Part V: Bordeaux – Out Here in the Field, Down Here in the Ground.

Waking up somewhere and not knowing immediately where you are is quite possibly the most off-putting feeling one might ever have. The next thought will reflect your actions for the whole day. The past few (and, might I add, rare) times I have experienced this unsure, surreal moment I have had the following thoughts:

“Ughhh…. Great. This is where I get to die. Can someone please kill me and spare me from this insufferable headache? It would be such sweet release.”
- Storage Closet. Ocean City, Maryland. Beach Week, 2003

“What happened? Weren’t they on a Dock? Why is there a pile of Cocaine?”
- Boyfriend’s Couch. West Lafayette, Indiana. That time I fell asleep watching Scarface, 2006

“Oh. My. God. What happened? The last thing I remember him saying was ‘Don’t leave me, I don’t know where I am’.”
- Pinned on the floor by a nightstand, Hilton Hotel, Boston, Massachusetts Vodka Drinking Contest, 2009

While initially disturbing, eventually everything becomes clear and you are alive with a spirit of determination and redemption (when necessary). Whether your next step is to find Advil, Google the plot of a movie or just out and out panic, they are all done with true grit.

Fortunately in this case of temporary amnesia, my first thought was “Where am..? Oh Right. Bordeaux.”

Bordeaux is a charming city as well as listed as a UNESCO World Heritage Site for "an outstanding urban and architectural ensemble" The area has been inhabited since the times of the Neanderthal and has archeological evidence from before the Roman conquest, it also lies in the rich and fertile ground of the Aquitaine, which was always of strategic importance for Europe (especially for the House of Plantagenet).

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eleanor_of_Aquitaine

Great Architectural sites in Bordeaux include.

Place de la Bourse, designed by Ange-Jacques Gabriel built in 1755 as La Place Royal for Louis XV

Court of the First Instance, designed by Richard Rodgers, built in 1998

Eglise Sainte-Croix, designed by any number of people, as it is was built in the 7th century and has a long history

Le Grande Theatre, designed by Victor Louis, built in 1780

It is also a great example of Urban renewal reinvigorating the downtrodden. Most of the buildings in the city are coated with a limestone that while reacting very well to the sea-air, does not fair so well against the pollution. In the past 20 years they have been slowly cleaning the city to the point where the dirtier buildings look like the evil twins of the clean ones.

We learned all this from a guide named Guierrme and this was his story:

“Well I am studying to be a Sommelier. Then when I finish I will join my girlfriend in Brazil. I met her last year in Australia, we talk every night.”

My sister and I looked at each other and silently confirmed what we both knew. This unfortunate young man was going to have his heart ripped out and it was only a matter of time. We were all him (or some version of him) when we were young, for me it was young Blue-eyed blonde who I absolutely adored. He left for the wide west and I convinced myself with the stubborn determination of a last stand that it was going to work. It didn’t. It wasn’t supposed to.

However in Guierrme’s unassuming smile we could see the kind of love that is too powerful and too ignorant to be reasoned with. Like a hungry bear, like a shark with a toothache. There is no easy way for him to learn this lesson. We could tell him, but we would never be believed. What they have is special, unique, and timeless. Just like everyone else’s relationship. Then again, I could be wrong. That’s the best part of young love.

The rest of the day we toured around the Bordeaux region and I learned a very important lesson: I know NOTHING about wine. Example: “Yes, there is fruitiness, lightness and do I detect a hint of…grape?” Go ahead. Tell me I’m wrong.

After much aimless wandering we happened upon another UNESCO world heritage site, which are apparently as pervasive in this area of France as hobos are in my Baltimore neighborhood, you can literally trip over them. However, unlike the hobos around my house they don’t call you fat while simultaneously asking you for a dollar. At least none have yet.

