Bordeaux is called the Paris of the South. It’s not as large, of course, and notably lacks a tower or pyramid. But it’s elegant, beautiful, clean and interesting. We will return. This is going to be one of those “mostly pictures” blog posts because I don’t have
Bordeaux is called the Paris of the South. It’s not as large, of course, and notably lacks a tower or pyramid. But it’s elegant, beautiful, clean and interesting. We will return.
This is going to be one of those “mostly pictures” blog posts because I don’t have time to research everything we saw during the tour. While I’m apologizing, let me say that the photos aren’t the best. They were taken with my phone from the bus, sometimes while in motion.
L’hôtel de Ville – City Hall
The Place de la Bourse. You’ll see more of this during our nighttime visit.
A café with, apparently, amazing beers and nice wines.
One of the old city gates. The city wall is long gone.
Another city gate.
The courthouse.
The Bordeaux wine center. It’s supposed to look like wine swirling in a glass.
A large, blue plastic lion. Why? France!
The Opera house.
Keeping with the theme of random photos, I took a few as we walked around town.
A former mayor.
My old pal Andy with Martine and Mary Anne.
Just across the street from our hotel, the Palais Galien – the remains of a Roman coliseum.
Just around the corner, a beautiful park lined with stately houses. Are you starting to see why people like Bordeaux?
Here’s the Bordeaux Cathedral.
Whenever I’m with Andy, it’s essential that we visit a church.
In 1990, he and I rode a charity bike from Edinburgh to St. Andrews in Scotland. Before we left, we visited St. Giles Cathedral. I asked one of the clergy a question about the pulpit and – perhaps stunned by the brilliance of my question – he asked if I was a “Man of the Cloth”. Andy was miffed that no one thought he was a Man of the Cloth.
So, every time I can get him into a church, I remind Andy of my moral superiority.
Perhaps stung by his lower position morality-wise, Andy is now claiming that he’s related to Jeanne d’Arc. “Aunt Joan” he calls her.
Finally, a few private homes we saw on a day trip to the seaside town of Arcachon.
