Nether Am I

We begin one of our last student excursions surrounded by 3 million gallons of water and 12,000 types of sea life from all over the world. The La Rochelle Aquarium is one of the biggest in France, and is so impressive that it provokes us to silence, leaving only the bubbling sound of running water.

 Well placed lighting shine through the water creates an underwater ambience as we observe, starfish, sea shrimp, crabs, and many other animals.

               They're nature’s aquatic miracles from waters we may never swim in. 

However, from the depths of my stomach comes a growl. All these breathtaking and beautiful aquatic lifeforms are making me hungry. I skipped breakfast and being surrounded by 12,000 potential meals is only making things worse. In the hungriest part of the morning I consider reaching in for small salmon or two. 

11,998 animals is still a lot.

My picnic lunch cries out from my bag like an infant in dire need of a mother’s love, but our guides insist that we go into the city before breaking for lunch. There is no end to this famine.
As we’re walking an intricate display of chocolates catches our stomachs.

“Wow! Look at them! They’re so pretty!” says Kamila until she saw the price. “80€?! I’m not that hungry!”

Neither am I.

Finally, we sit to eat in the open square next to the carousel. There are few words passed as we devour long awaited lunches, and within minutes the seemingly timeless hunger is no more. Stuffed like pigs we are ready to continue our adventure through the city, which is quite beautiful. Cafes, bars, and restaurants line the harbor filled with boats and birds. 

The main attractions are three towers; Tour de la Chaine, Tour De la Lanterne, and Tour St. Nicolas, and our tour includes exploring them. 

We soon discovered while climbing the Tour de la Lanterne 5 floors that eating a lot of food wasn’t such a good idea. Every step was a sluggish reminder of how much we had stuffed our faces. However, the view of the city and harbor from the top made the walking worth it. We were able to make to a second tower, which showed us the entire harbour equipped with lively restaurants and bars.

“Do you want to go to the third one?” asks one our tour guides.

“Actually......I can see it from here....looks good,” I respond


“Let’s go for ice cream!” suggests Kamila.

There are no objections to her suggestion, and as we lounge enjoying ice cream, crepes, coffee, and admittedly, a bit of rest from walking, the sun sets on the harbor, ending another eventful student adventure.

He is a sad animal.

Everyone has a unique perspective, a way of seeing and experiencing the world. Upon arriving in Nantes, the 6th biggest city in France located 40 minutes north of La Roche-Sur-Yon, I wondered how to explain 6 foreign students and 2 french student tour guides’ impressions of an entire city. I can’t possibly know what everyone thought at every moment, but there are some things that go without explaining. They are evident.

Saint Paul Cathedrale is a massive marvel of architecture, which has seen its share of damage throughout wars. It seems even larger when compared to the smallest student of us all, Sinyi.

It’s evident: It is big. She is small. 

Our guides whisk us down a side street towards the Moat Gardens which surround the Royal Palace. These things were designed to keep invaders away, but are useless to euro toting tourists. There is a statue in front of the Palace which is locked in an eternal gaze at the Royal gates. We all agree it is beautiful because it is our first time there, but somehow I imagine the frozen figure is is quite tired of looking at it.

       

Inside the palace walls we find the open courtyard where the royals would host events and parties. It is surrounded by walkways giving us breathtaking views of the city. It’s as if at any moment we could make a royal decree, but we say nothing. It’s too beautiful. 

As we leave, there is a dog. Obviously, he was not allowed in, and I don’t blame him for looking so depressed. He has to stay outside while we live like kings and queens. He is a sad animal.

However, when we visit the Machines of the Isle of Nantes we find beasts with completely different attitudes. The metallic mammals, reptiles and amphibians are the work of François Delarozière and Pierre Orefice who crossed the imaginary worlds of Jules Verne and Leonardo da Vinci. 

Their proudest result is a mammoth who stomps triumphantly, while spectators stand in awe of his intimidating stature. His trunk waves wildly through the air, spewing water on the crowd, and at one point turns spray those on his back. 

One of the best, and even most beautiful ways to view a city is from the top. At the pinnacle of the Tour Bretagne Tour is the Le Nid (The Nest) which is designed just as its name and altitude suggest. 

It is filled with overgrown birds and egg chairs, and when we look upon the city we see where clumsy birds have dropped their eggs.  We can see all of the sights and streets, including the Saint Paul Cathedrale.

