Bordeaux, France: An arctic beach paradise

During my senior year, I participated in an exchange with a class from Sainte Marie Grand LeBrun high school in Bordeaux, France. My group was a smattering of people from all grades and French levels, wherein we would stay with students for two weeks and they would come to the U.S. one month later and do the same.

I had several incidents of interest on this trip, some of which I have photo evidence, so that's exciting.

Upon arrival, my correspondent and her mother picked me up from the train station. As we vacated the car I realize they are tiny people. I’m not just saying short, I’m saying puny. The more I looked at Charlotte(my penpal), the more certain I became that her shin bone was approximately the size of my foot. So, I felt gawky and awkward to begin with.

As I walk into their house, which is tiny to match these little people, I see her father.

“‘Allloooooo,” he says from across the kitchen, leaning out of the sliding glass door that I come to know as his cigarette-smoking station. I begin to greet and walk towards him when a HUGE dog comes out of nowhere.

Not exaggerating, just a huge black lab tackles me and, naturally, I fall hard on my butt.

Father Tiny Frenchman comes running over, assuring me he is Natalie Portman’s doctor in very fast french and asking if I’m alright. Ego bruised, that’s all.

Other incidents of stupidity? I slipped off a dock into the water at the Bordeaux beach. That was a cold, sad day.

Also, my coordinator yelled at me frequently because I didn’t stay awake on a single guided bus tour.

Eventually, we made nice and she tentatively agreed to take a selfie with me.






Speaking of the beach, did you know the tallest sand dune in Europe is in Bordeaux? Neither did I. Measuring at about 110 meters above sea level, La Dune du Pilat is a great calf workout and a beautiful view from the top.

I’m the red tomato in front, in case you’re wondering.





We also visited some of the younger classes at the school, and I volunteered to explain to them how life is different in the U.S. One little boy asked me why I wasn’t “fat like the rest of the Americans,” which I found funny. And flattering. (Is that politically incorrect?)




 

During the last four days or so, one of the boys in the exchange began messaging me on facebook, let's call him Antoine. Antoine found it very cool that I could speak French and conduct lengthy conversations about The Walking Dead.

On my last evening in Bordeaux, Antoine sent me a long explanation of how he had “fallen in love.” Reading this declaration out loud to Charlotte, she said she had known him for 12 years and never knew he had so much to say.

When everyone was seeing us off the next day at the train station, I attempted a face-to-face conversation with Antoine (no, we had never spoken) and was met by a terrified look and his subsequent escape.

Afterwards, he sent me a soliloquy of regret, promising he wouldn’t be so scared of girls when he came to visit in a month. I consider this a tribute to the courage that he never found.

Hiatus & Eruption: Managua, Nicaragua

Boom! Another pothole. My dad cursed and accelerated up the hill. He was grumpy because he doesn’t handle the heat well and, with the air conditioner broken, had driven for hours in the infernal Nicaraguan air. Even with the windows open, the weak breeze was thick and sulfuric, unconducive to general happiness about life.

At the entrance to the Masaya Volcano National Park, they told us to hurry because the sun was setting and they don’t trust American tourists feeling their way around in the dark next to a gigantic crater that occasionally spews lava. While I thought the request was founded, my mother joked that we’d see the sunset from the volcano's summit.

She then told me a story about Spanish conquistadors throwing the indigenous off the edge when they made for subpar slaves. Charmingly dubbed “La Boca del Infierno,” or “The Mouth of Hell,” this was the site of 2 volcanoes and 5 craters. The last eruption was in 2003(this was 2008), but all of the craters were infamous for emitting smoke all year round. I ascertained this later, only to discover that what we actually saw was one of the larger craters. Regardless, this crater, Bobadilla, had been exercised of the Devil on multiple occasions, for it was supposedly the most volatile of the five.

Bobadilla looked nothing like the volcano in Shrek. Just a big, stinky hole in the ground. It was funny that there were absolutely no safety features at the edge, though. No guardrail or anything. It was like Earth’s doorjamb.

Anyway, we get back in the car only to find utter silence when my father turns the key. Not even a sputter.

Yes, we were surprised that the ancient, golden, tin can we had considered a car broke down at the precipice of a volcanic crater.

Anyway, that’s the kind of vacationing I do. For as long as I can remember, my parents have schlepped me to a new place every summer for a month to stay in ecolodges, shower with geckos, and make an eccentric time out of the trip.

Keep reading, let’s talk about volcanoes.

The border between Indonesia and Java houses one of the most active volcanoes in the world. Mount Merapi, “Fire Mountain”, was apparently the site where Hindu Gods wanted to put a mountain, but were interrupted by the hubris of two emperors. So, these Gods just put their mountain on top of these dudes, effectively burying them and angering them enough to make molten rock.

Merapi’s latest eruption was in 2010, so scientists deemed it a 4 on the 1-5 “bad volcano” scale, but apparently the subterranean lava levels have since dropped significantly. This being said, I’d like to visit it because I could see two countries simultaneously, and I’d enjoy reading about two cultures merging in this physically explosive way.

I understand that visiting an active volcano is like skiing a slope named “Suicide,” so I’d like to clarify that I wouldn’t be hiking it or anything crazy. I’ll just admire it from afar.