Bordeaux 2012

A Youtube video of our time in Bordeaux can be seen here.

19 June Paris to Bordeaux

We left our hotel around 9am to walk the 1.5km to Gare de L’Est. From there, we could use the Metro to travel across Paris to Gare Montparnasse, our jump off point for a train to Bordeaux. Our luggage consists of a large and a small backpack each, along with a collapsible hand trolley. Sometimes, when we see people just grab their wheeled suitcases off an airport carousel and cruise away, we are envious. At other times, when we see people struggle with the tiny wheels and unbalanced cases on the cobbled streets outside a train station, we are pleased with our choice, even more so when we see a couple marching stoically along with 20kg plus strapped to their backs. Somehow, the girl is always in the rear and looking like she needs two hours in a spa. The streets of Paris are not too bad but the narrow cobbled streets of Bordeaux proved the need for the larger wheels of our little trolleys.

The TGV trains of Western Europe are fast, comfortable but not ridiculously cheap. We paid 73€ ($A92) each for 2^nd class tickets. We could have got them for as low as 20€ by booking several months in advance with no cancellation or change allowed. The train was full as it left Paris, but rapidly emptied over the first few stops, of which it made six or so. We shared our set of four seats with a French woman and a young man who had two small girls. One was beautifully behaved and obediently responded with a “Oui Papa” to all orders. The other, somewhat younger, responded negatively to everything. She squirmed, demanded, cried, whined and grizzled. The French woman sitting next to this performance, showed incredible patience, as did Papa, but we still exchanged quite a few deep and meaningful looks with the other woman to share our feelings at being saddled with this imposition.

The woman left the train at stop two and the man and his beasts a little later on. We were able to stretch out and watch the countryside flash by. Paris seemed to end rather abruptly and we were into rolling fields of green wheat and barley, with the occasional potato crop in evidence. Dotted all around were the picturesque villages that one sees in Impressionist paintings. The fields were intersected with the fabulous network of hedgerows that sustains so much of Europe’s remnant wildlife. The scenery was truly amazing, the only drawback being that the train travelled so fast that the glorious hamlets and churches whizzed by too quickly.

After a three hour trip, we pulled into Gare Saint Jean in Bordeaux and soon found ourselves outside and facing a walk of 1.8km to our lodgings. I had quite a fight with Google Maps, it maintaining that we were on the other side of a huge rail complex and providing a route to our hotel that didn’t make any sense. Each time I tried to get a direction fix, the GPS would reset. After much swearing and a minor domestic, I figured that the fact that I was standing under some electric tramway lines was a problem and moved away. The iPhone began to behave normally and we were off.

We navigated through one lane cobbled roads taking in the rows of terraced houses that opened right onto the footpath. These lacked the grandeur of the endless apartments in Paris, mostly being two storeys and some even a single storey. Although obviously very old, most buildings were in excellent condition.

Rather than a hotel, we had booked a serviced apartment a little out of the main centre, but still within walking distance. One of a chain called Les Estudines, they provide full kitchenette facilities, beds that fold into sofas, dining table and chairs, laundromat and good secure parking. After a few weeks of cramped hotel rooms, this proved luxury and at 51€ (A$64) a night was good value. A supermarket 100m down the street provided the makings for a meal and a good range of Bordeaux wines for less than 5€ a bottle. I can’t imagine how good the expensive ones are because the cheap wines are excellent.

20 March Bordeaux

We set off to walk into the centre of Bordeaux. There is a system of trams and buses, but we elected to walk and get the hang of the public transport later. The walk was easy, following a straight road until it terminated in a glorious square called Place de la Victoire, after the battle of the Somme. A magnificent arch, part of something built in the 17^th Century, dominates the square. Leading away is Rue St Catherine, a pedestrian only mall some 1.2km long, making it the longest shopping precinct in Europe. It is mostly clothes and cosmetics, but a few sporting shops attracted our attention. So did the prices, being a lot cheaper than Paris and much cheaper than Perth for quality brand names.

