Sunday, November 11th: a frigid slow grey day in the city of Nantes, France.  It was the last day of my vacation from school.  My vacation had been quite enjoyable, but I think that because of its excitement and greatness, I was feeling slightly restless.  For those who do not know, there is NOTHING to do on Sunday in France. Everything is closed and if the weather is disagreeable, then there is very little motivation to brave the country; however, this Sunday, I was feeling particularly frisky…in part because I was wearing my flannel-lined jeans, which make it feel like I’m wearing my jammies, but I look as fly as a Jonathan Taylor Thomas between 1994 and 1998.

So I decide to brave the elements and search for adventure/trouble/the love of my life or whatever might come my way.  My journey takes me on a long walk through town and over to the island in the middle of the Loire River, which is where many of the old ports and docks rest from when Nantes was an important port town back in the day. I am walking along and pass through a back ally, and what do I see? A dumpster. To the average human this would not be enticing, but this dumpster was special. It didn’t smell good; but it smelled right, and there was a piece of wood with strings attached that was painted blue and black poking out of the side of it.  My heart was in my throat, my hair on end, and my hopes higher than R. Kelly could ever believe he could fly.

You see like every male between 15 and 25, I pretend to play the guitar. To say I am ‘talented’ would be an insult to talent everywhere because I really just have a working knowledge of about six chords, but for the past eight years or so, I have enjoyed dabbling on this popular instrument.  I had not touched a guitar for nearly two months, and to say I was pining to bumble on any musical instrument for a minute or two would be a gross understatement; so you can imagine my excitement at the potential of this dumpster.  I walk over to the painted wood…it is indeed a guitar neck.  I gently wiggle it to see if there is anything more…there is.  I slowly pull on the neck until the structure is removed from the dumpster, and low and behold, it is a blue sunburst six stringed acoustic guitar.  Did I pee my flannel-lined jeans out of excitement? No. Did I prance home as if I was a child clenching Willie Wonka’s golden ticket? Perhaps.

Due to his nationality, color, and the state in which I found him, I have named my good friend Porthos after Dumas’ Three Musketeers.  Porthos has a few bumps and bruises, but he's a player...and he plays pretty well for himself:

Serendipity strikes again, and she has struck a chord or two in the process.  Good Sunday.

So firstly, I apologize for my lack of communication.  I have been on vacation the past two weeks here and I’ve chosen the interwebs to take the backseat on my priority list and putting tomfoolery and shenanigans at the top.  Although I have been working for only a month, vacation as a very pleasant and needed occurrence. As many of you can guess, living over here with all this great food and culture is EXTREMELY difficult, but what is truly a first world problem is not having the time to appreciate or experience it on a deeper level than just the daily coming and goings of the work week.  How does my pillow stay dry at night, right?

So my adventure began with the return to Nantes of former study abroad mates, Hannah Berlin-Burns and Laura Euller who were kind enough to pay me a visit here in this fair city while they had some shared time off. Then my buddy Ellen Stothard and I took a little train down to Bordeaux (a port city south of Nantes known for specifically for its wine) to visit one of my dance partners from yesteryear, Chase Carpenter (or as Katy Perry and I call him, ‘the one that got away’).  Chase was kind enough to open his home to us and guide us through his town taking us around the region to Saint-Émilion wine country and the largest sand dune in all of Europe, the Dune of Pyla.  Check this not so creative video to get a sense of it:

In addition, we got to experience the Bordeaux nightlife on Halloween, which served as an night of education where I learned about Portuguese dining traditions and in return taught my educators how to wobble.  Returning from Bordeaux, I had the chance to hang out with long lost Swannanoan, Clara Canon back here in Nantes.  She was kind enough to put up with my antics and sniffles (sinus infection…bummer) as I got to show off a little bit of this nifty little town in which I live and reflect on some the awesome things I take for granted every day here.

Now however, it is back to the grind of work which I am surprisingly alright with…call my a socialist cow and revoke my US citizenship.  More updates to come. In the meantime, thank you for reading, and I hope all that were affected by the hurricane back home are doing well.  You are in my thoughts!