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Published: July 14th 2008
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The Sacrecour
with Leonie in the Bottom right. Montemarte, Paris. When I was 17 I went to Europe on a graduating school trip. Our parents reluctantly signed permission slips allowing us to enjoy a glass of wine with our meals, knowing this likely would result in binge drinking with our teachers, and sent us off for two weeks of touring from Paris to the Pyrenees. Everything about Europe was so new to us, and the oddities found on the menus of French KFC restaurants fascinated us more than the monuments, châteaux’s and ancient cobbled streets. The strongest memories I have of this trip are typical of the 17 year old mind. I recall attempting to find late night pizza in Paris, and being mortified by the presence of corn as a topping; drinking Desperados in an Irish pub in Montmartre with Danish trekkers while my classmates toured the Sacrecour; chasing a female classmate through the hallways of a small pension in the Loire Valley wearing only a towel in an effort to do damage control after she snuck into the shower to film me naked with her handy cam. I remember pouring expensive Cognac into McDonalds cups filled with Orange Fanta to conceal the rampant alcohol consumption taking place on the
San Sebastian
taken from an old timee amusement park at the top of a hill. tour bus, and I remember helping a teacher home from a Discoteque in Biarritz after she had a little too much to drink.
Hearing this account of events might lead one to criticism; we did not fully appreciate the rich history, beautiful landscapes or treasured architecture of Europe. All we did was attempt to stay within our comfort zone of fast food and English speakers, plying the discomfort of mild culture shock with alcohol. But each time I see a group school kids wondering Las Ramblas in Barcelona, or Champs De Lyses in Paris spending vast amounts of their parents money on the tackiest items possible in tourist shops, I remember my first European encounter with nostalgia. I see these kids breaking cultural norms left and right and having a blast doing it. Often local responses to these inappropriate behaviours are curt or rude and rightly so. These responses may be the source of undeserved reputations that countries like France have earned themselves. "Educational" tours through Europe, however tacky they may be, have become something of a rite of passage for teenagers, and represent their first baby steps towards independent travel.
Each time I hit the road and
enter into a new cultural context, I do so with increasing sensitivity to the social expectations and nuances of the place that I am. I probably drink a little less, and show a bit more interest in local history and politics. But, without the baby steps, I might head straight for the nearest Irish pub, the minute I arrive... Who am I kidding? I usually still do.
I've done a bit of travelling since that first European foray, and I was interested to see how my interpretations of these places will have changed. And so enroute back to Canada for the summer, Dennie and I replicated the journey, Bilbao to Paris, via San Sebastian, Biarritz and Bordeaux.
The first difference in my emotional and physical responses to the external stimuli around me became evident on the beaches of San Sebastian, where women lay topless during summer months. I recall the same phenomenon during my first trip to the Basque country in high school. 35 mm cameras were out and at the ready, and zooms both optical and digital were pushed to their limits in order to get that perfect shot of both areola and nipple. This was possibly
Dennie
you can take the girl out of the country.... the first time since infancy I had seen a female breast outside of the rated R horror movies that Acme Video had been renting to me since age 10. Embarrassing erections were achieved but never admitted to and my resolve to return to the liberal and open minded shores of Europe was already strong.
This time, as we ate bocadillos and drank beer at a beach cafe, the plethora of topless women passing by the table did not even draw me into a stare or glance. Even the occasional appearance of a penis failed to stir my body or emotions.
The Basques were not in high spirits as we watched Spain win the Euro Cup final in an Irish pub among German fans on our second night in San Sebastian. In fact, so subdued was the feeling in the streets after the game that I couldn't help wishing Germany had won.
As we ventured onwards to France, a few misconceptions about the French were cleared up pretty early on. France has a reputation for fine living, wonderfully rich history, and slightly cold and snobby people. We expected some difficulties in our encounters with the customer service industry
Dennie and I
in Biarritz after surfing. as a result of our limited knowledge of the French language; 'Petit Poisson' and 'Jesuis a Pizza' can only get you so far in the mean streets of Paris. However we were pleasantly surprised by the genuine warmth shown to us through our travels in France. Our couch surfing host in Biarritz made us sushi and gave us surf lessons; our hosts in Bordeaux offered us a wealth of knowledge regarding the wine region and cooked us a lovely meal in their wonderful country home, and our hosts in Paris made us beautiful food that was very welcome in my belly after the monotonous fare of Spain. Everywhere we went, the French seemed to be cheery, helpful and kind; not exactly the reputation they seem to have around the globe.
Our last night in France, as we drank beers and played 'Sociable’s' with my Ex room mate Leonie and her boyfriend Vincent, I thought about how easy it is to create community and feel like you belong somewhere. Each place we stopped in France, with a little help from locals, we were able to feel at ease, and gain some sense of home and belonging. And now, we head
Dennie with Jim Morrison,
The cat, beside the real Jim Morrison's grave. back to Canada, to continue riding the crest of the wave of good vibes and friends, and jump into a fast paced Saskatchewan summer.
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anonymous
non-member comment
I love that you used the word aerola in your blog....