The shopping strip terminated in turn at the Place de la Comedie, dominated by the Grand Theatre. All the nearby streets are pedestrian only, although rogue scooters and motorbikes seem to be a bit of a problem. It seems like most of Bordeaux is employed in the catering industry, with any spare spot instantly turned into an alfresco café. Prices seem to vary from a lot to impossible, yet still cheaper than Paris. The other thing of note was the number of homeless who had set up camp in the pedestrian mall. Most had one to three dogs to keep them company, although one had three cats, all on leashes. The population is a lot less multicultural than Paris, where people of Caribbean or African background seemed to dominate. The locals are obviously attuned to the importance of tourism and every time we stopped to try to work out a sign or a procedure, someone would stop to translate or point us in the right direction. Try that in Perth.

We sought out the Tourist Bureau to see what was on offer. A very helpful assistant explained the various options for wine tours, the main attraction around Bordeaux. We chose a half day tour focusing on dry whites. Each of the districts or appellations concentrates on one style of wine, so even though Bordeaux is noted for its reds, the area also produces outstanding whites, roses and sparkling wines. The famed Chateau Lafite Rothschild, the World’s most expensive red wine, comes from the Medoc, an appellation to the North West of Bordeaux. All around the Place de la Comedie and along the river front, hundreds of marquees were being erected in preparation for the forthcoming Fete de Vin, a wine festival that will see the city overflowing. It’s probably good for our livers that we will have gone by then.

We got on board a small train to take a tour of the sights in and around the old city. At 7.50€ each, it seemed like a good way to get an overview of the place. It turned out to be a good way to end up with major spinal damage. The streets are mostly cobbled and contain many drains, ditches and other bumps. The train carriages appeared to have absolutely no suspension and we felt every bump right from the coccyx right through to the skull. It was so bad it was laughable in places. I tried to film parts of the trip but it proved very difficult.

We had headphones that provided an English commentary and we learnt a lot. We stopped alongside some magnificent churches, arches, medieval towers, some Roman ruins and famous houses of note. As always in France, we were shown the square where the guillotine was set up during the Revolution. As an exercise in getting to know Bordeaux, it was excellent. As a fun experience it fell way short. Later, we saw an open top tour bus wandering around doing the same thing and the people looked comfortable and relaxed, although I did doubt that the large bus could access all the tiny streets that our little train went down.

Lunch consisted of a wonderful hamburger-like creation from a street stall. We opted for mustard rather than ketchup and the lady filled the bun with enough mustard to defeat an army. It was delicious but set our nostrils afire. As we let lunch settle with a peaceful stroll around the wonderful botanic gardens in the Jardin Public, thoughts of a toilet stop came up. We located a toilet in the heart of the gardens and I headed into the “Hommes” area. Having just unzipped and positioned myself, my space was invaded by a woman, her two little girls and a little boy. She motioned the boy over next to me and instructed one of the little girls to help her brother and she retreated. By this time, I had completely lost the urge to urinate, having been left alone in a public toilet with a small boy and a small girl. I zipped up and fled, totally traumatised for the rest of the time in the park.

We caught the tram along the river front to Gare Saint Jean. The trams are excellent, running across a broad network around the city. They are frequent enough to make hopping on and off quick and easy. Within the city squares, they seem to draw power from a strip between the rails but once on actual streets, the more usual overhead lines are employed.

Many of the streets and squares are big open affairs, with loosely marked paths for pedestrians, bikes, cars and trams. In practice, the road rules seem to be rather grey and everyone has the good sense to drive slowly and look out for others. Once again, we could learn from this. As of next month, it becomes compulsory for all cars and motorbikes to carry breathalysers. In a country where every café, bistro, grocer and supermarket sells alcohol and most people seem to have a wine or two with lunch, such measures are necessary. It is also interesting to see that there is a 1500€ fine for having a radar detector in a car. This new law has lead to a lot of confusion about the legality of GPS systems that carry in-built information about the location of permanent speed radars.

We wandered around Gare Saint Jean trying to find a car hire place, despite this being listed as the main area to secure one. In the end, we gave up and walked home to resort to the Internet to make a booking for the weekend so we could explore some countryside.

Once again, we stayed in to cook, a delicious meal of Atlantic Salmon. We frequently buy Atlantic Salmon farmed in Tasmania back in Oz and really love its strong oily flavour. The fish here, almost certainly farmed in Norway or somewhere similar, was nice but lacked the full flavour that we are used to. Feeling obliged to support local industry, we also knocked off a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc.

