South of France

The next stop on our holiday was the Sowf o' France.  I was originally going to book us in an beach-front apartment in Sanary-sur-Mer, but we slept on it too long and lost the place.  Silly me, I sorta figured that any of the other cities around there (read: on the Med Sea) would be the same deal.

Right.

Except for maybe La Seyne-sur-Mer, which is like a busted out seaside town with a--comment dites-on...  poubelle blanche boardwalk and an abundance of crappy touristy food.  (Touristy food is crepes upon crepes outside of Bretagne and mojitos, if you must know.)  I couldn't believe it!  We'd found the Jersey Shore of France!  Come night, the boardwalk went off... there were shitty cover bands, tethered trampoline bouncy things, and grannies line-dancing (yes, the French do it, too!) in denim shortie skirts!  What?!  Our budget hotel was clean, but more like a bunker (concrete floors, no a/c) than a respite from the rest of La Seyne.  And it was filled with mosquitos that managed to zip-zip-zip-buzz right in your ears every single second that they weren't biting you.  Those were two sweaty and sleepless nights in all of the wrong ways.  ARGH.

The second day in La Seyne-sur-Mer, we wandered more and found an old fort and plenty of historical but busted out buildings--with nary a person to be seen.  There were times on our walk that I felt a little frightened... in this random Mediterranean beach town.  Who is breaking these windows and tagging these buildings if there is no one around??  Creepy.  Thankfully, the buses were running so we got a ride back into the part of town yet to be abandoned.  Lucky for us, the bus dropped us off in a spot that led us to stroll past the trashy boardwalk, leading us to a part of the beach that was much more our speed.  Beachfront restos with interesting menus, parasol and beach chair rentals (haha, I requested a parapluie at first...), and drinks delivered right to your spot on the sand.  THIS was all we were looking for from the start!  What's wrong with all of those losers stuck on the crappy part of the boardwalk?!

We had already arranged to check out of the hotel a day early (heading for the bright lights of Marseille), so we made the most of our last afternoon in La Seyne with some napping and dipping in the Mediterranean.  I am not an ocean lover (I'm barely an ocean liker, honestly), but something came over me.  I waded right out there into the clean and warm Mer Méditerrané.  There was nothing icky or skeevy or fishy about it.  And just like that, La Seyne-sur-Mer was forgiven.  But after I'd already bashed it on Facebook.  Oh well.

Evidence of mosquito attacks.  This might be the only photograph I have of La Seyne. 

As you can imagine, we liked Marseille from the get-go.  It reminded me of Istanbul a bit, with the ancient buildings scattered about and the wonderful views of the city.  We ate lunch at La Boite a Sardine, where B got the Marseille fish and chips shown here.

Though it was pretty deadsville due to les vacances, Marseille's vibrant side showed through in its graffiti.  Love love love a city with good graf!

Favorite, of course.

Quick was featuring the Menu Homer.  My only qualm is that the bun should be a real donut not just a donut-shaped bun.  Amiright?

After the bunker in La Seyne, we splurged a bit and took a boutique hotel right on the old port in Marseille.  This was the view from our (air conditioned) room.

Another view from Marseille, just before one of their famous thunderstorms.  We were stuck in the Abbey of St. Victor for the dramatic debut of the storm.  If you ever see a storm approaching and there's an ancient church nearby, get yourself over there because the combination is divine.

From the crypt of St. Victor: who knew the Gauls were so baller?!  Check out them dollah signs, yo!

Bayonne and Biarritz

An old friend had recently graduated from MBA school and was hastily planning a last-minute trip to Europe, backpack-style just like we did when we graduated from plain ol' college so many years ago.  Would I be in Paris and also would I like to meet him somewhere for a weekend getaway?  Yes and yes!

We took the weekend getaway first, taking a quick flight down to Biarritz.  We rented a car, which was immediately a giant point of stress for me as I hadn't driven in over 6 months.  (We struggled with the insurance question at the counter, opting only for the "basic"insurance.  [Oh, how many times have I been in this situation, only now it was in Europe = worse.]  I kept trying to put our limited coverage out of my mind, but there it was creeping around every traffic circle.  (What do they have against stoplights, by the way?)  During the first few hours of driving, I was the vision of a nervous wreck--knuckles white with grip, veins in neck bulging, everything tight and tense.  But thankfully I had a good navigation buddy who didn't mind over-stating things to me in a tone suitable to talking someone off a ledge, and there weren't any wrecks.

Despite our initial inclinations to drop the car off early (I wanted it GONE), we were grateful to have it for the weekend because the weather was cool/cloudy/rainy.  So instead of chillin' on the beach in Biarritz, we drove down the coast to Spain.

We hit the city of Bayonne just after arriving.  Bayonne is famous for its ham, as well as for its history of bullfighting.  It's less touristy than Biarritz, though it is equidistant from the little airport both cities share. 

The Nive River in the middle of the city.

There was a brocante on, so we stopped and had a gander.

This is the Cathedrale Sainte-Marie de Bayonne, which has a lovely cloister built around a courtyard full of headless statues and large stone tiles that are actually gravestones.  It's always a strange feeling to look down and realize you're standing on someone's remains.  Whoops.

We checked out a few stores in Bayonne (and bought a paper cone full of freshly shaved meat... noms), walked by the rugby field, and then headed to Biarritz, our HQ for the weekend.

