De Tours À Genève: From Tours to Geneva Part II

J’s program is run at a university-affiliated institute which does not observe normal educational breaks so she had class on Thursday. I amused myself with a trip to the Musée de Beaux-Arts (Fine Arts Museum) a few blocks away. The collection was quite nice, but the museum was pretty empty except for volunteer docents. Every few minutes I heard some footsteps and a restrained “Bonjour,” which only served to chase me into other rooms to contemplate the art work in private. Tours is somewhat smaller than Nancy, though more famous thanks to its location in the chateaux-crammed Loire Valley. Things were also hopping in the Moyen Âge (Middle Ages) when Tours was first the capital of France and later a permanent residence for nobles. One advantage of this similarity is that I realized how alike many French towns are: near a river, a few cultural museums, some nice fountains and statues, a decent public transportation system. J and I met for lunch at a nice Middle Eastern café near her house before she headed back to the institute for afternoon classes. I spent an hour walking along the banks of the shallow Loire, observing small fish darting between the rocks and floating debris. A wrong turn landed me on the Île Simon, which has lovely beaches, picturesque paths, and reasonably-priced boat tours on weekend afternoons. Afterwards, I ducked into the cathedral for a quick peek around. I didn’t feel the same visceral emotions that I had in Paris (see below: Notre Dame – commercial, Sacre-Coeur – magnificent). Rather, this seemed to be a case of truth in advertising: a nice active cathedral trying to showcase its long history. The cathedral is famous for its numerous vitraux (stained-glass windows) and several information placards explained the significance of the scenes. Some were unintentionally hilarious in their bluntness: “Denis a la tête tranchée. Denis had his head cut off.” J and I strolled back to the house, pausing only to buy some pain aux raisins (raisinbread). She had an important dinner for her scholarship foundation so, left to my own devices, I ordered a large and satisfying assiette de kebab (kebab plate with meat, salad, bread, and French fries). I responded to some emails at an Internet café, read some of Milan Kundera’s “La vie est ailleurs” (French translation of the original Czech; English version is “Life is elsewhere), and crashed.