Un week-end à Nantes

After a week of frozen Paris weather and deathly boring methodology classes at Sciences Po, I found myself looking forward to my weekend trip to Nantes with more enthusiasm than I would usually feel for a train trip.  I was up at 7am on Saturday to catch my 8:42am train, and after pacing around the apartment, I headed off to Montparnasse station, which is thankfully on the metro line closest to my apartment.

Two hours later, I arrived in Nantes, and it was like coming home--even more so than arriving in Washington DC.  The train station smelled like home and the wait at the warm and sunny bus stop and subsequent bumpy ride was familiar as anything.  I arrived at Dany's place and was warmly welcomed and invited to a concert that evening with her before I raced back off to catch the bus within the hour so my ticket was still valid.  Once I arrived at Place Graslin, I headed off to meet up with Sydney for brunch at Tabl'o Gourmand--the usual of a Chocolat Inca and all of the bread and butters and jams I can eat.  The rest of the afternoon consisted of hitting up all of the best Nantes stores--bookstores and paper stores and clothing stores and that bookseller who sells out of crates in his van outside of the cathedral.  We finished our wanderings at Sophie Bakery, where we both picked up pecan pies and I took a slice of chocolate devil's food cake to go.

"And your other host family?"  Sydney asked as we walked through Place du Bouffay.  "Did you ever make contact?"

My reply of no was just on the tip of my tongue when the door of the Lestang's apartment opened and  my high school host mother Pomme walked out.  I nearly sprinted away from Sydney and wove through the people on the sidewalk to suddenly surprise Pomme, who admittedly did not at first know what to say.  She greeted me and then called down my host father Jean-Philippe, who bought me a coffee and demanded I not only tell him what I had been doing for the past two years, but also why I hadn't emailed more.  I tried my best to describe Morocco, George Washington, and Nantes and now Paris.  Meije showed up and we were soon walking up to the flat.  I saw Raphael and met the two new cats and listened to a family friend sing opera while Jean-Philippe showed me pictures of the family's excursion in Morocco.  He informed me that Pomme was going to be playing viola at a concert and after some sleuthing, I found that it was the same concert that Dany had invited me to.

The concert was in a tiny cold church, where a local group performed Bach's Missa Brevis.  I walked back to Bouffay with Meije after to join the operatic soloists and some intrumentalists for galette des rois and clairette.  I made it back to Dany's apartment at 12:30 in the morning, exhausted and full of marzipan cake.

Sunday, I woke up and headed off to brunch with Sydney again, who had finally coaxed me away from Tabl'o Gourmand to Shefferville Cafe.  After a short wait, we were seated and I ordered the fixed brunch menu.

Brunch at Shefferville consists of two plates.  Sweet: fruit salad, two pancakes, and two slices of French bread dusted with powdered sugar.  Savory: two sausages, half a tomato, three slices of bacon, two eggs, a green salad, and two cheeses.  A bagel was served on the side, and the brunch came with coffee and orange juice.  I ate everything except one slice of French bread and one pancake, which I handed off to Sydney.

We walked after lunch to let our stomachs settle, and found a church and I was so happy to be in Nantes that I bought a candle for Mary and sat in the church for a few minutes.

Our visit ended at the Jardin des Plantes, where we walked slowly and found the petting zoo full of goats, where one of the goats made an enthusiastic effort to eat Sydney's dress.

I got on the TGV back to Paris with my huge suitcase, two bottles of local wine, and cakes from my favorite bakeries, a weekend well spent, and feeling rested in preparation for starting my classes at Sciences Po.

Un week-end à Paris

I spent the weekend in Paris.

It was supposed to be a sort of quiet adventure and I was supposed to find the Sciences Po campus and talk a lot with Ashley, who would be meeting me there after a flight from Madrid.  It half-turned out that way.

The week before, I received the most casual Facebook message from Jennifer:

"Coming to visit you and Ash in Paris"

So we haphazardly planned to meet but didn't come to a real conclusion, but despite the vague nature of our plans, I made a dark chocolate fudge red wine cake and an apple tarte tatin and when Friday rolled around, I packed my backpack, wrapped the baked goods in foil, and got on a TGV to Paris.  I navigated the Paris metro in the very basic way--by riding lines to the end and transferring at large hubs.  The hostel that I'd booked for myself and Ashley was close to the Bastille stop, and I passed the opera house and an enormous pillar of a monument before I reached the side street of the hostel.  I'd booked a room for two so that we could sleep when wanted and also make as much noise laughing and watching TV or what have you as well as eliminate most of the creepy factor that scares me away from hostels.  I checked in and sat on the top bunk for about an hour before Ashley appeared.  I stuffed apple pie down her throat, hugged her, and then we headed back out to explore.

Our Friday evening consisted of a sort of lazy wandering up and down the street, scouting out stores and cafes to check out the next day and catching up on everything that had happened in our lives since she headed off to New Zealand and I went to Morocco.  It was a lot to talk about and we bought sandwiches and a bottle of cider and talked some more back at the hostel.

The next day, we rolled out of bed and went shopping.  After heading immediately to a sort of vintage pin-up shop at which we tried on all the dresses and chatted with the amiable storekeeper, we just sort of headed down the street and popped into every store that we took a liking to, all the while continuing to talk.  We bought more sandwiches for lunch and after dropping our purchases off at the hostel, we decided to get on the metro and see more of central Paris, or what we always thought Paris was--the Eiffel Tower, the Champs Elysees, the Louvre.

