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Category: Bordeaux, France

Antigone Delton | Paris, France | Post 1

Antigone Delton | Paris, France | Post 1

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If you’re sick of hearing about Paris, about its flaneurs and cafés and the magic of its lights and about the hundreds of Vassar students who have returned wearing even more black than they did when they left, then you’re in luck. We’re not in Paris. Make no mistake: the Vassar-Wesleyan Program in Paris (VWPP) begins fall semester with a two-week orientation and intensive French language course in Bordeaux. Some context: je m’appelle Antigone, I am a junior Art History…

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Clivia Wang | Bordeaux and Paris, France | Post 1

Clivia Wang | Bordeaux and Paris, France | Post 1

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Bordeaux: As I stuff my wrinkled tees back into three suitcases, I realize that my first two weeks in Bordeaux, France have slowly and quietly come to an end. In my first 24 hours in Bordeaux, I had not acknowledged that my New York state of mind was no longer applicable to the small city of bikes, parasols, and casual wine hours. Because school had not yet started in Bordeaux, 95% of residents were still vacationing somewhere along the Atlantic…

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Belle Shea | Bordeaux, France | Post 1

Belle Shea | Bordeaux, France | Post 1

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If you’ve ever taken a class with me, you would probably be unsurprised to know that I planned on giving this article an ambitiously clever and all-encompassing title, something probably along the lines of “Flights I Have Missed or Accidentally Taken,” or “The Paranoid Guide to Europe” (that would of course feature key vocab such as serial killer [un serial killer] and to send oneself in a nervous spiral [bad-tripper].) But it turns out that just these two weeks in…

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Carrie Plover | Bordeaux, France | Post 1

Carrie Plover | Bordeaux, France | Post 1

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As I wait for my bus to arrive, I survey my surroundings. The schedule for the 29 – “my” bus, as I’ve come to know it over the past week – hasn’t yet been updated, and I periodically observe exasperated Bordelaise check a nearby timetable to no avail. To get out of their way, and to avoid blowing cigarette smoke in their faces (which, admittedly, few French seem to mind), I lean on a street sign and twiddle my thumbs,…

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