It’s evident, from this perspective, it’s not so big anymore.

Bisous, Bisous

It wasn’t until I arrived in La Roche-Sur-Yon that I realized I had been living a life deprived of affection. My cheeks were cold from the lack of casual lips greeting them everyday, and now I look back on my life in Texas wondering how any drifting cowboy could ever go without a bisous, bisous.

It took me off guard at first. People whom I hardly knew, kissing me hello, one bisous per cheek whenever I see them. I’m used to extending a firm American handshake of freedom and commerce to everyone, including females, and perhaps I gentle hug to the closest of friends. But when I saw the confusion, and perhaps horror, on the faces of french girls after seeing my extended hand I knew I had to make a change. I had to adapt. It’s the only way someone can survive in a new culture, and sometimes adapting can mean survival. 

I admit it was not a difficult decision.

Day-by-day I become more accustomed to bisous,bisous. It’s normal, it’s casual, to authentically greet everyone you encounter for the first time in a day, and sometimes it’s the same for saying goodbye. However, these bisous are not without their setbacks. One time I was on a bisous rampage. One morning I walked in the university to find a group of fellow female students. After undertaking my cultural duties to greet each one of them i was feeling very liberal with my bisous. Soon after I saw a female professor who I needed to talk about a class, but when I tried to bisous her she slowly moved back. I casually played it off while continuing our discussion, but I knew something was not right. You can’t go around just “bisouing” everybody.

After two months of being here I think I’ve learned how the bisous,bisous works. Perhaps, it is a part of me. It was never more evident than when I left France for the holidays. I met with a Croatian in Brussels, Belgium who told me stop all of these French things and to give her a big hug. When in Holland I learned to greet with three kisses, which was ok, but seemed a bit too much for my newly found French customs. As soon as I came within the Vendee boundaries I knew I was home. Everything made sense again. One bisous, equally placed to each cheek,  followed or preceded by a friendly “bonjour”. My cheeks will never be cold again.

The South of Vendee

Ruins that don’t “ruin” anything, aren’t really ruins at all. They are beautiful. Timeless, in the most destructive essence, which fatefully choose what buildings, rather what parts of buildings, would remain for us to see. l’Abbaye Maillezais stands before us, intact enough to let us imagine what life was like for benedictine monks in the 989 a.d.

Like with most of our weekend journeys we are following student guides from the university’s tourism program. Mathilde stands in front of us telling the story of days past. She carefully narrates the regions history, but I admit she has the best possible assistance. 

The amazing landscape is the perfect sidekick. It’s the mesmerizing thing about monuments and beautiful landscapes. No matter what your mission is, tourism, photography, or videography, the job is much easier. The real work was done long before when abbey and cathedral were constructed. All we had to do was show up, smile and enjoy.

It only everything were this easy.

Water and green marsh splashes from the stroke of my oar directly until my lap. Sinyi laughs at me, while Yen-Jung yells: “Wrong way! You go the wrong way!”

“No! It’s your side. You’re not rowing hard enough!”

We are in the wonderful wilderness of Venise Verte, which a 38 mile wet marsh stream which is part of the second largest marshland in all of France.  We split into two boats to conduct our adventure, and rowed our ways through green waters. Something about being in this wilderness is therapeutic. Cows graze in a nearby field. A light rain falls upon us, as our boat slowly moves up stream. The only sound is my oar touching down into the waters.

“In the early as the 4th century these monks built many abbeys on the banks and the islands of the Marais. Can you hear me!?” yells Maxime.

“Yes!” Sinyi responds.

“Ok good. Because I am going to quiz you later!”

It was raining by the time we reached the abbey Nieul Sur l’Autize. Thankfully, it was much better preserved than the Maillezais, and we were able to stay inside for the majority of the tour. Maylis explains the abbey’s history while the interactive room lights up the past. 

There are videos, holograms and interactive videos throughout the tour to demonstrate what life was like for the monks of Nieul Sur l’Autize. I imagine their daily lives were much different from ours. Daily monk duties, and the occasional religious war threatening to destroy your home seems a bit stressful, but still, they were people. After a long day, and with a fresh falling rain, there is only one thing to do. Sleep. I like to think they thought the same.