This is the fancy little town of Biarritz.

Biarritz is a classy little surf town (with not one but TWO casinos) on the Bay of Biscay on the Atlantic.  The brave souls on the beach are few, as the weather was generally uncooperative and cool.  

Roses were in full bloom on our visit.  They were everywhere!

This creepy cemetery was on our walk from the hotel to the beach.

I spotted this kitteh family on one of our walks.  Two kittens and an especially intense momma (second from left).  I wanted to take them all and have a little kitty troupe, but they're pretty lucky living in Biarritz, even if they're only squatting in someone's garden.

I liked Biarritz alright, but I no doubt would have been smitten if the weather was good and we could have strolled around in swimsuits and sandals.  It's part of the Basque region, which runs from France to Spain and is the land of pelote (in the US, the most well-known version of which is Jai Alai), fresh seafood, part of the Pyrenees, esplette peppers, kalimotxo (a drink of half red wine/half cola), pintxos (the Basque version of tapas), a predominant use of the letter X, wild ponies (pottok), sheeps' milk cheese (like Idiazabal), and the cutest damn typeface in the world.

More Basque region to follow.  

Versailles Redux

You might recall my first visit to Versailles in February.  As expected, going back in May was entirely different.  The gardens were abloom, the outdoor statues were unwrapped, boats were on the lake, fountains sprang forth, and the crowds were bazonkers!  This time, however, we booked a tour so that we could (a) avoid the entrance queue and (b) learn more about the daily lives of the fancies who lived there.  Despite a train snafu and my consequent meltdown (it is a lot of responsibility to be the person in charge of transportation, bookings, directions and dammit was anyone else even looking at the board announcing the trains because a girl gets confused sometimes??), we made it with time to spare for our 9:30 am tour.  (The "time to spare" part is really due to the French rule of scheduling so that every rendezvous starts at least 15 minutes after the appointed time.  At work this rule usually sees me sitting in an empty conference room waiting for a meeting to start, but in this case it saved my post-meltdown rump.)

We toured the king's private apartments and the chapel.  The tour started in the room where the king's dogs slept, so we were off on a good foot.  We saw the private library, the private bedroom (where the XVI actually had all the trubs), the king's personal desk, the game room, and the toilet rooms.  Having read Antonia Fraser's biography of Marie Antoinette and now that I am currently reading Nancy Mitford's take on Madame de Pompadour, I was pretty thrilled to see where the shizz actually went down, as it were.  I was also thrilled to be away from the frenzy of tourists in the public areas.  (If I wanted that kind of madness I'd go to see the Mona Lisa at the Louvre, thank you very much.)  There were spots where the tour of the private areas nearly intersected with the public areas full of hoi polloi; I sighed and thanked the stars I was on the right side of the rope.

After our tour, we had a lackluster lunch outside.  Let me clarify, the food was lackluster.  The outside ambiance was great.  The ladies I was with decided they didn't want to see the Grand or the Petite Trianon and thankfully I had already seen them so there was no protesting on my part (though I wouldn't have minded seeing what the animals were up to), and we were off.

This was the royal toilet...

until this technological wonder was installed.

The library, which had a hidden door made to look like bookshelves.  What's a library without this detail, really?

A shoddy shot of the game room, which is kept with the shutters closed to give the effect of night.  This is where Marie Antoinette gambled away the monies.

I felt pretty fancytimes to be able to enter the Royal Chapel while the rest of the public had to look from a distance.  You can read more about the chapel here, so I'll just tell you that it was built by Louis XIV and is dedicated to Saint Louis (King Louis IX).

I was especially taken with decorative marble floor.  Someday...

St Malo

After much rumination on where to spend a weekend outside of Paris (but still in France), we headed to St Malo.  (We tossed around somewhere in the south of France, as well as other cities in Brittany, but we were limited by the TGV destinations since we didn't want to rent a car.)

So we ended up in St Malo, a walled city at the end of a river on one side and beaching into the English Channel on the other.  The city has a rich history and was once inhabited by privateers (also called "corsairs"), who ventured out to extort from the ships on the channel.

St Malo is also surrounded by rocky islands that can only be reached at low tide.  It makes for a beautiful view.

Looking from the walled city toward the Grand Bé island.

The old walled city overlooking the beach at sunset.

Monument to those who perished in WWII.

We must have covered all of these beaches in our walks.

Hey!  Leave the dogs out of it!

Byron gets his shot.

Here we are at the Fort National, which was built to protect the city of St Malo and is now a museum.  Note the water coverage at high tide.  Hope you like to swim!

But look now!  Low tide means you can stroll right up there!  And stroll we did...

Leather boots on a wet beach...

need drying out afterward.

Later the same day (in different shoes), we hit up the Grand Bé.  This is the island where the writer Chateaubriand is buried.  Look at the path that is underwater most of the day.

On the Grand Bé, there are tidepools galore...

and mussels ripe for the picking.

Not to mention beautiful scenery.

Here lies Chateaubriand.

The next day was bright and sunny.  Here you can see the Grand Bé with the Petite Bé behind it.  (It seems like a lot, but there are only two Bés.)

Beach swimming pool.

Pretty jetty.

Even the manhole covers are beautiful.

And I leave you with some cats.