Yesterday was a travel day and not much of interest happened other than me getting lucky because of soccer (finally, a redeeming quality from a snoozer of a sport). The Euro2016 is happening and Bordeaux is hosting some games. Because of that, there was a special train from Narbonne to Bordeaux to accommodate soccer fans. I was on a train filled with drunk, singing, smelly soccer fans, but it was ok because I was on the correct train. And the singers helped me with my luggage. Thank you, soccer. Now carry on with your exciting 0-0 gaming.
I have discovered that buses and trains in not America do not have the same type of people on them. For example, unlike on MUNI, I didn’t think it was likely I’d get shanked at any moment. Also, people got up from the handicapped seats for elderly or pregnant people without having to be asked. I guess what I’m saying is it’s civilized. I am still me, though, so the whole time I’m checking the stops against the map, anxious that I will miss my stop or that the bus won’t actually stop at my stop or that I am on the wrong bus or that this is actually the movie Speed.
My airbnb is a full apartment in Eysines, a bit west of Bordeaux. The good thing is that I have so much space to myself. The bad thing is that the buses are on semi-strike here as well, so there are fewer buses to catch to Bordeaux and they don’t run as late as usual. Ce sera baiser, France.
I looked at a few places I want to visit in Bordeaux, (a palace but mostly wine bars) and then walked to the grocery store. Two notables about the store:
Tomatoes look like this.
The rosé section looks like this (that is just the rosé section).
I decided not to go to Bordeaux proper today and just enjoy the patio at my airbnb with my groceries.
Which means I am eating BREAD and life is wonderful. Do you even know how good bread is? Bread from France? FRENCH BREAD? You don’t. You don’t know. You couldn’t possibly. You need to come here and eat this bread.
The forecast is thundershowery so I bought an umbrella. Oh, and I can’t figure out how to lock the front door of my apartment so I barricaded it with empty bottles like a local/pro.
I learned sortie means exit and going in that door doesn’t win you any friends.
I’m trying to talk myself down from the cliffs of panic about trains. I will soon not have to deal with the French, and so far I’ve eventually gotten where I need to go, right?
Wine is helping with this process. Santé
“Success is going from failure to failure without losing enthusiasm.” Churchill.
paralyzedbynotcaring 