We are Aoûtiens - Part 4

August 28-29: Olivia and William's Wedding

We had just one evening at home before we were off for our final adventure of the summer. One of  Jason's colleagues, Olivia, was getting married and we were on the guest list. The wedding took place in Jonzac, a little town not too far from Cognac, just over an hour from us in Bordeaux. We hitched a ride with our French friends Guillaume and Alexia, and our ol' pal Rick was along for the ride as well. The five of us jammed into the car, with our sleeping gear and dancing shoes.

I had attended a few parties with Olivia and her crew before so I suppose I should have known that this wedding was going to be an epic event. The ceremony at the church involved a lot of hymn-singing, which was made even more difficult because they were all in French, but we gave it our best effort. After what was (probably?) a lovely service, the newlyweds came out into the church yard for photos and mingling. It looked like something out of a Disney movie.

Over to the reception where more impossibly beautiful and perfect things would happen. The invitation said it was at a château, which is par for the course in France, but I was not prepared for what we rolled up on.

Really? When did I have friends with homes like this?

Firstly, it belongs to Olivia's grandfather, which is already extra cool. I know someone with their own château! Secondly, the yard was set up for cocktail hour. To me, cocktail hour is some veggies and dip, cheese and crackers, and lasts exactly one hour. WRONG. This cocktail hour included smoked salmon, sliced meats, pâté, gourmet mini-soups in tiny plastic cups, all the champagne in the world and 3000 oysters. That means 10 oysters for everyone who attended the wedding. There was a freaking jazz trio. Unlike the name would suggest, cocktail hour lasted for a good four hours. I kept waiting for them to announce it was time for dinner so I was pacing myself on the snacks, but I should have just gone hard when I first got there. It would be ages before we sat down for dinner.

Boats of oysters!

Keep the champagne coming, sir.

When it started getting dark, they brought us into the chai for dinner (because I know people with a place other than their adjacent châteaux that can seat 300 people comfortably) and we had a beautiful meal of salad, foie gras, pork medallions, roasted vegetables, and even a cheese plate. There were speeches from the fathers, a musical number by Olivia's cousins, more speeches from the bride and groom. This was followed by a spread of desserts like none I have ever seen. There were little strawberry-basil smoothies, macaroons, mini crème brûlée, and a self-serve ice cream truck. Not like the powdered stuff you used to have in the dining hall but real hand-crafted French ice cream. And in case you were somehow still sober after cocktail hour and the wine at dinner, there was more champagne and cognac for the digestif. All. Night. Long.

But who has time for drinking when there is a dance party going on? The DJ was spinning one great song after another and the dance floor was packed all night. It seemed like every guest knew how to swing dance, and the room was a blur of bouncing curls and swirling coattails. The last time I went to a party with Olivia, we were up dancing until 5am. This time, the sun was coming up before we decided to call it a night. We had been at it for 13 hours, after all.

We were invited to crash at the other château on the property (two châteaux?!?!?) and Olivia had explained to Jason where we should sleep. There must have been some misunderstanding because when we went to set up our air mattress, Jason insisted Olivia had told him that we were supposed to sleep in the vestibule of the bathroom. You know, that little room outside the toilets that has the sink and maybe a linen closet. I was skeptical, but he seemed awfully sure of himself and I didn't have the physical or mental energy to fight with him about it. Jason has a tendency to snore when he's been drinking and this evening was certainly no exception. Maybe it was best that we were in our own little area so he didn't keep the rest of the house up all night (morning?). Unfortunately, every time someone had to use the bathroom, which was often after a night of drinking, they had to stumble over our semi-comatose bodies, sprawled in front of the door. Needless to say, it was not the most restful sleep I ever got in my life.

It was around noon when we finally started moving again and we were met with a little good-hearted teasing from Olivia. "I don't know how you sleep at night with that snoring, Nicole! And why were you in the bathroom? You couldn't have gotten any sleep with people disturbing you all night!!" Yes, yes. Laugh at my pain. And for the record: I WAS RIGHT, JASON.

I was expecting to pack up our things and head down the road, but we were invited to a post-wedding brunch of leftovers from the night before. We had plenty of oysters to finish, the rest of the cheese plates, hard-boiled eggs, cold cuts and what French meal is complete without a bazillion baguettes? Oh, and that ice cream was not going to eat itself!

We spent the rest of the afternoon on the patio, soaking up the sun and letting the bread soak up the booze that was left in our bellies. By 5pm, we decided it was probably time to go back to real life. Guillaume and Alexia were staying a bit longer so we bid our hosts goodbye and Rick, Jason and I hopped a train back to Bordeaux.

