Travel & Hotspots

TRIP DOWN MEMORY LANE IN FRANce

It was a quarter to five in the morning last Thursday when my alarm went off. I had 45 minutes to get dressed and catch the train from Amsterdam Central to the airport where I would arrive at 6AM and my flight would leave an hour later. I had packed my suitcase the night before, in the dark, so I had no recollection of what I had thrown in there. I had a ton of things scattered around my apartment charging and I managed to, yet again, leave my home a little later than planned and head on out into the barely lit city.

My travel buddy’s prep was entirely the contrary. He had made sure everything was ready to go the day before, aligned everything on his bed so that he would know exactly what he would be taking with him. “Here are a couple of extra t-shirts incase it gets cold.” He had neatly printed out the program for the following few days (twice), attached everything with a paper clip and placed it in a folder, alongside some extra information about the locations he had come across, and all his chargers and books had been put into their special compartments of his suitcase.

We met up at the airport, and with a stopover in Paris, we headed to Nantes, approximately 400 kilometers from the French capital. And that travel buddy of mine? That would be my father. The two of us, traveling together, for a father-daughter weekend. The last (and only) time we did this was when I was sixteen and we went to New York. Obviously there have been a few other trips, but the two of us haven’t traveled together in a while. Until now.

We picked up our rented stick-shift car (we both such at switching gears and especially when I’m driving, it causes an immense amount of stress, and so I found my way to the passengers seat) and we headed on off to Nantes. Once we dropped off our suitcases in our hotel bedrooms, we went to La Cigale, a restaurant where a table had patiently been waiting for us. “I’m loving this weekend already,” my dad said when two glasses of white wine had been ordered.

We wandered through the city, passed the Les Machines de l’île, where a massive hydraulic elephant can be found walking through the hallways. The hallways that were once a shipyard. My dad took a seat on a bench while I took photos and our guide, who was speaking in French so we didn’t understand too much of it, was telling us how impressive the place is. We saw the Château des Ducs de Bretagne, walked through the Passage Pommeraye, wandered through the Place Royal and had dinner with lots of cheese and baguettes only to head off to bed at a decent hour because the following morning we had a very early wakeup call.

The following day it was off to a new city. We went to Rennes, about an hour and half drive away from where we were. Our stay for the night would be the brand new Le Magic Hall hotel which makes you feel right at home – the exact feeling the owner was hoping to obtain. “I want my guests to want to crash on the couch, kick off their shoes, grab a glass of wine if they’re in the mood for one, and even cook their own egg in the morning if they feel like it.”

“He likes to refer to himself as a ‘young god’, but secretly even young gods grow older”

Rennes ressembles a painting. The city is filled with colorful 15th century houses, massive city squares, sunny terraces and gothic churches. Together with our tour guide, we wandered through the city, my dad taking endless amounts of photos, throwing one fact after another my way (this man is like a walking encyclopedia, sometimes it’s unclear who the actual tour guide is) and we make left turns and right turns over ancient cobble stones and city side walks.

My father and I have an exceptionally great relationship and even back in Amsterdam we like to frequently uncork a bottle (or two) of wine, and whenever I call him for important advice, he’s always there as my trusty advisor. “That’s what fathers are for, my dear!” is always his response. He likes to refer to himself as a ‘young god’, but secretly even young gods grow older (he turned 70 last year). He has the tendency to pivot with his left leg, which I like to make fun of him for, or use it as an excuse when he can’t keep up with the pace of a guide and would rather spend hours roving through a city.

He’s still a part of the generation that walks around with a map to navigate from A to B. A map that had been cut out and neatly placed into that special folder of his he brought along with him. “Admit it, how practical is this!” When he receives a text on his phone, he’ll stop right where he is to read it – because walking and reading don’t mesh. And therefore, we find ourself frequently standing still in the middle of the street, on a square or a sidewalk, because that phone of his receives a ton of messages. Especially from women, because besides being a young god, he’s also quite the Adonis. He’s always full of stories about what courtship used to be like (although some facts definitely get exaggerated) and most of his stories I’ve probably heard, give or take, a couple of hundred times. “Yes, but I always manage to switch them up a bit every time” – this always makes him laugh.

After Rennes we headed to Angers, a city two hours away. That evening we sat outside on a terrace on the Place de Raillement, we drank some gin-tonics underneath the outdoor heaters, I smoked a cigarette, he didn’t (and never has), inside a song was blaring out of the speakers that was cool five years ago and that’s when we start ranting. Ranting about a lot of things; about school, about arguments, about happy holidays, less happy ones, about set backs in life, things that just plain sucks, about future plans, new adventures, life – those kinds of things.

We ended our weekend in Poitiers, the fourth and final stop of the weekend. A city filled with college students – 30% of the inhabitants under the age of 30. The streets were serene, it was a Sunday in France, and even in Paris all the stores are closed on this day. All in all, this entire weekend was one for the books and one I would highly recommend to anyone. France is wonderful, its cities so full of life and beauty. Their wines are always local, the cheese exactly how you want it to be, terraces everywhere, nice stores and the distances from one city to another are easy to do. My tip for you is: book a ticket, rent a car and take your dad along for the ride. Or your mother, because seriously, sometimes you forget how great it can be to spend time with your parents.

By the way, next week I’ll post a extensive travel guide of my weekend online!