Travel: Nantes, Rennes, & Paris

For those of our readers who did not actively follow our lives prior to this blog - but continue to do so because of the high standard of quality writing J - it will enhancing you reading of this post to know Joye’s history regarding the French language. After watching their daughter excel at French in high school, Joye’s parents fueled her enthusiasm by vacationing to Paris and hosting an English-studying French student named Marion for three consecutive summers. This encouragement led Joye to major in French on the collegiate level, which included studying abroad for a semester in Nantes, a port city in Northwest France. Up until our trip, I (James) had yet to visit Nantes (pronounced “Naunt”) or meet Marion, though both make up a huge part of who Joye is. So, what I wanted out of the last part of this trip was to better understand Joye, but in addition, I also got what became my favorite part of our “Best.Trip.Ever.”

“Nantes is not touristy,” Joye warned one hundred times prior to the end of our cross-country train ride. Its value, according to her, was primary nostalgic. However, thankfully, she was being over-cautious; there was a lot to see in Nantes: it’s newly restored Gothic cathedral, the former castle of the Duke and Duchess of Brittany, the river, its quaint shopping district, a number of beautiful gardens, and the Machine d’Iles - a street theatre company famous for its creating real-life machines based on the imagination of Jules Vernes (who came from and lived in Nantes).

However, the nostalgic moments were nice too: visiting the offices of Joye’s study abroad programs, eating at three course dinner at her favorite restaurant, just after eating a cheap lunch at Quick, a French equivalent of Burger King, which she ate alarmingly often. The brightest highlight, though, was going to dinner with her former host family in Nantes, who treated us to a spectacular four-course meal, complete with caviar, goat cheese, fresh yogurt, and good French wine. Despite being entirely in French, our conversation was a lively discussion of our work in Mali; Joye led the way, while I was grateful that I managed to keep up.

     

After Nantes, came Rennes (pronounced “Ren”), another important city in France’s Brittany region, where we had to privilege to see Marion and stay in her family’s beautiful home for four nights. There, we were treated to a non-stop cornucopia of French home-cooking, including quiche, beef roast, galettes, crepes, chicken, rabbit paté, and a combination of bread, sausage, and goat cheese, all of which exemplified the French preference for simple, high-quality ingredients. Moreover, each meal came with wine, cider, etc which Marion’s father served generously and frequently. It was a taste of France that we could not afford elsewhere, and so it was greatly savored and appreciated.

Furthermore, the Bertho family willingly drove us around to all the touristy sites, including the awe-inspiring cathedral/mountain/island of Mont Saint Michael (if it doesn’t ring a bell, Google it), the humbling WWII beaches of Normandy, the pirate-haven of Saint Malo, and the lovely seaside town of Dinard. Our final day I spent the morning playing their piano (while everyone was out, of course), and in the afternoon, we toured the cobblestone streets and wooden townhouses of Rennes’s historic district. As a result of our host family’s first-class hospitality, our stay in Rennes achieved the perfect blend of excitement and relaxation so often sought for in a vacation, yet so rarely achieved. Donc, á la famille du Bertho, merci beaucoup pour votre hospitalité !

Then, finally, our trip ended in Paris, which we only intended to spend a few hours in, but instead had to stay overnight, since our airlines Royal Air Maroc mercilessly cancel our flight a week before. But when life gives you lemons, and you happen to be in Paris, make lemonade. So we took the time to visit some site we had not seen before, including the Museum of Orsay (think Van Gogh and Monet), the bone dump called Parisian catacombs, and the other beautiful bone dump called the Father Lachaise Cemetery. We also went and saw Thor, which despite its ridiculous plot, contained all of the phantasmagoric spectacles we had hoped to see in our first 3D movie in nine months.

    

Five hours before our flight, we found ourselves promenading along the River Seine eating darn-good falafel from the Jewish Quarter, when I received a startling text message: “Your flight is cancelled. Register at the airport in 45 minutes.” We were a half hour from our luggage at the hotel, and 45 minutes from the airport. Running, we made it in an hour, which while exhausting, ended up being a perk; we made the new flight, were unable to think about the sad reality of leaving, and (after some complaining) got passes to their VIP room, where we took all of the goodies we could grab. It was an eventful end to an already unforgettable vacation.

Thanks for reading! – James (& Joye)