So...we arrived in Bordeaux Wednesday, October 21 at about 2:30 pm. We made our way to the baggage carousel and found mounted on each carousel an enormous (like maybe 8-foot) bottle of wine. Wine is King here (or Queen) and references to it are everywhere. Outside the window was a short man carrying a sign bearing our name. There was our host, Jean-Marie Fourcheraud waiting to meet us and bring us to where we would be staying. He and Bob have bonded like brothers and even in French, I find myself listening to them talking about cars half the time and war the other half, as Antoinette and I roll our eyes.
We love our hosts. This man is about as tall as me and always smiling. He wears an ascot no matter what kind of shirt he is wearing. He is retired after working for the city in some sort of historic preservation function and is abut 60 years old. His wife, Antoinette, still works and is about the same age. They live in a very modest apartment about a 15-minute walk from the center city and one block from the tram, which itself is incredible. New, clean, fast, quiet, beautifully designed and it seems to go everywhere at a reasonable price.
The Fourcherauds appear to love having foreigners around. About four years ago they saw an ad at Alliance Francaise for host families and signed on and have since become sort of poster-hosts for the AF. They have one married daughter with a charming two year old daughter and another daughter in her late 20s who still lives with them. The apartment is on two floors. We walk up one flight to our floor, which has a small anteroom opening onto a long hall serving four guest bedrooms. Ours is small, maybe the size of an average bedroom like the ones our kids grew up in. It has a very small closet, a bureau with little usable space, a small, student-size desk, one of those college student Asian-style chairs, (round bamboo frame and round saucer-like pillow). Not much for doing anything on and hard to get in and out of. And the bed...it’s called a double, but only for elves. But its only for three weeks and we are being very creative in where we hang things and put them away.
At first there were two other boarders. One was a 60-year-old retired lawyer from Colombia who just wanted to come to France to learn French. His name is Jorge Garcia and he seemed quite agreeable when we had dinner with him and our hosts the first night, but he left the next day. The second boarder is a young Italian architect working in Bordeaux until December. We all share one bathroom but now it is now only us and Gianvito, who isn’t even here very much since he has a girlfriend. Anyway, he gets up early for work so it has not been any problem. At the end of the hall is a small room with a little table for breakfast, a refrigerator, a toaster, a coffee maker and four chairs. The first two nights in our bed were terrible because not only was it small but also it sagged horribly so neither of us slept much, but especially me because my back was acting up and I kept rolling over and then into Bob. This made for not much sleep at all. The problem has been solved, but more about that later.
The first day, after Jean-Marie took us home to drop off our luggage, he offered to take us on a little tour of the town. We had had little sleep on the plane but off we went. We took the tram to the center and he took us around. It is a lovely city, situated on the Gironde River, one side of which is lined with the present or former homes of rich wine merchants and also warehouses. The buildings in Bordeaux cannot be more than four stories high which makes for beautiful views. They were all built in the late 17th century out of sand-colored stone.
Along the river, there is a flat esplanade with water spouting out of it; when the water is off, it surface looks like a mirror reflecting the buildings. The shops are wonderful, filled with things particularly French. Chocolatiers make wine-bottle shaped boxes out of chocolate which are filled with candy and, near the opera, life-size chocolate violins. One shop sold ONLY macaroons in fantastic fluorescent colors that went with their particular flavors--bright purple for lavender, lime green for pistachio, fuschia for I forgot what, bright blue, and dozens of others, including jasmine, cassis, etc. They also make cotton candy in the same colors and flavors (and in chewing gum flavor for the kids.)
The women's boutiques carry unique, Mooncake kinds of styles that I just love, but I am not shopping, only looking. There was one hardware store with ancient hardware that looked like some count in distress must have sold it from his chateau. Anyway, this first walk (much of the area is pedestrianized) gave us a taste of the city after which we returned for dinner.
Jorge was there to join us for an aperitif called Pineau de Charente, which is a sort of fortified wine consisting of cognac and grape juice. Jean Marie is from the Charente where this is made, so it is present at every meal. Antoinette is a very good cook. We find we are eating a bit less since we are not cooking and therefore don't have the huge portions we had at home. I hope this keeps up.
We slept 14 hours and didn't get up the next day until two in the afternoon. I guess we are getting old because jet lag never stopped us before. But the best thing so far is that I am so much calmer than I have ever been on our trips before because I know that if we don't do something today, there is always TOMORROW. I cannot describe what a difference that feeling makes for me. It makes me more patient. I don't even mind that Bob needs to stop to admire and look in the window of every French car he sees and I don't care what time it is anymore. We didn't leave the room that day until five, when we took a walk to check out the route to the Alliance Francaise from our house. It seems to be about 15 minutes. The walk takes us thru the nearby Public Garden, past a flock of geese and ducks, and by a small bridge over a little lagoon.
