He also seemed to think we were not above the legal drinking age but let us to the tasting anyways as a favor, which was strange because I can’t imagine someone under age deciding to go to a vineyard in order to get their under age drinking kicks on. Also, you don’t always drink during a wine tasting, you politely spit what you taste out in a large spittoon. Also times 2, I don’t think we look that young. But also there was somewhat of a language barrier so he might have been trying to joke.
We went back to the town itself and walked around all afternoon. The town is on a hill and full of amazingly steep and winding roads with incredible vistas. At one point we thought our driving joy was going to come to an end as we almost got stuck in a very narrow space between two stone walls, but we managed to eke our way through unscathed and park so that we could go explore. We took a tour of the largest monolithic church in Europe. Incredibly, it is all carved out of the limestone that forms the basis of the land in Bordeaux. Inside it looks like a mix between Tatooine and the Mines of Moria. After stopping for the best sorbet (blueberry flavor) I have had in my life we headed to the city itself to find our hotel.
We headed out on foot to find dinner and see the city by night. After unwittingly walking down a street populated by people of questionable morals we found the main shopping street, a strait pedestrian zone that goes on for blocks and blocks. We had a delicious meal and then walked towards the river, stepping out into a little square with a fountain. All along the river the buildings were illuminated, as were the bridges across the river. Everything glowed and people were out everywhere enjoying the night.
The next morning we walked to a nearby market to get breakfast and lunch for later in the day. I wanted to get a bunch of grapes but ended up getting a whole kilo of them. It was a lot of grapes, but we managed to eat them all. They were almost black in color and incredibly tasty. We set off in the direction of the beach, about an hour’s drive outside the city, but were confronted with an embouteillage, a traffic jam. Apparently everyone else wanted to go to the beach too. So we went off the main highway and wound our way to the coast.
We passed from lush, green vineyards to huge fields of corn and flowers to sandy soil and groups of skinny, towering pine trees. The coastal region looked a lot like coastal North Carolina or other parts of the East Coast. We headed for the Dune of Pyla, the tallest sand dune in Europe, which lives up to its reputation. It is gigantic, looming into your vision as you wind around the highways as you approach it. Eventually we got beyond it, parked, and walked down to beach called Le Petit Nice. Like everything in our trip it was breathtaking. There were lots of boats just off the shore and people swimming. The water was brisk but inviting. We had a swim, had lunch, and I promptly fell asleep (without reapplying sunscreen) and toasted to the color of a lobster. Obviously in years of going to the beach I have not yet learned my lesson. We left the beach after a few hours with some reluctance to go back to the city.
Back in Bordeaux we explored some more, walking around the Monument aux Girondins, the public gardens and a huge church. Sadly, I had to be back at the airport at 8 for my flight home (everyone else stayed on another night because they didn’t have 9 am class the next day like I did). After going to the wrong terminal I found my way to my plane and landed at about 10:30 in London. However, after trudging through passport control it was late enough that I had missed the last train to London that would allow me to catch the last train to Cambridge. I had 20 panicked minutes to buy a ticket for and find the last coach to Cambridge, which turned out to be an overnight bus to Norwich that stopped at three of the London airports and Cambridge on the way. When I stepped off the bus in Cambridge at 3:30 am I realized that it had been almost 48 hours exactly since I had started my trip.
I left Paris last weekend for a quick trip to Bordeaux to visit my cousin, who studies at the Sciences Po Bordeaux.
I’ve been told that the city of Paris barely represents France or the French people; it’s too crowded, too vast and too culturally wrapped up in itself that it can hardly embody the other regions of the country. Until I took the three-hour train ride out of Paris’s Montparnasse station and reached Bordeaux, I didn’t know exactly what this meant or truly believed it.
Bordeaux, located in the southwest region of Aquitaine, is the sixth-largest city in France. It’s famous for its wine, but it also evokes a quirky, quite un-Parisian feel. While there, I came across a traveling carnival and encountered a strangely-outfitted band playing in a square in front of the Grand Theatre. Of course, Paris is full of accordion players and artists performing in the streets or on the metro, but in Bordeaux, I watched passersby listen and converse with the musicians, a complete opposite of the incessantly-moving, fast-paced feel of Paris.
My cousin tells me that Bordeaux is a city where you’re bound to run into an acquaintance anywhere you go, and that, he says, is the real France. I was skeptical at first, but then, after seeing that the city is connected by only three tramway lines and finishing sightseeing in less than four hours, I realized that Bordeaux is indeed quite small. Plus, it’s surrounded by plenty of rural areas that heavily contrast the urban atmosphere I’ve been immersed in for weeks.
Speaking of sightseeing, my cousin led me to the most popular parts of Bordeaux, from the St. Andre Cathedral, where Eleanor of Aquitaine was married, to the Place de la Bourse, which faces the Garonne River. Bordeaux is old; it avoided destruction from many wars and thus, many 18th century buildings remain and are restored from time to time. Yet, even though it’s a popular destination for wine connoisseurs and history buffs, it retains its small-city charm. At least, for me, it was a nice getaway from the hectic schedule I’ve been keeping in Paris. The French like to joke that their country is made up of two things: Paris, and everywhere else (otherwise known as Provence). It’s an exaggeration, but from what I saw last weekend, I think it’s an apt saying.
This SlideShowPro photo gallery requires the Flash Player plugin and a web browser with JavaScript enabled.
I don’t have a ton to say about Bordeaux, so I figured I’d let this slideshow do most of the talking. The city itself has the same white stone buildings, narrow streets with tiny cars, cobblestone walkways and roundabouts that seem to compose most French cities. It’s cluttered with cathedrals and monuments and is cut in half by a river, from which can be seen a line of old buildings broken up by the dark, ornate steeple tips and a couple of long bridges.
I spent two days in the city, one by myself and another with a friend, wandering the streets, popping in and out of churches and snapping pictures of statues. As a poor college student, I couldn’t exactly afford the nice wine and gourmet meals that are the city’s primary draws, so there wasn’t much to do except seek out free museums and just walk around. The Garonne River and the historic-looking architecture provided some very picturesque views, and leisurely exploring the very French-looking streets was really relaxing, but in the end I’m glad I only had two days there.
Possibly the coolest part of the Bordeaux section of my trip was the train ride out, not because I was dying to leave but because of the vineyards and forest groves and small houses that I could see from my window. I couldn’t help but stare at the views and contemplate how such a humble-looking region could produce some of the best and most expensive wines in the world. As the train continued south, the hilly countryside gradually swelled into the Pyrenees Mountains, which line the Franco-Spanish border, and I suddenly found myself in Spain, where the next and more exciting segment of my trip began.
Great article!
