Spring Break MMXIII

In America, the words Spring Break carry several connotations. For most college age students it means a week at the beach, possibly in South Florida or if you really want to go wild, across the border to Mexico. In France, spring break is more of a time to relax, hang out with friends, eat out at restaurants, or maybe go for a hike in the mountains. But one key difference exists in the fact that spring break in France lasts for two weeks. As a man sitting on a short budget and a long list of things to do, trying to come up with affordable activities that interested me was a challenge, but in the end I feel like I made do.

Taking to my Internet resources, I started doing some research on how to escape the miserable weather that had plagued central France all winter and was determined to make my way south before I went too crazy. Couchsurfing and Covoiturage, the two websites that would make my dream vacation possible while keeping to a budget. With a lot of last minute planning (literally three days before) and a little bit of luck, I had about 8 days of a 2-week trip planned and was ready to hit the road. With my 65-liter bag packed to the brim, I headed to the train station to meet catch my first ride south. However little I knew of what would come next, one thing was for sure: I wouldn’t be coming back to Thouars until I had to.

South of France:

Debarking from my carpool at the train station of Toulouse, I made my way to meet my first host of many: a 21-year-old French girl with a Spanish boyfriend who seemed very excited to meet an American. After arriving, we took to the first place on the mind of nearly every French person I’ve met: the supermarket. As it turned out, the Spanish dude was a chef, and as he was out of work with nothing to do, he practiced his trade by preparing some of the best home-cooked meals I’ve ever had (no offense mom). So we proceeded to gather around the table to enjoy our restaurant-quality meal in the comfort of our little apartment atop the 8^th floor of the largest housing project in Toulouse.

The rest of my time in Toulouse was exactly what I had hoped. Riding bikes beneath the sun that had escaped me for so long and continuing to experience the impossible wide variety of local food and drink. As it turns out, like most French cities, Toulouse is a student city (or “the student city” if you ask someone who lives there) and as a result, there are a lot of young French people with few ambitions other than to eat, drink, talk, and sleep. We made our way down to the Garonne River on Sunday evening, where we were joined a crowd of hundreds who were lounging on the bank and enjoying the evening sun. Among the most interesting people I’ve met in my adventures, I met a British lad about the same age who ran away from home a few years ago to live in Grenada, in the south of Spain, where he had built his own home into a cave and was living off nothing other than the proceeds from his own marijuana plants. While I can’t say I would ever trade places with him, there was an interesting perspective to be shared about how you can get by and live a so-called pleasant life without the luxury that most of us first-world folks consider necessity. As it was time to leave, I thanked my friends for the wonderful food and company before heading to my next destination: Montpellier.

Another student city (or “the student city” according to its inhabitants), Montpellier lived up to the hype it had attained of being one of the up-and-coming cities in the south of France. My first of two hosts in the city was a 21 year old student named Francois, who had actually spent the day I arrived shooting a movie, something a guy like myself can relate to. As film guys often do, we got along swimmingly and enjoyed the food and drink of our two days spent together while discussing our latest projects and ambitions for our futures in entertainment. One encounter I had at the apartment worth mentioning was with an elderly woman, actually it was Francois’ roommates mother. She seemed genuinely excited to meet an America and eager to hear about my travel plans. When I told her I was headed to Corsica in a couple of days, she smile turned to a serious gaze, and she looked at me with conviction as she warned, “Be careful in Corsica. It’s quite dangerous. I’d bring it knife if I were you. They don’t like foreigners there.”  Interesting premonition, I thought, but she must have been kidding.

The next day I made my way to the beach, to a small coastal island city called Sete where a Couchsurfing contact would remind me of what French life is really all about. A 25-year old dude who had spent his adult life working various odd jobs before settling to the beach for his last stint of employment, Benji was living the sweet life of a French social case. With more than enough money to live off of from his unemployment insurance for the foreseeable future, Benji was in the process of “searching for jobs” when he was actually turning down offers with the justification that he would rather collect money from the government for doing nothing than spend the better part of his youth behind a desk. Benji and I had a great time, enjoying a nice seafood meal along the water before taking a long stroll around the island. Otherwise, there was literally nothing to do other than eat, drink and relax. Interesting lifestyle choice, but I was ready to get back to the city. 

Coming back to Montepellier, it was time for me to switch to my next couch. Unfortunate that I didn’t have more time to spend at Francois’ place; his sense of humor was a refreshing change from the mundanity that I had come to expect from his peers. My next host, a fellow by the name of Thibaut was everything I would expect from a Couchsurfer. Or maybe that’s just me saying that a Frenchman who has traveled to Alaska for several months before the age of 25 has a knack for backpacking that’s hard to find these days. After introducing me to his roommates and friends, who might I mention came from about 5 different countries, we enjoyed some more killer French cuisine before calling it a day. When I asked Thibaut if there was anything to do in the area, he recommended me to a little mountain city up north called St Guillaume Le Desert. Apparently listed as one of France’s most beautiful places, the desert won out on my other options for the next day and I headed there with no agenda other than to take in the beauty of small town southern France. To my pleasant surprise, I met a couple of New Yorkers who had a similar idea on how they planned to spend their day, so I had a chance to reconnect with the American roots that I was slowly coming loose of.

On my final day in Montpellier, I was debating what to do next. With no place to go and no plans for the near future, I decided there was no better time to take an espresso at the local Mcdonald’s. So I popped a squat out on the terrace for some classic people watching. Then I get a text: “When are you coming to Aix?” This girl I had been messaging on Couchsurfing had finally gotten back to me. That’s where I would go tonight! Only one problem remained; how to get there. So I log on to Covoiturage on my iPhone, schedule the next ride which leaves in an hour and a half, receive a confirmation from the driver 2 minutes later, and literally run back to Thibaut’s place to throw my stuff in my backpack and head out to meet this guy who would drive me to Aix.