4 Avril 2011
Trouble with Transportation in Bordeaux
It was an early wake up that morning to get to the train station in time for the 0700 train to Bordeaux. We arrived at the station with papers that had confirmation that we had purchased our tickets to Bordeaux. To get to Bordeaux we would have to first take a train to Poiters and from there we’d get a TGV (high-speed train) to Bordeaux. The only places that were open in the station that early was the café and the information desk. I approached the information desk with our paperwork to try to get the tickets, however that particular office is just for information, not for tickets. The woman told me that I would just have to speak with the conductor on the train.
About twenty minutes into the train ride, the conductor walked through the car checking tickets. I used my best possible French to explain our situation to him. I handed him the paperwork for the tickets we had purchased online and he shook his head in disapproval. He asked me if we had tickets. I once again explained that our stupid American credit cards will not work in French machines. He made some frustrated sounds and continued to shake his head. I offered up my apology and he responded, “No, I am sorry for you because you are going to have to purchase another ticket.” Luckily my credit card worked on his handheld machine and after forking over €36, we officially had tickets. The conductor assured me that we would be able to get reimbursed for the redundant tickets at any station in France. He scribbled an explanatory note out on a little piece of paper as proof.
Once we arrived in Poitiers we knew we’d have less than fifteen minutes before our train to Bordeaux departed. Having finally learned our lesson, we went to fetch our train tickets from the sales window. The last thing we wanted was to be overcharged again, and this time for expensive TGV tickets. We had just enough time to grab our tickets and make it to the correct train platform. I had hoped I’d be able to get a coffee and croissant but there just wasn’t enough time.
When one rides the TGV train one is given assigned seats in a certain car. We found our spot in the crowded train which was practically full. Since we hadn’t had time to get our breakfast in the station, we were forced to pay top Euro for overpriced and underwhelming pastries and coffee, but it got the job done.
As the train sped southwest through France I read my book and listened to music. Before long, we were disembarking the train in Bordeaux. It was a big and busy station with high glass ceilings. Reading the travel book on the way had provided information about a hostel in Bordeaux that was cheap and close to the train station. We had to walk through the sketchy part of town past strip bars, tobacco stores, porn shops and kebab restaurants before we found the hostel. It was located close to a university and seemed to be filled with highschool to college-aged travelers. We quickly learned that all the beds were booked for the night. So far it had been easy to stumble across hotels so we decided to press on. Most of the hotels mentioned in the travel guide seemed to be in one certain area of town but unfortunately our tiny little map didn’t even include the train station so we had no idea where we were in reference to the hotels.
We headed on in the direction we presumed to be the hotels. It was about 1000 in the morning and the town of Bordeaux was pretty busy. We couldn’t seem to get out of the sketchy area though and all we ran into were hair weave salons, cell phone vendors, and shops selling cheap and slutty clothes made of polyester. Eventually we stumbled upon a Carrefour grocery store and decided we’d eat. I had fun looking at all of the different French cheeses and yogurts that are plentiful and affordable. We filled up our shopping basket with bread, cheese, butter with sea salt crystals, sheep’s milk yogurt, cured pork sausage, apples, and half bottles of red Bordeaux wine.
Not far from the Carrefour we found a flea market in a pedestrian only square around an old tower. We sat down on the steps of this landmark and devoured the French treats. After being sufficiently satisfied on carbs and milk fat, we walked through the market. This market sold everything from bras to mattresses to fabric for sewing. We eventually realized that we had walked in a giant loop and ended up back at the same square we’d stood in about an hour ago. We re-grouped and decided that since we had not successfully found the hotels in the book, that we’d head back to the area around the train station; as sketchy as it was, we had seen a few two star hotels.
Another twenty minutes later we were back in the land of lap dances and falafel, this area was quite the contradictory neighborhood with it’s mix of Islam and sex industry. I spotted a sign for a two-star hotel down a side road and we approached. It was confusing as to where the entrance to this place was and it looked as though it might be shut down but I noticed a small sign above a doorbell that said “hotel.” I pushed the button and a few moments later a Middle Eastern man answered the door. Behind him in the hall way I could see the rumble of some crushed wood and sheet rock on the floor. I asked him if there were any available rooms and he told me this was not a hotel. Clearly the sign on the door disagreed. We figured it was just as well considering we’d probably wake up from a night in a hotel like this and find that Mike’s kidneys had been harvested and I had been traded into the Eastern European sex slavery.
