Around the World: Bordeaux

March 5, 1992

The train is about to arrive in Bordeaux.  I hope it's a little bit warmer here than it was in England.

After storing my knapsack in a locker at the train station, I pick up a map from the elusive tourist information counter.  Just outside the station is a little bakery where I buy a lemon tart and some juice.  I look over the map while I munch on my tart and think it would be fun to see if I can find my way around Bordeaux on only my french, or at least my version of it.  Tossing the map in a trash can as I walk away from the train station, I have the presence of mind to look for a sign that tells me what the word for station is, so I can find it again.

Gare.

I'm running low on francs so I begin my exploration of the city searching for a bank.  Along the way, I stop outside a boulanger that has set up a grill to prepare crepes.  Ham and cheese for me.  Delicious.

Bordeaux is full of cheese. Everywhere I look, cheese is everywhere, including my face from the crepe I devoured earlier.  I find myself in a large courtyard of shops and cafes where an artist is drawing 3-D pictures on the cobblestone path.

Photo courtesy of Clean Cut Media

My wanderings lead me to an open air market of clothes, food and trinkets.  Of course, several booths have a variety of cheese for sale.

By early afternoon, I'm less apprehensive about approaching strangers with inquiries in french.  I have picked up some new phrases and find people are quite patient with my attempts.  A young father watching his children play in a small park deflates my confidence when he responds to my request for directions with, "It's okay, I speak English."

So do I, pal, but that's not the point.  My french must be terrible.

Now that I am pleasantly lost, I have no choice but to ask for directions back to the station to catch the overnight train to Madrid.  I have wandered into an area that looks like it's either being demolished or stands as a reminder of damage from WWII.  I find a small group of older men, grandfatherly types, possibly in their late 60's to early 70's playing checkers in the remains of a large building.

"Excusez-moi," I shout from the pathway just beyond the rubble, "Ou est la gare?"  Well, at least that's what I thought I asked them.

The men burst into laughter.  One of them guffaws and I only catch part of what he says, something about being 40 years to late.  I don't understand what is so funny, and between giggles, they provide simple directions that lead me to the train station.  Whatever the joke was, my french must be getting better if both sides understood enough to send me to where I wanted to get to.

Photo courtesy Wikipedia Creative Commons

I have reserved a berth for the trip.  The bench converts into individual sleeping spaces for three people on each wall of the small compartment.  Four guys have each claimed the middle and lower berths.  

• ¤ •

It's a strange world of language in which skating on thin ice can get you into hot water.
~Franklin P. Jones

Something I learned years after my trip:
Gare - pronounced as an English word, rhymes with care, share, there, etc..  In French, the "e" at the end of the word has no effect the preceding vowel, and would be pronounced more properly as "gar", (rhymes with car). As I pronounced it, the men heard me ask them, "Ou est la guerre?" which, when translated means, "Where is the war?"

Around the World: Paris

March 4, 1992

Last night, Pauline and Ben sent me off with a reassurance to contact them if I need anything on my journey through Europe.  They dropped me off at the bus that brought me to Poole, where I caught the ferry to France.  I found a spot on the floor of the lounge and managed to nap a little until the ferry arrived in St. Malo, France at 8:30 this morning.

The train station is a short walk from the ferry dock, where I activated my Eurail Pass for the first of many trips by train, the first stop being Paris.  When I arrive, I convert some traveler's cheques into francs at a Bureau de Change, pick up a map of Paris and a brochure on accommodation before leaving the station.

Hotels in Paris are not cheap.  I decide to store my knapsack in a locker at the train station and spend the day exploring the City of Lights.  The very first place I want to visit is a little bistro across the street that serves coffee.

I ask for "café" and the lady behind the counter reaches for an espresso cup.  "Plus grande, s'il vous plait," I say, only having managed a couple of naps on the ferry to carry me through the day.  She shows me a larger cup, the biggest available, to which I approve.  Coffee is expensive, about $5 for the cup I've been given, but I need a boost of caffeine to rid my head of groggy cobwebs.  The first sip of very strong coffee jolts me awake.   I can only manage to drink about two thirds of the cup, by which point, I have forgotten that I was ever tired.

Powered by the brain zinging boost of caffeine, I walk, guided by my map, to The Louvre.  It is a daunting, but incredible museum.  After viewing numerous huge pieces of art, I stumble upon one of the museum's most famous paintings, the Mona Lisa.  It's not at all what I was expecting.  I somehow thought the painting would be much larger.  It is guarded by security and can only be admired from behind ropes to keep the viewing public well out of reach.

In another wing of the Louvre is the Venus di Milo.  A plaque beside the statue explains that the statue originally included arms, which have long since been lost.  There remains much controversy as to how the arms were positioned.  The Louvre would take days to see everything on display.  I, unfortunately have only a few hours.