21 June Bordeaux

Today we planned to explore Bordeaux further by bicycle. Here they have introduced the Velo system that is in place in Paris and also in the planning for Perth. The concept is that there is a series of bike stations dotted all over the city and its outskirts. Once signed up for an account, one can simply take a bike from one station to the next. The first 30 minutes are free then 1 or 2 Euros thereafter, although various levels of account are available. The bikes themselves are excellent, having a drive shaft rather than a chain and sprocket. This means no grease on trouser legs or chains coming off. It also results in super-smooth gear changes.

Unfortunately, the Velo station 100m down the road was empty of bikes, so we had to walk through to the next street and down 200m. As we approached we saw the last two bikes left but this was reduced as the woman in front of us got there first and claimed one. I tried to wrestle her to the ground and steal her bike but Christine restrained me just in time. We walked on, reaching the shopping area on foot. It’s a bit like trying to catch a train to Perth on a week day and driving to the station to find there is no parking left.

We walked down Rue de Saint Catherine and shopped, mostly in sports clothing shops. I bought a pair of shoes from a brand that has an interesting concept; they sell the shoe and the in-sole separately, each 11€. The concept is that you can have the one inner and many colours of outers. The shoes are light and comfortable so I thought I’d give them a try. We also bought a mini speaker to boost computer output which proves useful to listening to Perth radio over the Internet.

Eventually, we reached another Velo station, and being in the City centre, it was nearly full of bikes. We struggled with the log-in machine for a while, before a local came by and assisted. The down-side is that you need to pre-commit 200€ deposit against damage or loss. We used a debit card to then find that 400€ had been withdrawn from our account. I suspect the repayment of the deposit will not be as rapid as the withdrawl. We have found this to be a real problem with using a debit card rather than a credit card. Hotels and hire groups typically take a pre-commitment. On a credit card, the only affect this has is to reduce your credit limit until the pre-commitment is cancelled. On a debit card, the money is removed from your account, then repaid later, usually after 5 working days. Do this over a weekend, and you can be out of pocket by a significant amount for nearly a week. This could be an issue for those travelling on a budget.

Eventually we were on our way, riding on the “funny side of the road” as they do in France and sticking to the excellent bike paths where possible. Our ride took us along the quay, stopping to watch a game of boule, to a Velo station where we could deposit our bikes and walk to the nearby medieval Basillica of Saint Michel.

This wonderful old church dates back in parts to the 12^th Century and the fabulous bell tower to the 15^th Century. The tower stands at 114m tall, and we were able to climb up to around 90m, using a narrow stone spiral staircase. Christine only made it to the first platform at 25m, claustrophobia taking its toll by then. I pushed on, pausing a few times to let the legs recover, until I reached the bells themselves and later the top viewing platform, with only the actual spire above me. The view of Bordeaux was fantastic. Going down was easier than climbing but I had to fight dizziness, because the spiral was so tight the head started spinning. A trip up and down after a glass or two of a good Bordeaux is not recommended.

Inside the church itself, the magnificent stained glass windows dominate. I was amazed at their colour and clarity, not to mention their style, which was more reminiscent of Pablo Picasso than the Renaissance. This later proved to be the case when we read that all the original windows were destroyed in 1940 during a bombardment.

After a quick bite of lunch at a street-side kebab stall, we looked for another Velo to ride home with. This proved to be difficult, as we wandered from station to station to find them empty. The system fails if there is not an even distribution of bicycles at the stations. Even more annoying would be to reach a station and find all parking units full. Just leaving the bike without parking it would result in a very expensive loss of deposit. Our search took us through an area dominated by Turkish and North African businesses, many with strange music wafting from dark interiors. Eventually, we located a station full of bikes only 50m from where we had lunch, after walking a couple of kilometres in a big loop. We would have been better to just walk home or jump on a tram.

Having not heard anything from our on-line car hire company, Christine took our information down to the front office of our apartments to get some help with the language. When we approach, the girls look at each other, trying to figure out whose turn it is to struggle with English. In truth, they are much better than the think they are and we have been very grateful for the wonderful friendliness and help offered. They managed to sort things out, and we are now assured that there is a car waiting for us at the train station on Saturday. All good.

