Oo-la-La-Rochelle – The Director’s Cut…

I arrive by train to a station built in 1910 and completed in 1922. It is one of the biggest train stations I have yet been in, which I would have photographed were it not for the entire interior being covered in scaffolding.

O Mon Dieu. I was not prepared for the treasures of this place…

The very first treasure was the elder German woman who came to my aid when I was visibly frazzled and lost after yet another bout of GoogleMaps fail. She asked if I was OK, and then walked me several blocks to my hotel. I am forever thankful for the kindness of strangers.

The Hotel de la Paix is in the historical district. The staircase reaches up four flights to a skylight, with little bird finials on the balustrade and a heavy rope handrail along the wall.

My room is small but efficient, and has the smallest bathroom sink I’ve ever seen, about 8″ x 10″ x 3″ deep. There’s a wooden drying rack near the window which would come in handy when I did my daily laundry (in the shower, a travel hack I picked up in Morocco), although it is so humid that it takes two days for things to dry. It might be the first hotel I’ve stayed in that had wood plank flooring in the rooms instead of carpet.

La Rochelle is a port town on the Atlantic, chartered in 1170 and confirmed by Eleanor of Aquitaine in 1199. Its merchants prospered from trade in wines and salt from Northern Europe and the Iberian peninsula during the 13th century. It gained a reputation for piracy during the religious wars of the 16th century during when it welcomed Protestants and Muslims (the city remains host to the largest Muslim community in France as of 2017). It lost 4/5 of its population during Cardinal Richelieu’s siege in 1627-28, which was intended to crush the Protestant rebellion. La Rochelle supplied Quebec, Canada with its founding fathers during the 17th century, and was the second busiest port in France during the Trans-Atlantic slave trade in the 18th century. Emancipated slaves from the Americas were even brought back to learn French, in order to serve as interpreters on other slave ships.

It is now the third most visited city in France, although I was unaware of that status before planning this trip. You might recognize some of the streets here – the opening scenes from Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark is one of many films that have been shot here.

There are several 15th-16th century buildings like this one that looked like the half timbering had been done in squares of black slate. I used this building as my landmark to find my way back to my hotel.

I take a cautious walk-around to get oriented. In spite of the street map resembling that of Venice, the city is very well signed and by the end of my stay I was able to navigate without my phone. I discover the Arcades, which would become another landmark later this evening. Dating back to the 13th century, they line the main street which was later called “haberdasher’s street.” The arches were used by local merchants to display their goods and shelter consumers from the weather. I walked it frequently for that purpose, as the temps in La Rochelle were 96-99F while I was here.

Everything seems to be a road in France. Like Nantes, pedestrians share walkways and plazas with scooters, motorcycles, bicycles, buses, cars and delivery trucks. I’m always looking behind me before changing direction, trying to walk along the side rather than the middle of any piece of pavement, and always look in all directions twice before crossing anything that looks like a street.

After dinner, I tried to visit the Jardin des Plantes, a botanical garden that was supposed to be open 24/7, but which was gated shut when I arrived around 9 PM. GoogleMaps tried to direct me back to my hotel by routing me the opposite direction which would take me out of town. I ignored it and found my way back on my own after sighting the Arcades. Today this Luddite was smarter than her smartphone, which was still giving me verbal directions to the hotel when I stepped out of the shower!

The next morning when I came down for breakfast, before I could give the concierge my room number, a voice behind me said sternly “Yes, I know who you are Madame Daveno.” It freaked me out a bit until I realized days later that my name was printed on my tote bag :/ Breakfast is mostly breads, cakes and over processed fruit. I am introduced to tourteau – a round sweet bread with a black top crust that became my breakfast favorite. I take my coffee to the sidewalk and watched vendors setting up their booths for the Saturday Street Market.

The Saturday market fills the entire nearby plaza and spills into the surrounding streets. It’s the most impressive street market I’ve seen outside of Venice. The big paella pan is full of artfully arranged cooked meats. There’s a stall with nothing but berries, which he mostly sold out of by the end of the day. The glass and brick building is The Marche – with permanent stalls that sell both foods and goods, that appears to only open on the weekends. It reminded me of Pike Place Market only more upscale.

After walking through (and through and through) the market, I headed down to the waterfront for some medieval maritime history…