Bord-OH SNAP!

Getting ready to leave for and actually coming to Bordeaux was an exhausting experience. After spending a week hosting half of Vassar at my house, and then the next week in a mad dash to run errands, see friends before I leave, and basically get my life together, I finally managed to get all my belongings into my parents car for a pleasantly short four hour drive to Kennedy Airport. If you think four hours is far too long a time to drive the 100 or so miles to Kennedy Airport from Center City Philadelphia, you’ve never seen the distracting natural majesty that is the Raritan River, the New Brunswick Business Park or all of Staten Island.
When we arrived at the airport I was confronted with the same problem I face whenever I fly: Airplane food makes me want to kill myself and those sitting around me. Not only is it not great to eat, but I seem to always be near people who willingly order fish. I was once on a flight sitting next to my father and an ultra-ultra orthodox Rabbi. Unfortunately the Rabbi decided his Kosher meal wasn’t quite kosher enough for his standards and decided to eat canned salmon, which, I can only assume from the smell was either of the Friskies or Fancy Feast variety. In my book one of the most important rule for eating fish is to only eat it with both feet on the ground (here that, McFish Sandwich lovers? God never meant to eat fish on the run/in an airplane).
But after buying some beef jerky and water (lots of protein and liquids!) and drugging myself like Rush Limbaugh in a Mexican pharmacy, I actually had a nice flight.
I arrived in Bordeaux on Saturday (8/18) in the afternoon. The family I am staying with is lovely; they have 6 kids all with equally lovely French names that I have trouble remembering. They eat in a very French manner: tiny portions of fattening foods followed by tinier portions of even more fattening foods. Also, the don’t snack, except for a bowl of very nice ping pong ball sized green plums from Brittany that sit in their kitchen. Apparently, Americans are fatter than the French because while the French eat small amounts of things that are terrible for them, Americans eat a never-ending amount of food that is slightly less fattening but has way more sugar (and most American's wouldn't eat a plum for snack unless it was deep fried in salt and chocolate).
Bordeaux is definitely a gorgeous city. The whole center of the city is from the 18th century and is filled with extremely well dressed French teenagers on the last days of their summer vacation. If I can survive what will no doubt be an onslaught of wine and the roving gangs of Eleanor of Aquitaine impersonators, I should have a lovely time.