Better things

A temporary escape from disbelief and rage in beautiful Bordeaux

Sunset in the Chartrons district of Bordeaux

It’s good to be back in Bordeaux, which is as lovely as I remember from our visit last year. We already know the narrow, winding streets near our Airbnb, the fromageries with the best cheese, and which cafés are the most welcoming. The familiarity is soothing, especially when the world is crumbling.

In Bordeaux, people are going about their business. They are walking dogs and chatting at bistros. They are wondering whether the latest manifestation (protest) will mess up their commute. They are contemplating what snacks to have at their evening apéro. What they are not doing is looking suspiciously at the woman behind them at the boulangerie and wondering if she voted for him.

I won’t harp on about the dread and horror the next four years will surely bring. Enough people are doing that already. Instead, I’m going to follow the advice of this smart article, “The key to taking effective action in a Trump world is to avoid perpetuating the autocrat’s goals of fear, isolation, exhaustion, and disorientation.”

Talking to strangers

I refuse to feel isolated and alone, so I’ve been pushing myself and Jason, to some degree, outside our comfort zones. We’ve been chatting up people next to us at restaurants, having wine with various expats from Facebook, and meeting up with other substack writers. It’s been a delight.

Our new pied-à-terre. JK.

Our new substack friend Aurélie is a fellow GenXer and Parisian who writes Excuse My French and lives in Bordeaux. I sensed a kindred spirit when I read her posts, especially this one. And so I reached out (as did Jason) to see if she’d like to meet IRL. Thanks to Aurélie, we ended up at a cool, artsy pop-up in an abandoned Hôtel particulier (a schmancy mansion) in a new-to-us neighborhood called Saint Seurin. Within minutes, we were discussing being child-free by choice, Sartre, and nostalgia for New York in the 1990s (she lived there for 20 years).

The Hôtel particulier was the former home of a renowned doctor and had been abandoned for 40 years. It was extraordinary, with high ceilings, a grand marble staircase, and ornate fireplaces. The paint was peeling off the ceilings in big, sweeping curls, but the grandeur of what had once been remained.

Aurélie contributed photographs from her gallery to the pop-up, and they added drama and intrigue to rooms filled with mid-century modern furniture, art, antiques, and accessories from different eras. We would not have discovered this unique event if we hadn’t connected with Aurélie.

I keep learning this lesson again and again, especially when we travel. Take chances and put yourself out there. Talking to strangers can be uncomfortable, but it can also be hugely rewarding.

Le jazz at L’Officine

After the pop-up, Jason and I went to a darling bar à vins called L’Officine. It had just opened for the night, and the gregarious young guys running it told us there would be a jazz duo playing later and that all the tables were communal, I suspect, to gauge how comfortable we’d be sardined next to strangers. We felt like we fit right in.

We sat next to a woman about my age and her adult son, who were sharing a bottle of red wine and kept popping outside to smoke. So French! We chatted with them in a garbled mix of high-school French (mine), halting English (the mom), and conversational French (Jason). The son didn’t speak English but seemed to get the gist of the (mostly English) conversation.

We covered what it’s like to live in Bordeaux (“lovely”) and politics in the U.S. (“merde”). Everyone here is beyond mystified that we elected him again. The unspoken sentiment seems to be, “How could you be so stupid?”

We only planned to stay at the bar for one drink. Best laid plans, right? As with all great nights out, this one was completely spontaneous and unexpected.

Soon, we were deep in conversation with the owner’s charming 60-something parents, who had come in from Paris with their two daughters and son-in-law.

I ordered more Champagne.

We talked about their time in Indiana (the father was a big shot at RCA) and how much the mom missed Indiana and wanted to return.

Another glass of Champagne and a cheese plate.

They invited us to stay at their house in Paris near the Bois de Boulogne. “We love having guests—the house feels so empty now that the kids are gone.”

We exchanged numbers and hugs.

One final glass for good measure.

By the end of the night, we were old chums. Of course, we have no idea if we’ll ever see them again, but the experience warmed my heart and made me almost forget about real life…if only for a moment.

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