Chinon et Fete de la Musique!

Music: MC Solaar
Movie: Harry Potter et L'Ordre du Phénix
Book: White Tiger

Every year at the end of June, France puts on her Vanilla Ice sunglasses, neon checkered pants, and high ankle kicks for some good old fashioned harmonica-accordian-whatever-you-like music fest. In Tours, La Rue Nationale, the major street that runs through the city, trades in the noise of every day car traffic for a dissonant sound of quite another kind: good old fashioned, mettalica-latin-indian-classic-african-drum-beat rock and roll!

At every bar, restaurant, street corner and crosswalk, there parked one, two, sometimes even three bands blaring their tunes in an all out guitar-pick fight. And as the night sauntered along, the mess that was once intangible took on the loveliest forms: puke, puke...drunken dancing...and puke. Not my own, I
I'm glad I left when I did (around midnight) because had I stayed longer, the remembrance of the evening would not have been quite so pleasant. But my friends who ventured out a bit later came back with the loveliest stories...

I met up with the girls around 930 (2130) at Tutti Gusti, the best icecream store in Tours (rocks a mad delicious white choco cappaccino). The lady, who to my abashment, now recognizes me immediately, gave me a taste of this nutella softserve, which was like having cherubs envoyed directly from heaven to dance in my mouth. Then, holding onto our cones, we happened upon this circle of African drumming, with a large throng of people gathered round -and it was so cool- that of course I couldn't help but join in, and before you knew it, my friends and I had formed a congo line and, with the encouragement of our grand audience, stuck our icecream in the air and danced through the crowd in style. We soon realized that dancing; in addition to being a great accompaniament to the music around us, was also the key to getting past huge masses. Get at least 4 other people, grab onto eachothers purses (in a linear, orderly manner), and put a little bop to your swing. It was like having Moses by our side - besides the little bit of gawking, it worked like a charm. Good times.

Then on Saturday, I went to Chinon via train. They are known for their kick-butt red wine, which I had sampled in Tours and liked a lot. The day began with a very intense kayaking trip on the Cher river. The water had looked so calm - but it became quite a different story one hour later, arms exhausted, me and Amber having run, several times, into a thicket of old trees on the bank. Though we were tempted to turn around and go in the direction of the current - non! - we persevered and made it around the entire trail. hurrah! Afterwards, we went to this "wine museum" which was the biggest waste of money in my life and it still makes me upset to think about it. Jenna, Amber, Maddy and I walked into this old, dark room - the entrance to the museum (mind you, this place was recommended to us by the very official office de tourisme.) Warning bells went off in all of our heads, but we proceeded to give our money to the man with a huge, curly moustache à la Moulin Rouge. He had another friend with the same moustache. Also pictures of his head cut out and pasted onto other bodies on the wall behind him.
He told us to go outside and then pointed to this really shady, narrow stairway into this dungeon like area, where there were these moving manneuquins miming out the process of making wine barrels. Only problem was - it smelled so bad there (like rotting human bodies and soggy disease-ridden birds), that I felt like I was going to throw up. Also, the moving mannequins were missing fingers, arms, legs, and eyes. We got out of there fast..like 30 seconds later fast...and with 5 euros-less, ran away as fast as we could. We all felt like such stupid tourists...until one of us pointed out the brighter side of things...at least we weren't murdered by the crazy man with the moustache and left to rot in that dingy cellar where we were far enough away from civilization that our screams would be left unnoticed...

And now for the big news!!!! readddyyy!!!!??? I'll be prob going here again on Bastille day - but this weekend is different. It is the weekend to dust off my mickey ears, strap on my fanny pack, and sport an obscenely large camera. Also duct tape my wallet onto my stomache. Paris for the ever-excited tourist! Here I come! Yours Truly!