Cours des 50 otages, a handful of migrants as well as local supporters were protesting against yet another eviction.
Browsing: Snapshots of France
The juilletistes (neologism for people taking their holidays in July) are going back to work. Now it’s the aoûtiens’ turn to take time off.
It doesn’t rain in Nantes—or rather, few locals just say “il pleut” when they see water falling from the sky.
It’s been six years that every time I go to Nantes in July or August, the first thing I notice is the annual art festival with installations scattered throughout the city.
At 9:30 p.m., watching a Celtic circle dancing the An Dro in the public square in front of Saint-Michel’s lighthouse, I realized I had the most cliché French day ever.
“I don’t have my driver’s licence either. I didn’t take anything with me,” my dad admits. “Papa! Okay, let me speak.”
I freaked out when 24 hours before flying to France, Feng suggested—apparently, it was just a suggestion—we should travel without Mark’s Chicco stroller.
Mood? Confused, as it usually is before a transition. It’s time for us to go back to Canada.
France is sobering up after two months where the country was unofficially on pause.
When you walk around the city a lot, you overhear conversations… including these puzzling, awkward and cringe-worthy moments!
Even when I had both free time and freedom—basically between 12 and 18 years old—I rarely ventured outside the city centre.
I kind of like the French philosophy, a mix of hedonism and fatalism. People are aware of terrorist threats but they carry on.
On a sunny evening like this, the touristic, hipster atmosphere didn’t annoy me. I didn’t care. I wanted to have fun as well.
We got off at Penhoët, a destination so unusual that the train barely stopped and we had to ask the driver to keep the doors open a bit longer.
We had promised Mark a medieval castle, but the first sight of interest we noticed was a statue of a butt-naked woman.
Did you know you can buy half a baguette? That kissing is a minefield? That “bourge” is an offensive term?
Last week, it was just my parents, my brother and the three of us in the family house by the seaside. This long weekend, there are 11 of us.
The one- or two-hour walk feels like an accelerated history lesson or a sociological snapshot of Nantes.
At 6:45 p.m., the five of us walked to the Musée d’art, Nantes’ art museum that had just reopened after a five-year renovation and expansion project.
This summer, the main exhibition, “Seul avec la nuit,” features the work of Hans Ruedi Giger who created the Alien monster.
We were almost done visiting Nantes’ historical prison, a former detention centre turned into an ephemeral art project.
“The problem is, people are scared of us. They fear pain. And of course, they think we’re expensive.” “Huh-huh.”
I walked along the waterfront. It was definitely 2017 but it could have been 2007, 1997, 1987…
The good part of a stay in Saint-Michel—the village we’re in—is that you have to be resourceful and flexible to make do with what you have.