We watched a few movies to stay up a bit later. Without any English TV, we have tended to go to bed a bit early. To do that, we have to close the blinds up, because the daylight is so long. Today is the Summer Solstice so at least the days will start to get shorter from now on. They need to because having daylight at 10pm is starting to get very wearing.

June 22 Bordeaux

This was wine tour day, so we picked up a velo bicycle and pedalled into the Tourist Bureau. Being more of a peak hour on the roads, the ride was not quite as relaxed as previously but still very manageable, especially as we cruised the last part down the pedestrian mall of Rue St Catherine.

Our guide turned out to be a young woman called Anne, who had spent time working in Saigon so we had a few things in common. Her English was excellent and we picked up lots of tips about driving on the roads and motorway.

Anne took us into the Graves Appellation. The French have a system of very strict controls over their wine growing, protecting both quality and marketing. Bordeaux is an appellation itself and then is divided into a series of smaller appellations, each with a distinct set of rules governing variety and blending. Wines are not marketed by advertising their variety as we do, but rather by their appellation. If you know your wine, knowing the appellation will tell you a lot about the style of wine and quality you are buying. Nowhere did we see a cask of Coolabah Dry Red mentioned.

The first stop was the glorious Chateau Olivier, complete with a fortress dating back to the 12^th Century. There we were met by Juliet, a Ukrainian girl working at the Chateau, who gave us a guided tour. We laughed when she pointed out the “new” part of the chateau, which was added in the 18^th Century. Surrounded by a moat and complete with drawbridge, the fortress looked like something out of a fairytale.

Some 120 hectares of forest surrounded the Chateau. Apparently, it was once a favourite hunting haunt of The Black Prince (Edward, Prince of Wales 1330-76), and even today still contains plenty of deer and wild boar.

We were led through the wine making process and given a detailed explanation of the differing soil types of the property. The appellation of Graves gets its name and characteristics from the extensive gravel soils deposited by the Garrone River. The soil was full of small river washed stones, giving superb drainage and retaining heat, leading to excellent maturation of the fruit. Of course, we knew all this and nodded wisely, making lots of appropriate noises but really just wanting to knock back a glass of good red. To be fair, both Anne and Juliet could tell we were both wine plebs and did a great job of guiding our tasting and ensuring that we did not make complete fools of ourselves. Both the red and white wine we were given to taste was incredibly good. The guides, being at work, both tasted and spat their wine into a large container. We, of course, swallowed ours with gusto.

Our second stop was at Chateau La Tour Martillac, also in the the Graves Appellation. The Chateau sported a small tower from the 12^th Century, although its chances of providing a reasonable defence seemed limited. I did remark that it was so small that Rupunzel would have little trouble letting her hair down. This time, our guide was a man named Pierre, who proved every bit as informative and educational as Juliet. His lip did curl a little at any slight mention of Australian wines but otherwise we had a ball. Just listening to a Frenchman speak English is a sheer entertainment in itself.

The French wine classification system identifies some selected vinyards as “Grand Crus”. Vinyards sell their very best wines as “First Wines”. Which bear the title “Chateau…”. They then produce lesser wines called “Second Wine” which can still be of excellent quality. We were given a Second Red and a First White to taste, both of which were absolutely amazing quality, particularly the white, which I honestly thought was the finest wine I’d ever come even close to. I would have been happy just to spend time with my nose in the glass, absorbing the incredible aromas. Christine just drank hers and said it was good. It was even worse than that, because as soon as the wine was poured, she had a sip!

Pierre then said “We will now talk about the nose, which you should do before you drink, although I notice you have already tasted it.”

At least she did feel like a pleb. Anne produced a lovely platter of hors d’oeuvres but it was actually difficult to detract from the wine with other tastes.

Once back in Bordeaux, we found a lunch along the mall and wandered home, content to have a nap and another night in. The beauty of the apartment rather than a hotel room is the level of comfort. We both grow very tired of having to sit on a bed or having a room with only one chair and a small table.