We had arrived in St. Emilion, home to a large number of Grand Cru vines as well as the Monastery of St. Emilion. St Emilion was renown not only for his sin-absolving abilities but also for his libations. According to legend, St. Emilion carved this church from the living limestone face of the cliff under which the town now resides. There is something inherently religious about being underground. Maybe it’s because it is reminiscent of one’s own mortality and subsequently (if you believe in that sort of thing) immortality. Being under cover of darkness deep within the sturdy walls of someone’s true devotion can make you feel that your soul is an immortal and intangible being while the shell you inhabit perpetually dies all around it. It seems tragically unfair that we spend our whole lives collecting memories, wisdom, insight, intellect, being hoarders of our own experiences only to lose everything in death. In light of that, touching something that has been around for hundreds of years makes you feel as if maybe, your precious little moments stand a chance. That or maybe I had drunk too much wine.

With Bordeaux behind us, the final stop was underway.

On the Final Episode: Part VI Marseilles: “What are you looking at?”

Paris Part IV: Getting Trapped In Cramped Loud Spaces and How to Escape from Them While Still Enjoying Modern Art.

Finally the day had come: We were going to see La Centre Georges Pompidou. For years I had attempted to make it there, but something had always gotten in the way. Whether it was food poisoning, or Lance Armstrong winning the Tour, or the most convincing of all: “Baby, that sounds super boring, why don’t we just get drunk here instead?”. There was always a reason why it got passed over. Not today.

The Pompidou Centre is considered to be one of the great masterpieces in high-tech architecture, a joint effort by the Italian architect, Renzo Piano and British architect, Richard Rodgers. Though theirs is an equal partnership, Piano’s influence comes shining through. What one must always admire about Piano is his adaptability, especially in large-scale public forums. Unlike many of the other starchitects, Piano does not necessarily have a “trademark” image. For Zaha Hadid, it’s the harsh, unforgiving sharpness of her reds, for Frank Ghery, it’s the tinfoil flexibility and sheen of a metallic curve and anything by Rem Koolhaas looks like it can double as Darth Vadar’s summer home. Piano, on the other hand is completely adaptable and while he makes the architecture, he is not above being influenced. This allows his structures to seem less alien, especially in the urban fabric. For other examples, I would look at The New York Times building in New York City or Parco Della Musica in Rome (which is one of my favorite buildings of all time).

The Pompidou revolutionized the museum as much as, if not more than, The Guggenheim by Frank Lloyd Wright. By placing all of the infrastructural needs: HVAC, Plumbing, Electrical and vertical transport on the exterior of the building, the interior is entirely open and free. In this situation, the artist determines how their work is to be viewed, making the architecture a humble and willing participant but not the star. This attitude can be contrasted with Ghery’s Guggenheim museum in Bilbao, which aggressively challenges the art to fight it. (This is similar to Wright’s Guggenheim, which forces the art to conform to his vision of circulation and pageantry)

Long story short: Le Centre Pompidou, works well with others.

While the collection was charismatic, sophisticated, social, and at times poetic and political there was one work which I could not get behind. As the escalator moved its way up, there was the undeniable and inescapable noise of tantric chanting. I get it, I do. It’s supposed to make me confront my preconceived notions, but dammit if it’s not obnoxious. I looked at my sister and mouthed “I’m sorry.” It was a movement of kindness on her part that she had let me live. We could not get out of the area due to a massive school group and if not for deft side-stepping we would have gotten stuck there all day.

After the Pomp and circumstance, we spent the afternoon walking around where the Bastille once stood, saw a market and musicians but could find no sign of a giant paper-mache mountain, tragic really:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cult_of_the_Supreme_Being

The evening ended when we had to switch our hotel to one in the business district of La Defense in the shadow of La Grande Arche.

Arche de la Défense or La Grande Arche was designed by a Danish architect and an engineer: Johann Otto von Sprecklesen and Erik Reitzel. While a clear reference to the Arc De Triomphe, La Grande Arche is meant not as a monument to the horrors of war but as a reminder of modern societies’ humanitarian responsibilities. It was inaugurated in 1989 as a bicentennial celebration of the French revolution. It’s big, bold and maybe just a little bit boring. Never the less there is no denying its epic domination over the business district.

