Don't prevent them from being French

                                "I cannot prevent the French from being French"
                                              - Charles de Gaulle -

    Why would you want to? France has had its fair share of stick over the years and the French people have yet to be given the prestigious “most loved people” award however removing the French-ness from the French would be the equivalent to removing the flour from bread. My thoughts turned to this idea of French-ness as I received my archetypal “merci et bonne journee” from the smartly dressed hote de l’aire as I clambered from the tiny plane that had just deposited me at l’Aeroport de Bordeaux Merignac in beautiful Bordeaux.

    I am of a strange breed, a brit who loves the French, yet what’s to hate?
Their language rolls off the tongue like molten gold, the language of love nonetheless. Their culinary wizardry is world renowned, it is no coincidence that the Michelin Guide is French. . Bordeaux represents all that is wonderfully French about France, and now it has been given a facelift

    The cafés, where only the finest cuisine is served always with a smile and occasional laugh when the English tourist attempts to flirt in the mêlée that is Franglais, line the recently sandblasted streets and squares, hidden like treasure in the labyrinth of 18th century alleyways. The people are always smiling, with the possible exception when a foolish tourists walks upon the newly integrated cycle path system and is rebuked with a sharp ring of a bell, and happy to while away the hours in deep insincere conversation, be it in French or English, as long as le café is hot and they’re not paying. The new trams run on time and taxi drivers speak of the new Bordeaux with strong passion in there voice, even if this is masked with there strong afro-francophone accents.

    Bordeaux has undergone a renovation of immense proportion. It has gone from a seedy port town prostitute selling her liquid sex to the highest bidder; to the beautiful mistress, done up to the T’s, airbrushed and strutting its Jordan-esque beautifications showing up the rest of the Atlantic coast.

    No longer solely the desire of the wine merchant, Bordeaux’s physical reformation has done much for its spiritual needs. A peace lies over the sandblasted streets of the Place de la Bourse and the endless river banks, lined with herb gardens of such splendid chromatism they would not be out of place at the Chelsea flower show, equal to no city I have ever visited. The endless rows of 18th century architecture constructed at the wish of King Louis XV are the sought-after destination for tourists and cinema production crews waning to capture France’s early attempts to encapsulate their new era of urbanism and metropolitana. Visit and you will see they clearly got it.

    After Louis’ initial fore into the creation of ostentatious Bordeaux the wine trade of the 1900s took its toll upon the many façades which depict Bordeaux’s rise to greatness as the wine town. The many thousands of ocean freighters which sailed up the Garonne to transport the hundreds of millions of liters of wine from the warehouses on the riverside left there oily mark upon the intricate designs of Gabriel and Son, Louis’ architectural duo, with pollution perverting the many faces of the cities structures. Now the only visual throw back to those days is a single desolate building, standing alone, like the homeless standing amongst the suits, like the weed amongst the roses, windowless, dirty, forgotten and discarded. And like the son that has gone astray all that is needed is for a kind sole to take it under there wing and divest love and attention into its resurrection… Oh and don’t forget the several million euros. 

    Bordeaux is the forgotten Paris. Art galleries pour from the cities buildings, rich in unseen treasures, the likes of which would challenge the Mona Lisa (not on notoriety but) on artistic panache; Churches and Cathedrals pierce the skies, Saint Andre Cathedral stands tall and proud, as ordered by pope Urban II, in all its majesty. Notre Dam better keep a proverbial eye on it. Bordeaux lacks the Parisian arrogance and frantic hustle bustle and makes up for it tenfold in its superb joie de vivre, its lovely people, and fantastic wine cellars. Bordeaux has a spring in its step and the capital better watch out; the Fleur-de-Lis is making a comeback and with it taking the Paris tourist market by storm.

                        - "an outstanding urban and architectural ensemble” -
                                      -UNESCO World Heritage List-

    The most amazing thing is the beautification process has removed none of the towns history, in fact the complete opposite has occurred with the towns old gates being restored to there previously regal state and made walk-only-zones to prevent any damage by inconsiderate motorists. The town hall has been modernized alongside the central point of the town however it still remains a symbol of the republics great achievement with “Liberter, Fraternité, Egualité” etched above its revolving doors.
For the more outgoing visitor there is a lively evening scene with The Connemara Irish pub being a favorite amongst tourists and natives alike. However I would be more inclined to promote a more stereotypically French evening whilst in Bordeaux. Spend your nights dining on the fine cuisine at restaurants such as the Cassolette Café or La Crepe D’Or, sampling Bordeaux’s finest Margaux or Haut-Brion, in good company, with a reasonably early turn-in in preparation for the next day ahead. A clear head and wide eyes are essentials when wondering the streets of this wonderful city.
     
    Bordeaux has always been known as an associate of the best of wines, yet as you stroll down the newly cleaned river sides, or pedal around the city on the green cycle highway, you feel the warmth and welcoming of the people and city and it is clear. Bordeaux has decided to move away from the bottle and instead would rather be the etching upon its visitor's hearts.