As the summer drew to a close, we were tired but happy, with a whole bunch of new memories and a few more places checked off the bucket list. The new school year is already back in action but at least I have a few light days to ease me back into the swing of things. I'm still recovering, that's for sure.

So long, sweet summer. See you next year.

We are Aoûtiens - Part 3

August 25-28: Valencia, Spain

While the UK was lovely, we were craving a little sunshine. It was summer after all. The rain in Spain stays mainly in the plain, which was a good thing because we were headed to the coast. Valencia is Spain's third largest city but still manages to maintain that sleepy village feel in the old part of town. 15th century architecture, picturesque parks, and beautiful sandy beaches abound, but our main reason for visiting was the annual Tomatina festival in nearby Buñol. You have probably seen or heard of this event: It's the one where they dump truckloads of tomatoes in the street and hoards of drunk tourists sling them at each other in what must be the world's largest food fight. Yup, we're doing that.

Jason had organized the whole trip, as per the usual, and got us a place with the tour group This Is Valencia. They arranged a welcome party with plenty of snacks and drinks so that we could mix and mingle with other folks on the tour.  Our fellow festival-goers were a ragtag bunch of people who were probably too old to be doing this, but nothing says reclaiming your youth like day drinking and throwing tomatoes at strangers! In a group of 150 tourists, you're bound to have a few weirdos, but we seemed to have them in spades on this particular trip. The first guy we met ACTUALLY opened with this line: "Do you have a little Irish in you? Would you like some?" Oh, sir. I will have a tomato ready for your face tomorrow. We sat down with a crew of American colleagues who were passing around a goatskin flask of Jager, which is kind of funny when you're 20 but kind of sad when you're 45. Sadder still was that the most mentally stable and well-adjusted people we met the whole weekend were Canadians. What is this world coming to???

After a night of free sangria and awkward conversation, we donned our shittiest clothes, knowing that they would be completely covered in tomatoes after the fight, and boarded the 9am bus for Buñol.

Ready for action!

Our path from the parking lot to the city center was lined with vendors offering drinks, waterproof disposable cameras, goggles, t-shirts, and a great number of Spanish street snacks. We were walking a bit aimlessly and didn't even realize that we had strolled right into the main square of town where the festivities would kick off.

Here's the scene: 30,000 festival attendees at various levels of inebriation filled the tiny streets, cheering and chanting for the arrival of the tomatoes. The residents had draped long tarps over their street-facing windows and some of them were manning "water stations" (read: fire hoses), strategically dispersed along the festival route. The occasional blast of cold water brought welcome relief from the already sweltering heat of the morning sun. A soapy 15-ft pole was positioned at the edge of the square, with a leg of jamón tied to the top. At the sound of a cannon blast, those who were close enough to the pole tried to scramble up it and cut the ham down, thus signaling the start of the festival. Many attempts were made, and a few came close to loosing the ham from its slippery perch, but the mob was more interested in yanking people down than lifting them up.

Watching people trying to climb the soapy pole

At 11am sharp, another cannon blast was heard and the trucks arrived. Not even Moses could have cleared a path so quickly, and as soon as the tomatoes were dumped in the street, we had our own Red Sea to navigate. Festival rules dictate that you have to crush the tomatoes before throwing them to avoid serious injury, but when you're surrounded by tens of thousands of crazed tourists, the real thing you're worried about is getting crushed yourself. On several occasions, I was moving forward but my feet were not touching the ground.

Tomato throwing was nearly impossible because there was no room to bend over and pick one up from the street, and if by some miracle you were able to get one, you couldn't get enough arm room to actually throw the damn thing. The goggles that were provided by our tour group were instantly broken and fogged up, rendering them absolutely useless. Between the tomato juice and the hose water, if I had brought some cilantro, we would have been up to our ankles in gazpacho. Someone had a large cup that they were using to scoop the liquid from the street and dump it on people, and I was lucky enough to catch a full face of this incredibly sanitary cocktail. I don't know if it was the acid from the tomatoes or the grime from the streets, but my eyes started to burn with the fire of a thousands suns.

After an hour or so of this insanity, a final cannon shot signaled the end of the event. We narrowly escaped death by stampede on our way to find somewhere to wash off. There were a few shower stations, but they all seemed to have super long lines so we opted for the low-tech route: villagers with hoses. While I was grateful for their generosity, it did strike me as a bit suspicious that the Spanish men would give the guys about 30 seconds under the hose and the girls got a solid minute and a half. "You still have a little tomato right there. Let me just get that for you..."

