Cathédrale Saint-André was one of the churches that we visited. There is a big piazza area where we spent our time on the terrace admiring this landmark. One of the greatest things about Bordeaux was that the only English that I heard was spoken between my friend and me. In Angers I am constantly hearing English from people around me, on the streets, at the store, everywhere. It can be annoying when I am trying to learn French! So, I appreciated the fact that I was learning new things just by eavesdropping on the conversations around me.

Bordeaux of obviously more touristy than Angers, so maybe that explains why it is so well maintained. Almost every street that I walked down was perfectly picturesque. The facades are clean and organized with beautiful balconies with flowers or little plants hanging over the edge. Each scene is perfect enough for a movie. Growing up in America and being exposed to very modern architecture with minimal design and detail, I am amazed by European cities that are so full of these perfect sights as if they could only exist in my imagination.

Angers was the capital of the historic Anjour province in western France. Angers had it’s share of turmoil in it’s early years. The occupation of Angers jumped around from Gauls, Romans, Normans and Franks. It wasn’t until the French Revolution that Angers finally found stability. Thanks to the Romans, Angers now now has a wonderful fortress above the river Maine. After the Romans were chased out by the Normans, Chateau d’Angers was going to be torn down until Charles the Bald defeated the Normans and stopped the dismantling of the Chateau. Now it is a major tourist attraction in France and especially Angers. (Although, I think it’s pretty ugly…)

Another major tourist attraction in Anger is the Cathédrale Saint-Maurice d’Angers. To me and other Art History lovers, this spot is ultimate. It was built in the 13th and 14th century and shows both Romanesque and Gothic architectural qualities. The exterior has minimal sculpture, but the stained glass is prominent. A typical Romanesque cathedral would have very thick walls, some exterior sculpture and very little stained glass windows. A typical Gothic Cathedral has thinner walls (thanks to the invention of buttresses in all forms), very elaborate exterior sculpture, and even more elaborately decorative stated glass windows. The interior of this cathedrals looks more Gothic because of the open nave free from side aisles. This allows the light from the stained glass windows to flow throughout the cathedral. The rib vaulted ceiling is a Gothic element, but the simplicity and lack of equal height between the central crossing of the vaulting and the arches in the transept indicate that this is a very early Gothic idea.

Other than these two major landmarks the rest of the town is impressive in its basic form. Narrow gobble stone streets, stone and brick building, decorative iron balconies. Little old ladies watching the streets from the balconies as people like me wander through the streets. We observe each other, smile, say, “bonne journée” and continue on… not before almost tripping over a cat…

It’s my favorite way to observe a city by sitting in a cafe and wandering through it’s streets. It makes me feel like I’m on the inside and I am better able to find out their secrets this way. So, I pose as one of them and try to not speak or I’ll give myself away. I sit in silence as I struggle through Le Monde and delightfully sip my café noir. There are so many cute cafes that are perfect for people watching. I like small cafes that can’t really hold more than a few people and ones that use chalkboards for everything.

Man, I’m really suckin’ it up with this blog. Where’s that motivation?!

There is something about that city though, that made an imprint in my memory. I can’t get rid of the feeling. I didn’t even like Vienna.

Whenever I listen to Mahler Symphony number 5 I feel like I’m there again. Maybe because I had listened to that piece while I was there? I can’t recall, but i can recall that this piece, to me, defines the feeling of Vienna.

I was there only one day. I woke up very early in the morning to get as much out of Vienna as I could on a one day visit. The sun made its appearance over the Danube, but quickly retreated behind rain clouds for the remainder of the day. Vienna was still asleep when I woke up, I was alone with the dissipating fog moving along the cobbled streets. I, of course, immediately found a cozy  cafe and situated myself in a wicker chair under the awning. Narrow streets always grabbed my attention in Europe, probably because I knew I could escape tourists with great success. This cafe happened to be at the end of a narrow street that I followed.The street ended with a crescent shaped stone wall creating a very small cul-de-sac. In front of the stone wall were trees  which included authentic music provided by its inhabitants. I was so excited when I saw ‘kaffee’ on the window… yes I know, I was easily amused. You would be too if you were traveling alone for three months.