23 June Bordeaux

Today we had ear-marked to explore some of the out-lying regions of Bordeaux with a hire car. Step one, was to actually find the hire car place, which had eluded us in the past. It was supposed to be at Gare St Jean, but we hadn’t ever seen it. Our mistake was that it was on the other side of the rail tracks to everything else, and we had soon signed our lives away and gotten the key. All this meant was that we wandered around the car park for ages failing to find a matching number plate. Finally, we headed back to the girl at the desk, who explained that it was several blocks away in another car park, a point she had not addressed earlier.

Our car was a nifty four door diesel powered Volkswagon Polo, a wonderful car with only one bad feature; it was left hand drive. Driving around the tiny narrow streets of Bordeaux on the wrong side of the road is quite terrifying. We had two major roundabouts to negotiate in the first 500m. It was only a short drive back to the apartment, but the parking is off a tiny one-way street so we had to carefully plan a circuitous route to approach the gates from the right direction. We made the car-park and thought seriously about leaving the car there for the whole day.

Fortunately, we had booked a GPS with the car so we logged in to set a route to Arcachon, a seaside location renown for its oysters. We pictured a quaint little stone village nestled in a tiny fishing quay, complete with crying gulls and lobster boats. We weren’t even close.

The drive proved very difficult at first, the GPS telling us to turn then telling us we’d done the wrong thing. Our first target was to get out of Bordeaux proper and onto the A630 ring road. We managed to get to this point without a domestic, due mainly to Christine’s amazing navigational skills. I just did what I was told and it mostly worked. We turned right, left, went through countless roundabouts and eventually knew when we’d hit the A630 because we drove straight into a good old fashioned freeway traffic jam. It seems that the traffic on the motorways is bad on weekends, especially in Summer, when people take the chance to get out into the country. A large part of Bordeaux’s population had the same idea as us; go to Arcachon. After numerous traffic snarls and some stretches of 130km/hr, we finally reached our quaint little village, which actually proved to be the size of Bunbury, although certainly prettier.

Many of the streets are so narrow that once the parking fills up on one side, there is barely room for two small cars to pass each other. When someone parks a car badly, there is no room left so it is an exercise of squeezing around each other. Parking was as hard to find in Arcachon as in Bordeaux, but we managed a spot and set off to explore on foot. After wandering around the small port area, we settled on a small restaurant. The staff spoke absolutely zero English but we managed to get by, handling all his menu choices because a) he spoke slowly; and b) because we had looked up lots of words on Google Translate. Of course, we both ordered an entrée of oysters (L’huite) because that’s why we’d come. Christine followed with a Confit of Duck and I had a Grilled Hake with Béarnaise sauce, then Crème Caramel and a Rasberry Gateaux to finish. Good French cooking is sooo good and washed down with a nice Rose it’s even better. At just over 40€, it was great value. Just as Bordeaux is cheaper than Paris, so Arcachon is cheaper than Bordeaux.

We relocated the car to further down near the centre of the City, managing to find a parking spot that tested not only my reverse parking skills but also the built-in parking sensors. We followed a pedestrian mall down to the beach, past literally thousands of alfresco dining opportunities. Food seems to be the reason for Arcachon’s existence. The beach was lovely, with a broad expanse of white sand and calm water, although quite tidal and rather brown. Arcachon sits at the bottom of la Basin d’Arcachon, an inlet a bit larger than Peel Inlet. The beach was well populated and a few were swimming. We went down to at least dip or toe in the Atlantic Ocean and found it to be far too cold to even think of swimming. Maybe in the Mediterranean.

We waited an absolute eternity at another of these self-cleaning public toilets. They are a real curse, because they take so long to be ready for the next user. We stood in line and waited for the man in front to emerge. He took so long we knew he was doing something serious and the thought of following into such a confined space almost put us off. When he finally did appear, we had to wait another age while the auto-cleaning process took over. Unfortunately, this did not include deodorising.

The GPS gave us a bit of worry getting out of Arcachon and back to the A63. We finally made it, following the A63 to link up with the main motorway of the A630. By this time, the traffic was moving better but this actually proved more of a challenge. I tended to sit in the slow lane, preferring a steady 110km/hr to the 130 of the fast lane. The problem is that trucks are often only allowed 80km/hr and when you get stuck behind one, changing lanes to get around it into traffic that is often doing more than 130km/hr can be a real challenge. At one point, I found a gap, with the next car only a tiny dot in the distance. I swung the Polo out and floored it, asking a lot from the tiny 1.6L diesel. Almost immediately, I had a large angry black Merc bearing down flashing its lights. Goodness knows what speed it was doing. I retreated back behind the truck, beaten and cowered.

