I woke up with shutters still closed, but I could sense it was already way past 8.00 am. It was a blessing to wake up this late after 4 days of 5 and 6 am wake-up calls. But. I felt horrible. My neck and back pain was much stronger than days before, and yesterday’s wind had caught me, making my throat a bit itchy and my nose almost to the stage of being runny. Slowly sipping my coffee in bed with Duolingo on my phone, I studied French, yet in my thoughts, I was already in Bordeaux.

I got in the car and drove to Bordeaux through endless lines and rows of vines that looked almost golden in that particular morning’s light, making me forget about my health struggles. Slowly, the vineyards disappeared, giving their place for a straight six-lane highway and fences around it, not to disturb anyone on the other side, be they vineyards or cows grazing in a field. Bordeaux was still some 40 km away, but I almost felt the smell of that city, so dear to me.

I did not have my camera with me as I had no plan to be a journalist that day. With another lunch to prepare in the next few days and my neck as stiff as a log, I so wished to relax, yet, somehow, you are here reading this article I had to write in my deepest desire to share places with you that might make your heart bounce like mine bounced that day.

One might say it was an accident, but I purposely parked near Rue Notre-Dame, a street like no other and, unanimously, the city’s most beautiful and charming street. On purpose, I parked close to La P’tite Boulangerie, where some years ago, I went to buy our morning croissants while the girls were sound asleep in an apartment.

I had no plans that day except to visit a few addresses that caught my eye on social media, and off I was walking alone yet feeling so included in the city. The day was magical, with the sun shining brighter than before as the only player in the blue sky. It contrasted from the day before when the wind blew away all not secured and even the secured. I wandered around as if it was my first time here, although it was the 5th. But this time, it felt like I was new to this city. Maybe because now, living in Lyon, I am part of the French culture. Maybe because I was feeling very different about my life. Perhaps because I had no camera with me. I do not know, yet I felt so connected with the city that used to feel so distant to me before.

I sat in the L’Alchimiste, as I sat there many years before, praising them for their never-ending standard of making a coffee while sipping my oat cappuccino and planning my no-plan day as I desperately wished to be in a museum.

The day passed in a second, and the only proof of time passed was my bag getting heavier and heavier with bread, pastries, chocolates, Dunes Blanches (pâte à choux filled with light and airy cream resembling Dune du Pilat) and Christmas gifts (yes, in September). I still needed to collect flowers from a nearby village; that would be a part of my Friday lunch. I still wished to sit down and sip a matcha latte before leaving. And I still wanted to eat my dinner back in Bourg-Charente while it was still light outside. So I had to go. Sooner than expected.

Slowly, after a magical 30 minutes in the museum, almost alone, intimately admiring Monet, I walked back, eating my croissant (a thing the French do not do). I was hungry after a day of walking without any food. I was hungry after all these days of hard work. And I was too excited to eat before, as I was back in Bordeaux. In the city, where wine flows instead of water. Where canelés taste the most satisfactory. Where houses, although the same as in many French cities, stand much prouder. Where time ticks much faster, and life tastes very differently.

With crispy radishes in one hand and a too-heavy bag in the other, I disappeared into the underground parking lot, revealing what Bordeaux sits on, unnoticeable to the eyes outside. I felt almost sad to leave. But I had to.