Act I: Observations
Call it the cradle of wine civilization, the region that built the bridge that all others have crossed over or just The Capital, Bordeaux amazes from all angles.
I’m no Ansel Adams but it seems hard to take a bad picture in France. Whether pointing your lens at the vineyards themselves, the architecture, or even the simple gray, rainy sky, this place is a living, breathing postcard.
We arrived in Paris before being squeezed into a tin can (aka. the Airbus 318) for the short flight to Bordeaux. I’m not sure why I expected the quaint environs of Burgundy, but the landscape coming in reminded me of flying into JFK. That all changed when we made our way through the familiar high windowed, eighteenth and nineteenth century buildings of the town itself. Somehow the thrill of driving by Paul Revere’s house in Boston does not hold the same romantic appeal.
I must give a shout out to the Mssr. and Madame’s at The Regent Hotel who did everything in their power to make me feel like I was George Clooney in town to shoot, “Jeux de dupes Deux.”
I returned their unbelievable hospitality by butchering their native tounge at every turn, my nasally, New York accent making each syllable of their beautiful language sound like an episode of”The Sopranos.”
Me: “Jay Voo-dray un cafe, si vou play.”
Waiter: Turns and walks away smiling
At this point even strong French coffee was not quite staving off the sleep my body craved so I headed out to the shopping district just outside the hotel and braved the rain and forty degree temperatures in search of a soccer (read: football) jersey for the boys.
As I walked I was immediately struck by how great everyone looked. From Joe le Determiner to next year’s “Top Model” contestant, the French (or maybe it’s all Europeans) seem to take note of what they look like when they step outside the door. No sweat pants, no ratty sneakers, no mismatched hat and gloves. All those were reserved for me, Le American…
Okay, I wasn’t wearing sweats or ratty sneakers, but the winter coat I broke out of storage stateside did look like something they’d release a mental patient in.
Oh, and did I mention that EVERYONE still smokes there (at least outdoors). It was enough to make me lose my appetite.
More on that in Act III.
For now, lets lower the curtain and rise it back up tomorrow to discuss the real reason for this trip. The wine of course…
When I went back to Europe for med school, I had the same self-conscious period where I felt horribly under-dressed – like a mental patient.