We circled back to the large town square for the third time now, only this time I spotted a large map near the light-rail stop. By consulting this map next to my tour book map, I was able to finally realize what direction we’d need to head in to get to the hotels. We just hadn’t gone far enough before. The bags were starting to feel heavy on my back and in my hands but we continued on.
Thirty minutes later we arrived into the nicer part of town. There was a wide pedestrian only street with shops, restaurants and finally, hotels! The first three places were visited were full but luckily offered tips on where else we could try to find a room. Eventually we found a room in a clean and quaint two-star hotel right near the city’s cathedral and the busy pedestrian street. Our luck was turning around.
It felt so good to ditch the heavy backpack and change into some warmer weather clothes as the sun had finally come back out to shine. A block from our hotel was an open-air coffee and gelato shop. I tried some mango, raspberry and chocolate gelato along with a delicious milky latte. We wandered around the sunny and bustling streets of Bordeaux. It was actually a very pretty city with granite buildings similar to the beautiful ones seen in Paris. The cafes were full of people sitting outside smoking their cigarettes and drinking beer in the sunshine.
Most of the towns we had visited in Paris offered a bike service. At various locations around town one can rent a bike by the hour or day and use it as much as one wants and when finished, drop it off at another designated spot. All one has to do is put a credit card in a machine and create an account. This plan to ride around Bordeaux was foiled by our stupid chip-less American credit cards once again. While discussing what we wanted to do for the next few days, we both felt like we’d get the most out of our time if we could rent a car and explore the wine country that makes Bordeaux famous. The receptionist at the hotel told us that we could find all of the rental car agencies around the train station. For the third time that day, we walked another few miles back to the train station. The first half a dozen places we tried were all sold out of cars. Just when we were ready to claim defeat, I noticed one last rental agency. The woman was happy to inform us that there was a car available and we could have it for about €80 for the day. Just as I handed over my credit card to secure the reservation, she informed me that we’d need an international driving permit. I’d traveled to Europe many times with my family and they’d always rented a car and as far as I was aware, this special permit was never necessary. The woman made a call to another person, presumably the boss, and still confirmed that we couldn’t get the car without the permit.
After striking out with all of our other transportation options, we checked the train schedule times and headed back to the hotel for an evening run. From our hotel we headed down to the wide river that runs through the city. It seemed to be the popular exercise spot in town as we passed lots of other joggers. It was a beautiful sunny evening. People were sitting out in riverside cafes and dinner cruise ships. By the time we finished our four mile run, the sun was finally starting to set. It was hard to believe how late the sun was setting in Europe compared to home, but it makes sense when you realize that Bordeaux sits at about the same latitude as Nova Scotia.
It was officially dark when we set out to find a good dinner. We felt like we deserved a delicious meal after all of our bad transportation luck earlier in the day. I was drawn to a crowded brasserie a few blocks from our hotel. One of the things I liked about Bordeaux was that it was not a touristy town, in fact I hadn’t remembered seeing any foreign tourists all day. We were seated at the only free table in the place, handed menus, and told that we could go up to a wine case and choose our bottle.
I consulted the menu and decided I was going to order the prix fix menu which included foie gras as a started and duck confit as the main course. I had one of the guys at the restaurant help me pick out an appropriate red wine. My foie gras was silky, buttery and delicious. Mike enjoyed his starter of warm goat cheese on toast. The duck confit was one of the best I’ve ever. Mike had a steak in the bordelaise style, which is the sauce of that region that has wine, shallots and bone marrow. The wine was from nearby St Emilion and it was cheap and good. For dessert, Mike had a crème brulee which was light but flavorful and I had cognac with canelles, which are tiny bite-sized eggy cakes made just in Bordeaux. This kind of food is the reason people visit France! Everything was delicious and not a bad deal at three courses for €16. Needless to say, we slept well after that meal.
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