We rode the metro to the Champs Elysees stop, fully expecting to wander down the street to the Louvre perhaps, or l'Arc de Triomphe, but instead when we emerged from the station, we looked past the statue of Charles de Gaulle and were greeted by an expansive, sparking, and crowded Christmas market.

We immediately got ourselves cups of hot wine, and then set out to take in as much of the market as we possibly could.  There were jewelry stands, leather bound journals, all sorts of foods and candies and silly looking hoods from Canada and it was incredible.  We reached the Louvre, turned around, and then went though the other side of the market, munching on crepes and merveilleux and marveling at everything we laid our eyes on.

The next morning, we found breakfast in a cafe close to the hostel: pain au chocolat, orange juice, a hot drink--and then proceeded to browse the bookstores that happened to be open on a Sunday before returning to the hostel to meet Jennifer.

We ate and then went straight back to the Champs Elysees metro stop, where we returned to the Christmas market and then to the Louvre.

I have only been to Paris once before, and it was for one day, and it was a Tuesday, and so the Louvre was closed.  This time, however, it was definitely not closed, and the line was nearly non-existent, and so we went.

The Louvre is breathtaking, from the vaulted ceilings to the famous art pieces that you've studied in classes from middle school to university, to the sculptures that figure into the glossy coffee table books that you find at bookstores.  Michelangelo's slaves, Winged Victory, Venus de Milo...we must have seen 10% of the museum before becoming achy and hungry.  It will be a goal for me during the semester there to see the rest of the place.  We returned to the Christmas market for dinner (baked potatoes and crepes and mushroom-chicken pastry), wine (I convinced them to try Chinon red, from the Loire valley), and more talking.

The weekend was a much needed pick-me-up--I got to see some of my favorite people, I got to explore the city that will be my hope for five months, and I experienced the beautiful Paris Christmas market.  Also, I didn't touch a fork the whole weekend, sustaining myself on pastries and crepes and apple pie and chocolate cake and waffles and one cheeseburger.

Un Voyage de luxe

This past weekend was my grand vacation.  It was incredible and exhausting and this post is going to have to detail the fact that I was on five different kinds of trains--four of them within 24 hours.

Now, I have little to no experience on trains.  Supposedly I learned to walk on a train in New Zealand, but I don't remember that.  I have very vague memories of being on a train to Virginia that was very late and had a few drunk businessmen on it.  In any case, this was the first time that I truly remember being on a train.

I left Nantes at 6pm from the Gare SNCF on a TGV (Train à grande vitesse/super fast train).  I'd sprung for first class on the train and booked a solo seat because if there are things I enjoy, it's wide, cushy chairs and being alone in a row on transportation so I don't have to bother other people to get up.

There were very few people on the train and it was very quiet, so I wrote a lot, read a little, and tried to look out the window, but it was dark already, so I ended up just looking awkwardly at my own reflection.  The train arrived at the Paris Montparnasse station and I had to take the metro to Gare de l'Est, which was actually very easy, except I think I broke the ticket selling kiosk.

The next morning, I had a ticket for the Orient Express.

It's not the same Orient Express that ran in the 20s since that train was sold at auction, but someone bought those cars and now the train runs anew.  There is a car on the train that was used as a brothel in WWII and everything is very old and very fancy.  I found that it existed after a short trip through Google and then realized that one of their Paris-London trips coincided with a long weekend when I had been planning on visiting Jess and Leah up in the UK.

I spent the night at a Holiday Inn right across the street from the station before getting up early and heading to the platform for check in at 8:30am, an hour before departure as was recommended.  The train was already waiting when I arrived--it was deep, glossy blue, with lettering in brass.  I was given my tickets and travel documents before a woman named Nastasia led me to the cafe to wait for my compartment to be ready.  She escorted me back to the train where I met the manager of the car, Pierre, who was dressed in a white double-breasted coat.  I'd written that the purpose of my journey was to celebrate my letter of admission to Sciences Po.  If you tell the Orient Express that you are celebrating something, I suppose they tell the entire staff, because everyone from a very distinguished tour guide to the stewards in their bright blue suits with their round blue hats congratulated me.

I had the 10:30am breakfast sitting, so I headed out of my private cabin early and ran across a tour and just sort of pretended that I belonged there, which allowed me to learn more about the history of the train.  Breakfast was actually brunch which was actually more like lunch.  I struggled with the scrambled eggs because I didn't know which fork to use, but it was delicious and topped with smoked salmon.

I love smoked salmon.

The second course was lobster with mashed potatoes and then the meal finished with caramelized apple cake and vanilla ice cream.  One super benefit of travelling by yourself is that every table got five chocolates, no matter how many people were sitting there, and so I got to eat all five of them.

We arrived in Calais at around 2:30pm, ready for our transfer to the coach buses that would take us through the tunnel.  I count the tunnel train, which could hold all of our coach buses, as the third train.  It was uneventful, but I was tucked away in a bus.

The fourth train was the British Pullman, a sister train of the Orient Express.  On this train, we had an afternoon tea: sandwiches, scones, and little cakes.

Some of the sandwiches were smoked salmon.

I arrived in Victoria Station in London, about an hour later than expected, and before my phone died I was furiously Facebook-messaging Jess, and fortunately she found me, put me on the tube, and we got to her place and even had the energy to leave again to go to a pub that night.

That was a lot of trains.  You can even count the Paris metro and the London tube as trains too, and then there were even more.