Pecking Orders

Since we have been trying to travel as much as possible while living over here in France for this amazing year, people often ask us which locale has been our favorite. This question almost invariably yields an enthusiastic description from yours truly of wherever we have most recently visited. Because, with the exception of the Spanish cities to which we have traveled, it seems that wherever we go instantly achieves the (albeit fleeting) status of being our "favorite" place.

It is a fairweather attitude, I realize.

And again, I know there are a lot of people who take issue with my "anti-Spain stance". Thus, I feel compelled to reiterate that I am not averse to Spain, but I just have not loved it the way I have loved so many of the other places we have seen and experienced. Maybe the next time I set foot on Spanish soil, I will feel otherwise. I am definitely open to loving Spain. After all, I do wholeheartedly enjoy flemenco, sangria, and tapas, so some of the groundwork has been laid for a positive future to be had between us. Time will tell.

But anyway, my dance card is regularly well-filled with my latest favorite places. The very top slot is forever changing (I know--fickle, fickle, fickle me), but that seems a rather good problem to have. And "good problem" seems a rather oxymoronic thing to say, but that is neither here nor there.

Given what I have just shared about my transient affinities, the following admission is probably rather obvious--but after returning from the Loire Valley a couple of weeks ago, the region quickly usurped the number one position on my list (a spot that had been occupied by Normandy for the past couple of months). The visit left me positively swooning about the beauty of the area; the chateaux, the countryside, the amazing troglodyte-cave hotel at which we stayed.

So when friends of ours who were here last week asked what my favorite place was, I immediately gushed and gooed over our most recent travel destination: the Loire Valley. It was fresh in my mind from the visit there the week prior. By the way, I am not oblivious to the rather transparent fact that "freshness" plays a role in my assigning of these (mythical) medals. Freshness is not a bad way to rate things, and if you disagree, I invite you to consider this idea the next time you stop by your refrigerator for a snack. Moreover, however, the Loire is deserving of a high rating since it is an embodiment of landscape perfection.

After my effusive verbal emoting over the Loire, I admitted that I changed my mind quite a bit about the ultimate European destination. And thus...

The next day we took the TGV three hours south-west of Paris, with those very friends who posed the "Where is your favorite place?" question, to the coastal city of La Rochelle. From La Rochelle, we hopped on an hour bus ride and were dropped off on Ile de Re, in the tiny village of St. Martin de Re.

You can imagine what happened next. Yup. Ile de Re is now number one on my list.

The village surrounds an impossibly picturesque harbor which is filled with boats of all sizes, and lined by adorable cottage-like houses, crawling with green vines which are interspersed with large blooming roses in a variety of colors. The town is truly that town that you see on the pages of a glossy travel magazine and think; "I want to visit that quaint European sea-side village!" Yet you never actually seem to be able to locate a town like that when you actually are traveling. Well, the search is over: we found it people. Il de Re is where it is at.

So we began or venture by eating mussels in a delicious creamy-butter sauce, accompanied by vibrantly-hued salads made with gorgeously fresh produce. We ate as we sat overlooking the harbor, sipping wine, and chatting. The locals sitting at the table behind us were sharing an afternoon bottle of port, having a laugh over several different tales, and intermittently pausing from their social hour to conduct some business (one of them was the purveyor of the bicycle shop, conveniently located five feet behind the resto, and he performed some light maintenance in between sips of port and drags from his Frenchie cig). Post lunch, we poked around the village boutiques, loading up on the famous regional salt and purveying the various bird-themed paraphernalia for sale in the shops. (BTW, the oiseau mystery is yet to be solved. To this untrained eye, there were not more, or more interesting, birds on Ile de Re than there seem to be anywhere else, but they did have some lovely items for sale if birds are your home-decorating thing). Just to complete this nirvana of a sojourn: we rented bikes (with baskets), and peddled past fields of wild red poppies and bored-looking bovines to wind up at what must be one of the most gorgeous beaches ever. Starfish wriggled in the tidal pools, the water was a brilliant green-blue, and the sand was soft as can be.

Ile de Re was just so relaxing. It was friendly, it was small, it boasted beautiful views, yummy food, and donkeys who wore blue and white trousers.

I know, I had you at "donkeys who wore trousers." Obviously, it is my new favorite place.

However, let's not sign anything with a sharpie yet. We leave on Tuesday for a two-plus week trip through Italy, and that dance-card pecking order will no doubt shuffle 8-13 times in the coming weeks. Pasta and gelato and wine, oh my...