We navigated our way back around Bordeaux to the village of Blanquefort, in the wine growing area of Medoc. The country opened up a little and the endless rows of pine plantations around Arachon gave over to lovely rolling hills of vines. The village was a delightful blend of the old and new and would be a place I could see myself living. This was reinforced when we went into a small supermarket to pick up some supplies for dinner and everyone seemed to know one another.

Just out of Blanquefort there is a wonderful park called Parc de Marjolan. It was created out of swamp land between 1870 and 1880, now having magnificent stretches of lakes, flowing streams, waterfalls and even a manmade system of caves and canyons. The wonderful stands of elm and oak are a delight to walk through and the place proved popular with wedding parties. We enjoyed a tranquil hour wandering through these incredible gardens.

 

Heading for home, we set the GPS to take the fastest route, hoping this would take us around the ring road and avoid the middle of Bordeaux. Alas, the GPS did not agree and we spent a terrifying half hour negotiating a route right through the guts of old Bordeaux, across cobbled roads and down narrow winding streets. We didn’t even know enough to alter the route and by the time we started to recognise places we had explored on bike or foot, we were nearly home anyway. We nearly kissed the floor of the apartment. Despite our traumas, we’d had another wonderful day and proved that we could handle the worst of the weekend traffic.

In the late evening, a fascinating sight in the skies over Bordeaux is the criss-cross of jet vapour trails. It seems that many flight paths pass overhead. At first, it looks as though they are all on parallel courses, but then it becomes clear that most have come in on slightly different places and are headed for differing destinations. Sometimes it looks as though the planes are almost flying alongside each other, but logic says they are probably several kilometres apart. I would guess that flights from Marseilles, Venice, Rome, Athens etc and headed to the US or Caribbean would all pass somewhere overhead. The best count we had was 7 at once. During the day, the skies are often slashed with decaying vapour trails. It will form a part of our lasting memories of this wonderful place.

24 June Bordeaux

We really only had three main tasks today; return the car; pack and clean up; and fly to Barcelona. Sounds simple? It should have been until things started to go wrong.

We set off to return the car with plenty of time before the 10:30 return time. What we didn’t factor in was the hour and more we would spend driving around Bordeaux trying to find a fuel station to fill up. The problem was that the only ones we found were unattended and would only take a credit card. However, they would not accept international cards so we had to push on, seeking a cash outlet. A local girl told us where to find one, but the station we were in did not allow turning the correct way so we had to go the other way, accidentally getting onto the motorway, and finally exiting in a part of town we did not know. The GPS got us back into familiar territory but by this time it was 10:30 so we just returned it anyway. Once at the car park, we drove around for ages trying to find a way up to Level 2 and our parking space. It was a huge exercise in frustration. Finally parked and back at the desk, the girl informed us that they would charge a 9€ refill fee and they charged 2.08€/L, a good 40c over the normal price. We figured we’d only used about 10L, having done around 120km. She did suggest we drive off and fill it ourselves but there was no way I was getting back in that car.

Before walking back to the apartment, we checked out the Airport Shuttle Bus, which also leaves from Gare St Jean. The timing was such that we would only have about an hour to pack by the time we got back so we were fairly flat out tidying up and packing before setting off on the walk back to the station. The airport bus took around 45 minutes but at only 7€ each (actually we only got charged 6€ because the driver automatically gave us seniors’ discount) it was a big saving over a taxi.

Once at the airport, we wandered up and down levels, walked long corridors and waited in lines, all the time trying to find where to check in for Vueling Airlines. Eventually, we were sent out of the beautiful luxurious terminal and forced to walk down to the big tin shed alongside to wait with the Easyjet and RyanAir passengers. We felt like third class citizens but we were probably less than that. Gone were the rows upon rows of eating establishments in the terminal. We had access to an outside kiosk and standing tables. Still, the airfare was only about 60€ so we can’t complain too much.

We leave Bordeaux with much regret. It is the type of place that has very seductive lifestyle. The people are extremely friendly and very proud of their city. I’m sure we’ll find many more such places but this one will remain with us.