By noon the city center was bustling. Quartets playing on one end of Stephens Platz and a marionette dancing to Stevie Wonder  on the other.

When the rain started I figured I’d better give in to the inevitability of becoming a tourist in a foreign city… The rain suited the excursion perfectly. I went to all of the very tourist locations, the Hofburg Palace, Karlskirche, the Opera House…

By the end of the day I went about my wondering and lost the tourists. The day ended like Mahler’s Symphony 5… beautifully. The street lamps were slowly lit emanating a tranquil glimmer on the buildings. The deep shadows behind each rugged cobbled stone were dramatized by the flicking street lights. I bought myself a chocolate gelato and wandered back to my hostel. As the evening ended, I sat in my room and read my book with the sound of a woman singing with a piano streaming in through the window.

I’ve forgotten about the more intimate moments with Vienna. I guess I did like Vienna after all.

i cannot just yet describe what i’m feeling. i wish you were on. omg. this is a bit rough….i’m in culture shock right now….

no one was at the airport to pick me up…i was confused and had no idea of how to contact the hostel. let me tell you, getting in to a foreign place at a late hour blows.

I met an egyptian on the plane ride here and we talked quite a bit. he gave me his name and info to visit him in alexandria…but he didn’t make sure i had a taxi ride to my place. he was tired…i guess. but, he did tell me that one thing that i would not like about egypt is the pestering people that flock to the tourists.

i found out quickly what he meant. I had no privacy outside of arrivals. i was followed by a mustached man with a limp who kept asking me which hotel i was staying at. he would leave me. i wanted to hit him. i’d go outside to look around, and nothing. no guy with a sign that had my name on it from the Lialy Hostel. Shit. Back inside. The sound of dragging feet followed me in. another man came up to me. then another. to be honest, i’m not sure how many i spoke with.

finally, hungry and tired. I talked to one of them. About my height and a bit portly. Ok, I told him the name of my hostel and the address. He said he knew where that was. I looked around one more time…no one and no sign. Fine. I went with him.

We got into an airport shuttle bus and i asked to use his phone. i could not get through to the numbers that i dialed. then i remembered something from the egypt survival guide book. they give you excuses and even offer you their phone, but only to lure you in. I was fed up though…and no taxis in sight. Ok, lure me, reel me in damn it.

The bus stopped after a very short ride and we got out at a large ill-lit car park. I was scared. Who was this guy. I had arranged the price with him back at the arrival terminal, 70 EGP…like 14 dollars. One the bus, i had attempted some more arabic. He told me, “hey, you can speak!”, smiling. I said, no, just a little.

We got into his car and i told myself…ok, this is it. We zipped out, almost hitting a few other taxis. I recognized the body of other taxis and compared it to the quick image i had gotten of his. they looked similar. then another taxi driver shouted hello as we zipped past each other. Before leaving the airport, he paid a gate keeper who handed him a receipt…which he then handed to me. Ashra. Ten. Ok, so i was supposed to reimburse him later? i decided not to ask. i was still pretty freaked out.

We sped along the motor way in silence. Windows rolled down. The car had to be plus forty years or so. Then he said abruptly, “Heliopolis!” “Oh!” I said, “Yes. Heliopolis.” That was the part of town we were ripping through. Then more, the markets, mosques and places i did not know of. Soon it became clear that he did not really know exactly where the hostel was. We asked about half a dozen people before finally stopping in front of the place.

And then the snow began. The bare branches begin to bend to the wight of the heavy snow. Across the street is beginning to be harder to see. The huge red iron sculpture in front of the new UM Art Museum is just a hazy prink through the thick snow fall. The drivers are more cautious, but the students still look neither left nor right as they thoughtlessly cross the slushy streets. The wind blows the snow into a swirling rhythm against the glass in front of me. I see my car in the street directly in front of the building and this makes me happy that I don’t have to walk through too much of the snow.