Our last stop was the countryside of Champagne. What can be said about Champagne? It’s a charming landscape and a beverage that is really, really hard (and pretty dangerous) to make.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xu6Nmq3hbFc

As far as architecture goes, there is one site in Champagne that cannot be missed. That is the Cathedral in Reims.
Reims is famous for being the structure most affiliated with the French monarchy in all of France. Some will argue “What about Versailles?” That is the structure most affiliated with the end of the monarchy not necessarily its reign. There is a tendency to forget that French monarchy did go on for over 1300 years before the dopey locksmith and his spend-thrift ditzy bride became the symbols of decadence and corruption. The story started with Clovis I, whose reign began in approximately 481 AD, just as the Roman Empire was on its last legs. Eventually Clovis unified all of what was to be known as “France” (which included the conquest of Gaul) and made Christianity the national religion. This means you need a cathedral. BAM! Notre Dame de Reims.

Since Clovis I, every French monarch (with the exception of one) has been crowned at the Cathedral in Reims upon their assumption to the throne. The exception to the rule is Charles VII, who could not be crowned there initially, as it was under the possession of the English. Then a feisty, illiterate teenager comes out of nowhere and demands he get his skinny ass on that throne. She leads an army to take back the land, gets the Dauphin the Reims, he is crowned King and she is not allowed inside because she is, after all, a peasant. I would have hated to be the usher who tells Joan of Arc that she is not on the list. Not even as a plus one. Awwwwkward.
Reims as a building is a lot like other European cathedrals. The site was evolved over a long period of time, starting as a Roman Bath becoming a place of worship under St. Nicasius and continued as such under St. Remi. It has a labyrinth, similar to Chartes and a rare, beautiful Rose window. Like Westminser Abbey in London, the architecture becomes eclipsed by the history.
After returning from Reims, we ended our time in Paris by having Chinese food and preparing for the southern sun.

Next Time : Part 5 Bordeaux – Out Here in the Field, Down Here in the Ground.

Part III: Paris or “How to say ‘Bonjour’ and other helpful French Phrases

So there we were, in the elevator of the L’Hotel Arch di Triomphe, a giant man who was playing in the French Open in a few days and me. At least I assume he was playing, as he looked like someone who would be a professional athlete and was also carrying a tennis racket. Only a few weeks prior I had to explain to someone that the French Open was not, in fact, a golf tournament. However, I must confess that is the extend of my knowledge of Tennis.

I should have remembered that before I made a clumsy attempt at, I won’t say seduction, but flattery.

“So…. Are you going to be swearing any oaths on the Tennis Court? Because I read a book about those once, they don’t end well. Pretty Bloody.”
“What?”
“Good Luck!” Then I got off and waited 4 minutes for another elevator.

Sometimes I forget I am a 13 year old girl trapped in a grown woman’s body. Also no one thinks jokes about the French Revolution are funny. Too soon.

We have arrived in Paris. This morning we had left London via the Chunnel.

The Chunnel is an engineering marvel, and not just because of what it does (connecting France and England by a virtually highwayman-free thoroughfare) but also by how it was made. It took the better part of a decade but a total of eleven boring machines starting on either end worked to cut through the chalk and marl bed of the English Channel. Shockingly, the project was completed on time (take THAT Big Dig).

http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/5/59/Channel_Tunnel_geological_profile_1.svg/1000px-Channel_Tunnel_geological_profile_1.svg.png

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Eurotunnel_schema_(empty_service).svg

A modern marvel that was (and still is) revolutionary, the only room for improvement is if the sandwiches on board didn’t cost six pounds.

