One of our conversation starters the first day of school last week was, "When did you arrive in La Rochelle?" The eight Ukrainians that make up half the class all arrived in 2022; the three American undergrads all arrived a week ago; two Afghan nurses have been here a semester already; the nice Brazilian guy got here in summer. Even though I technically arrived in March, it is only very recently that I've stayed for two consecutive weeks. Jean-François and I have taken a grand total of one long walk in the city. So in many ways, I still feel like a new arrival.
I am piecing the place together with my bicycle commute: 8 miles traversing two cute villages, a longish bridge almost invariably howling with wind, the industrial exurbs of the commercial harbor and airport, and finally the charming and tourist-choked 17th-century cobblestone streets of the city center and old harbor, the far side on which the university sits. Sweaty and bedraggled, I eat some cheese, stare at sailboats for a few minutes, and try to remember what one of my favorite-sounding words -- presque -- means. ("Almost.")
The core of the old city is actually pretty compact, but the several basins and channels it clusters around imbue a sense of expansiveness, extending the amount of "coastline" and open space. It's difficult to believe only about 75,000 people live here; there are countless festivals and cultural events, a big aquarium, Jacques Cousteau's old boat, and seemingly more bakeries than I could ever visit. At least right now while the weather is nice, the sidewalk and quayside bars and restaurants are vibrant, the medieval towers guarding the harbor entrance tranquilly sun themselves, and a contented student awaits her companion for an aperitif as the sun fades toward the equinox.
No comments:
Post a Comment