First Impressions: My Travel Journey From Paris to Bordeaux

I found this “Paris to Bordeaux” post saved in my drafts from over nine months ago and it took me right back to the very moment I wrote it. Adding photos also allowed me to relive the experience. Hope you enjoy.

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It’s the first day we are not in Paris. It’s the 30th of May and I am both elated and deflated.

Elated because I have just spent the last 30 days in what has become my favorite city in the entire world. Deflated because I am no longer there.

The sights, sounds, and smells of the City of Light have imprinted on me so strongly that I can’t help but miss them all …

The astounding architecture that tells a story from centuries past;

The miles-long walks we took along the Seine;

The undulating wails of the midnight ambulances;

The cooing wood pigeons outside our French windows;

The clanking glasses and lively conversations at every cafe.

Even the endless assault of cigarette smoke that struck my nose and lungs whenever we stepped outside our pied-à-terre doesn’t diminish the enchantment and exhilaration I felt in Paris.

(Just the fact that I actually have those memories to write about suffuses me with delight.)

Paris is always with me now, this much I know.

I have to remind myself that I shouldn’t feel sad simply because we’ll be away for a while. There’s more to discover in this dazzling country and I’m not about to miss out.

Travel Reflections: Paris to Bordeaux

We took the 10 a.m. train from Montparnasse and about two hours later we arrived at the Bordeaux Saint-Jean station. I immediately noticed the timeworn, yellowish limestone buildings and my first impression was that everything looked a little less imposing and more unvarnished than Paris.

Perhaps Bordeaux is not as elegant as I had imagined. But what do I know? We’ve only just arrived.

After picking up the rental car, it wasn’t long before we proceeded to drive in the wrong direction on several one-way streets. Mon dieu! Who knew those signs with little red circles and white subtraction marks didn’t mean “yield” but rather “do not enter”?!

As much as I would’ve loved to visit some of the region’s gorgeous vineyards and chateaus, I’m feeling grateful that we’re keeping it local and not driving farther away.

As I write this, we’re in a lovely bed & breakfast off the beaten path, tucked in a neighborhood not far from the city center. Le Clos des Queyries is run by Sylvie and Sebastian, a warm and welcoming couple who gladly share this retreat with guests from all over the world.

Upon our hosts’ suggestion, we walk to the nearby tram and head to Bordeaux’s historic center of Saint Pierre to eat at Cafe Francais. The restaurant has been around since 1874 and sits right across from the stunning Saint-André Cathedral, a living relic dating back to the 11th century. At the restaurant we meet a lovely man named—surprise!—Sebastian, who is our server.

We break out one of the only full sentences we know in French: “Je suis désolé, je ne parle pas français. Parlez-vous anglais?”

At first he says he doesn’t speak English. A swift and adamant “no” is all we get.

But by the time we order our appetizers (entrees, in local parlance), Sebastian comes out of the woodwork with anglais all over the place! (We found this to be the case with many locals in Paris as well.)

He tells us he moved to Bordeaux in September and I ask him how he likes it here. His eyes imply “Not so much.” And after a hesitant pause, he simply says, “It’s different.” He lived in Paris and we wondered why he moved but didn’t ask. We didn’t want to seem intrusive and act like nosey Americans.

Our conversation reminded me that even when you think someone is living the dream—or living in a dream location—it’s not always so dreamy. The humdrum of daily life and the reality of responsibility exists no matter where you go.

After our meal (paired with Bordeaux wine, of course!), we stroll through the center of town and eventually make our way back to Le Clos des Queyries.

I love the neatness and simplicity of our room with its thick wood-beam ceiling and knotted wood floor.

I love the tea kettle paired with plain white cups and saucers.

I love the rain shower and clean, comfy bed tucked with crisp linens.

I love lounging in the plush Lignones robe, sitting at the window nook, reading another chapter of “A Moveable Feast” after showering with sandalwood body wash.

And I love that the towel warmer rack has already dried Aram’s wet shirt that he had been scrubbing to remove the olive oil stains from lunch.

I’m so happy to be living in this dream that is actually real.

From Bordeaux to Paris … My Love Affair With France Is Forever

My head is dizzy with so many memories. I wish I would’ve written down all my thoughts and feelings and impressions every day along this journey so far. But I’ve been too busy living life as fully as I ever have.

Being in France for the past month has been a wondrous reimagining of mine and Aram’s world—one filled with late evenings and early mornings exploring and embracing a country and culture that insists on being discovered at every turn lest we miss a single magnificent, magical moment.

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First Impressions About Toulouse, France

A Non-Drinker’s Guide to Wine Country

Why I Didn’t Love San Sebastian, Spain