We went to the Tourist Bureau and arranged for a tour of the St. Emilion vineyards and the neighboring town on Sunday. After that, we went across the street to the Maison du Vin, an elegant small office-building that has been converted into a wine school and beautiful modern restaurant that feels like the Upper East Side of Manhattan, and where you can taste the best wines of the region by the glass for very reasonable prices while you watch a lush video about the wine area and read maps and brochures about some of the world's greatest wines--Pomerol, Margaux, Pauillac, St. Emilion, Mouton Rothschild, etc. That evening, our hosts' daughter, husband and two-year-old girl, and Antoinette's sister joined us for paella. All the conversation is in French. No one speaks English. I am surprised at how much I understand and how willing I am to try to speak French. I thought I would be embarrassed but I am not. I would say I understand about half but I have much to learn and I am anxious to start school on Monday.
After another sleepless night, we awoke at 11:30. We never do this. We left about 2:30 and stopped at a boulangerie for two way-too-large and way-too-rich pieces of quiche which we ate sitting on a bench in the park across the street, in the warm drizzle that was Friday's weather. We barely noticed. Then we stopped in a tiny epicerie to admire the perfect, and perfectly trimmed and displayed fruits and veggies. We had a lovely conversation with the proprietress who explained that the neighbors love to come there because of the "personal attention" and the quality of the produce. We saw a lady buy ONE shallot which was sold to her with a smile. How they make a living I don't know.
The owner seemed to enjoy talking to us and was quite open and friendly, as have been all the people we have met so far. People have stopped us in the street when we look lost. I think all this stuff about how cold the French are is an urban (Parisian) legend. I found my eyes tearing up again as I enjoyed the conversation (and even understood much of it) and admired the gorgeous leeks, tomatoes and fennel, few though they were, that looked like Dutch paintings. Tearing up because again, I just couldn't believe we were actually here, actually living here and having so much fun. Then we saw a Club de Forme, a fitness club. We stopped in to see what it offered and how much it would cost. Great facility but too expensive, but even that was fun since it was part of trying to create a life here and keep some of the things we like to do but do it the French way.
It is so easy to travel these days with Google to help you with your any need and Kindle to hold all your books, including your guide books, and your BlackBerry to email if necessary and guide you with its GPS system. Wifi (“wee-fee”) is free here and seems to be quite available. And of course at night, there are my ever present books on tape on the iTouch. It does make for a lot of charging, however. And some things must not change. We listen to the Jim Lehrer Show and Morning Edition as they stream in on the computer. Tomorrow we will listen to Prairie Home Companion. I can't believe we can even do that.
Last night, we had dinner alone with the Fourcherauds and they are so kind and charming. They have traveled quite extensively and been to many of the same places as we have so we enjoyed sharing stories and seeing their photos. They are genuinely interested in other people and Bob is having great political and philosophical discussions with Jean Marie who has just the best characteristics of the French. He reminds me of Maurice Chevalier. He breaks out into song and dance every so often and wants to show us everything. They have invited us to spend next weekend at their family home in Charente.
We were concerned about the sleeping arrangements because even though we want to be adaptable, it was difficult to contemplate three weeks in that bed. We knew there were other rooms that appeared to be empty, including the one Jorge vacated, but we were unsure of how to raise the issue of the bed being too small. At dinner, while we were having such a comfortable conversation, Bob gingerly mentioned that the bed was un peu petit. Oh, they were up and looking for how to solve the problem before he finished his sentence. They offered to let us use Jorge's room for sleeping; we could separate the bed into two mattresses or one of us could just use that bed. No extra cost and it is really nice to have the two rooms because the other has a futon-like couch and a large table we can really use. So now everything is perfect.
Today the Fourcherauds took us for a picnic in the Medoc area, to a small town called Blaye. All along the way we followed the Gironde River until it merged with the Dordogne to form an estuary. The harvest had just finished in the vineyards all around us. The vines are now turning the colors of autumn and the views along the river are spectacular. Our picnic was sooo French--chevre, great French bread, which they really do still buy one at a time and carry home. The crust is so wonderfully crunchy. Prosciutto and saucisson sec, rillettes of chicken, tomatoes and of course the local wine.
When we first got to Bordeaux, Jean Marie asked if there were any foods we did not eat; did we like fois gras and escargots. I have died and gone to heaven. These are not rich people so who knows if I will ever eat those things in their home, but I loved being asked. In the evening we went to the festival of new wine and the brocante which means flea market. It was a few blocks away in front of a cathedral. The new wine is basically grape juice that is just beginning to ferment. it is yellow and bought in wine bottles that have no label. Everyone gets a bottle and some plastic glasses and walks along drinking it in the street. It is awful. And the vendors are selling fresh oysters. Bordeaux is quite near the ocean. All of this showing us around is really not part of our hosts’ responsibilities but they seem to enjoy doing it. Tonight for dinner, Antoinette made raclette with a home-style raclette machine. Who knew? Again, we feel so fortunate to have met our new friend Allen Shulman, who put us on to Bordeaux and to the Fourcherauds.
I have gone on way too long. Most of you have probably already pressed the delete button and I don't blame you. One last thing. There is an expression Bob picked up long ago: the words of a now-forgotten German king who supposedly described the good life as “living like God in France.” I think I now understand what it means. Good people, great history, art and architecture, beautiful flowers, wondrous food and wine. The fun of learning a new language and new culture. We are truly blessed. And now I will press the send button and hope this finally gets out because if it gets lost I can't do it again.
Much love,
Karen
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