Once we arrived in Paris, deposited our things and I committed at least one act of social suicide, we were ready to hit the town. As an American, it’s easy to fall into the pit of the stereotypical tourist who wonders Paris dazed, smitten, romanced. This being the fourth time being in the eternal city of light, I assumed that, in part due to my experiences the last time, the affect had finally worn of. In 2007, I had almost gotten my bag stolen by a vagrant and had gotten into a shouting tussle about why I was not going to pay him for the effort. Eventually we were broken up by the transit police of Montmatre. A group of gypsies started following me down the street and I was only able to lose them in the hostel lobby. On top of that it was a rainy week in April and to paraphrase T.S. Eliot, “April blows.”

I’m not going to say I didn’t love every minute of the trip in 2007, but looking back then, Paris seemed like a beautiful and cruel partner in a dysfunctional relationship. Paris was bullying and indifferent, but as they say “you got to be big if you treat pretty girls bad.”

This time around, the weather seemed to be doing its best to apologize for past mistakes by shining in the most magical way. As Hepburn once quipped “the light is almost pink”.

Walking down the street gave off a feeling of such intoxication that it was probably illegal. Everything seemed weightless, delicate, charming. Being in a place like that, one can also feel weightless, delicate and charming which must be why French women are the way they are.

From an architectural perspective, Paris is either a city that serves as enduring inspiration to be put on a pedestal (as the lost generation writers and the etudents de la Acadamie de Beaux Arts did) or an archaic and backwards relic, worthy of destruction, (as Le Corbusier did). However, one aspect cannot be ignored, the city for better or worse, feels like something. When you see a picture of Paris, it looks like Paris. It sounds obvious, but in much of contemporary architecture it could be anywhere. Milwalkee could just as easily be Miami. Paris sometimes cartoonishly, looks like itself and always finds a way to enchant, young or old, naïve or cynical.

(For more information on the phenomenon of Architectural Personalities and the populations that reflect it (In an American and Canadian perspective) I recommend Richard Florida’s “Who’s Your City? http://www.creativeclass.com/whos_your_city/ )

But back to the show.

As we were traveling in a group of three (a walking joke of a blonde, a brunette and a red-head) and one of the trio had never been to Paris before we decided to hit the well trekked landmarks.

The Arch de Triomphe – constructed by Napoleon to commemorate a battle to win a land that he had no rightful claim to. The roman spirit was alive and well in Imperial France. If you get a chance, you really should look up the Battle of Austerlitz, it was actually, kind of amazing.

The Louvre – There things you do while traveling that are “Cliché” For example, seeing the Mona Lisa. The Mona Lisa is an extraordinary painting, but it is not the ONLY extraordinary painting. Say what you want, but when you walk into a room with a 15’ X 20’ DelaCroix painting. The only thing you can say is “wow.” On a previous trip I had spent the entire day in the Louvre. From open to close, I packed a lunch and was just enveloped in it all day. Too much is never enough, the first sign of addiction. It also makes you think “Damn. Europe stole a lot of stuff from people”

La Notre Dame – There aren’t really words. You just kind of have to go. However! I can tell you an interesting fact:

This famous painting by David is actually set in La Notre Dame

http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/0/08/Jacques-Louis_David%2C_The_Coronation_of_Napoleon_edit.jpg

After the Revolution, the church was turned into a “Temple of Reason”, however much like the calendar that was invented to eliminate all traces of the past (it’s a real thing) –http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/French_Republican_Calendar - The French people eventually came to their senses and put it back the way it was supposed to be.

You know, my favorite part of the time we spent in Paris was on the Champs-Élysées. It was the first time I got to actually “stroll”. Most of the times I have traveled, it’s similar to being carted from stop to stop never really getting a feel for a place. The Champs-Élyséesis a glamorous place and a place that makes you feel glamorous.

Next Time on European adventures:

Part 4: Getting Trapped In Cramped Loud Spaces and How to Escape from Them While Still Enjoying Modern Art.