I'll never think of a bakery quite the same again.

From the Louvre, I walk to Notre Dame, stopping along the way at a boulanger for a baguette and the shop next door for some cheese and juice.  The crowds around Notre Dame make it impossible to get inside so I find a place to sit along the wall of gardens that surround the courtyard.  While I enjoy the freshly baked bread and the sharp, tangy cheese, the air is garnished with the effervescent Parisian melodies of musicians playing a saxophone and a guitar. 

Even a day trip to Paris wouldn't be complete without a visit to the Eiffel Tower.  It's quite a hike from Notre Dame so I find a nearby Metro station.  The Paris subway system is a veritable maze that requires the assistance of a helpful commuter to help me purchase my ticket and direct me to the correct platform. 

The cost to ride the elevator from the ground is 51 francs (about $10).  The other option is to climb the stairs to the second tier where the fee to ride the elevator to the top drops to 17 francs ($3.50).  My desire to carefully stick to a budget of $20 a day inspires an unplanned cardio workout.  The view from the top offers a spectacular view of the city and the Seine as it meanders along under the bridges of Paris.

Paris at dusk.
Photo courtesy itsallmaya

With a little time left to waste, I walk back to the train station, savouring the early evening sights and sounds of bustling nightlife.  I find myself expecting to be stared at or to find a wayward cow strolling at will down a crowded avenue.  I am delighted that neither occurs.  I stop the occasional pedestrian to ask directions to the train station in French and pleased to learn I understand most of the directions.  The dreamland French lessons of Egypt appear to be paying off.

The TGV, France's high speed train, makes the trip to Bordeaux in three and a half hours.  I opt for the less speedy route that makes more stops and adds significantly to the travel time.  The train is also my bed for the night and I would like more than a short nap before waking up in a new city tomorrow morning.

Au revoir, Paris.

• ¤ •

“A final reminder. Whenever you are in Paris at twilight in the early summer, return to the Seine and watch the evening sky close slowly on a last strand of daylight fading quietly, like a sigh.” 

~Kate Simon

Around the World: Much Needed Monotony

March 2, 1992

While I sit here on the empty beach, with the surf and the birds as my orchestra, I am struck by the fortune of fate.  On a beach located on the opposite side of the planet, a chance meeting introduced me to the people who are providing the most gracious, gentle, and recuperative hospitality I have ever known.  Combined with a few medicinal pints, the trials of recent weeks are melting away and I am regaining my strength to explore a new continent.

These past few days, I have been acclimatising to Western life.  I have learned that laundry doesn't take all day, scrubbing out each item of clothing in the shower with a bar of soap.  I just dump the contents of my knapsack into the washer, add some soap, shut the lid, turn a dial and walk away.  What a marvel of ingenuity, this invention of modern convenience!! When the washer stops in half an hour, I just have to move it next door to the dryer and push another button.  An hour later, I have clean, fresh smelling clothes.  Pauline laughs at my compulsion to hug my laundry as it exits the dryer, but I can't help myself. The thought of having a knapsack full of clean clothes makes me happier than a kid with a new toy.

The first few shop keepers I met all gave me odd, concerned looks.  In one store, I took a silver pendant to the cashier, who rang up the price on the register.  When she held out her hand to accept my money, I made an offer for half the amount she asked for.  Confused, she called over her manager.  I made the manager the same offer.  He shot me a peculiar look and sternly demanded the full price.  What a strange store this is, I thought, to be so firm on their prices.  I left the pendant and walked out of the store.  How do these shops expect to sell anything when they won't barter?  It takes another two shops to realize, this is England.  They don't do the bartering thing here.  Oops.

I can drink water straight from the tap.  That's a thrill all unto itself.

I mostly enjoy the solitude of having endless miles of beach to myself.  The chilly, spring breeze, the sound of the surf and the solitude is comforting.  There are several trails that lead away from the beach to different parts of town.  The one I explored yesterday took me to the shopping district.  Today's choice brought me near the central area of town and across the street from the "Voted World's Best" fish and chip shop.  In England, of all places.  Yes, I'll definitely want some of that.  Still licking the malt vinegar off my fingers, I have already decided what I'm having for lunch tomorrow.

I offered to make dinner last night and although I had to get creative with a few ingredients, I was happy with the tuna casserole that emerged from my efforts.  Pauline had never had it before.  I know Ben liked it because he ate the leftovers this morning for breakfast. 

My days here have been pleasant and therapeutically monotonous.  Tomorrow night, I'll be on the ferry from Poole to St. Malo, France, to start exploring Europe.  Today, I am quite happy to sit right here, on this empty beach.  In fact, serve me up a second helping;  I may never feel this content with boredom again.

• ¤ •

"What do I think of Western civilization?  I think it would be a very good idea."

~Mahatma Ghandi