I can't see anything at this moment.

We made our way slowly back up the hill to our bus, and they drove us to a lovely little spot for lunch. There were real showers, buckets of paella, endless sangria and a pool surrounded by nice, shady trees. It would have been nice to see it but I was temporarily blinded from all the dirty tomato juice in my face. My eyes tried to combat the intrusion by pumping out gallons of mucus and no matter how much I wiped it away, it kept coming back. I had a goopy cloud over my eyes for the rest of the day. Thanks for this very attractive biological response, immune system!  I'm glad this was a day when I was talking to lots of strangers!

We spent most of the afternoon eating, drinking and chatting with our Canadian friends from the night before. We were pretty tired when we got back to Valencia, and I was still blind, so we got some take out and went to bed early.

My vision returned the next day and we decided to venture out and explore the city a little. We saw lots of cool thing but I couldn't tell you what any of them are. I was tired, okay? I left the guide book at home. It was also 42˚C that day, making it much too hot to think or remember stuff. All in all, our time in Valencia was pretty solid. Some quality R&R on the beach was much needed and it's always great to explore a new city. Despite a little blindness and a little blistering heat, we were glad to have experienced the Tomatina, if for nothing else but to know that we will never, ever do it again.

Here are some pictures that were not taken on a shitty disposable camera!

 

We are Aoûtiens - Part 2

August 16-23: Edinburgh, Glasgow, Dublin and Belfast

We were back in Bordeaux for a hot second before hopping back on a plane to the UK again, but this time a bit further north to Scotland. We landed in Edinburgh, right in the middle of the Fringe Festival, one of the world's largest art festivals. The city was teeming with people, so much so that we had to stay in a dorm room on a college campus outside of the city because every single hotel downtown was booked up.

Despite the wet and windy conditions, even in the middle of August, Edinburgh is an amazingly beautiful city. Castles and cathedrals, ruins and winding roads, hilltops and the High Street: every part of Edinburgh is remarkable.

Climbing King Arthur's Seat

Edinburgh Castle

On top of the physical beauty, we saw some amazingly talented performers while we were in town. Musicians, comedians, burlesque dancers, magicians, photographers, beatboxers... There was something for everyone and if we had all the time and money in the world, we would have stayed for more shows. Alas, the clock was ticking and we had many more adventures lined up for the week.

We were off to Glasgow next, mostly for its cheaper hotel rates and convenient airport connection to Dublin, which would be our third stop. I didn't know much about Glasgow except that there were castles and things in the area, but without a car, we were basically confined to the city center. Coming off the heels of our big road trip in England and a hectic day in Edinburgh, we were in pretty urgent need of some R&R so our time in Glasgow was very low-key. Highlights included our ultra-modern hotel at Citizen M, tasty BBQ at The Raven and a delicious meal at Café Gandolfi in Merchant Square. No, we did not catch any of the Commonwealth games.

We very nearly ended up at the wrong airport due to a bus mix up, but we managed to make it to Dublin nevertheless. We had a hotel near the Temple Bar and Trinity College so we were right in the heart of all the action. Dublin is as much fun as they say it is, with tons of great pubs, museums, the Guinness Storehouse, the Jameson Distillery and you can't swing a cat in that town without hitting an amazing cathedral. We got caught up in some sort of traditional Gaelic dance in the middle of a pub one night and it was a pretty good representation of our time in Ireland. Friendly folk, good drink, good times.

It was tough to leave Dublin but we had one more stop on our list: Belfast in Northern Ireland. Again, this destination was chosen more for its convenience in cheap flights back to Bordeaux but it turned out to be a great time. We were initially a bit worried when the woman at the tourist office told us Belfast was known for "good crack" only to find out later that craic really means "partying" or "good times" in Belfast-ese. (As an aside, their version of English is a hot mess and I couldn't understand a single word anyone said for two days.)  This turned out to be true, and we had a great time going to pubs, listening to live music, and eating some great seafood.

Since I love boats, we took a little ride on the river to learn about the history of the Titanic (city slogan: "She was alright when she left here!") and discovered that a whole bunch of things are filmed at Titanic Studios in Belfast, most notably Game of Thrones, which I still have never watched. We checked out Belfast Castle and since the zoo was closed, we went for what was supposed to be a short walk that turned into a no-joke hike in Cavehill Park. The view from the top was well worth the climb and the sore legs the next day.

Despite the wind, occasional rain and downright winterlike temperatures, we had a wonderful time. The whiskey helped.