Tanqueray (pic by Jeffrey Simms Photography)

Earlier this year, I received some exciting news: a cocktail I had entered in the amateur category of Tanqueray’s “Best T&T Contest” had been chosen the overall grand-prize winner from a field of several hundred entries! The rules of the contest were pretty simple: the drink had to contain Tanqueray gin and tonic water, there were some minor limits on ingredient amounts, and you had to submit the drink via their Facebook application.

I put together what I thought was a tasty little concoction featuring orange marmalade as my secret weapon. I wrote the recipe up, called it the English Bulldog, and submitted it. I never expected to hear from them again, so receiving a big pack of papers to sign was a huge surprise.

In addition to some other items, the centerpiece of the grand prize was a round-trip, first-class flight to New York City, a stay in the Ace Hotel, and a cocktail tour guided by Tanqueray Ambassador, bartender extraordinaire and all-around cocktail guru Angus Winchester. For more than six hours, we would be toured around in a private car and invited to visit some of New York’s greatest cocktail bars.

The Lobby of the Ace Hotel (pic by Phil Bartle)

Needless to say, I was floored. I know enough about cocktails to know two things: one, that I can sling a pretty decent drink. Two, that I am nowhere near the level of the pros out there when it comes to mixology. So having Tanqueray’s panel of judges decide that my creation was the best of the bunch was both amazing and very gratifying!

I owe some thanks to the fine folks over at Imbibe Magazine. If they hadn’t published the link to this contest on their Twitter feed, I never would have known about it. Cheers, guys!

The tour commenced at 5:30 PM on Thursday, when we met Angus outside of our hotel and hopped into the car. We exchanged pleasantries and talked a bit about ourselves as we headed for our first stop, Death and Co. Unfortunately, the folks there apparently misunderstood themselves when they said “we’ll open at six” and so, after standing around out front with several other thirsty customers until 6:30, we gave up and headed for spot number two. An inauspicious start, and I was sad to have to leave the bar on my “places I want to go but haven’t gotten to” list, but oh well!

At the Pegu Club (pic by me)

Our next stop was the Pegu Club, and this proved much more successful. On the way, we talked with Angus about Old Tom gin, and the various theories out there on what it was officially supposed to taste like. The man is a walking cocktail encyclopedia, especially when it comes to gin and genever! At Pegu Club, we met a photographer and a young woman both employed by Tanqueray’s PR firm, as well as a journalist for the Huffington Post, Tony Sachs. We sat down with Angus and ordered some drinks. I chose a Gin-Gin Mule first, while Charlotte went with the bar’s namesake drink, and Angus opted for an off-menu “Fitty-Fitty” — fifty percent gin, fifty percent dry vermouth. We talked about how cocktails in general, and martinis in particular, became excessively dry and vodka-based over the 20th century, and how vermouth and gin were slowly returning to favor. James Bond, as it turns out, had no taste in drinks.

Audrey Saunders, Pegu Club’s owner and one of the earliest advocates of the artisanal cocktail movement in New York, has taste in drinks. We decided early on that alcohol makes a fine antiseptic, and thus we all tried each other’s drinks frequently. I can honestly say I didn’t taste a single cocktail during the entire evening that I didn’t like! We ordered a few more beverages — a champagne cocktail for Charlotte, a gin and rosemary concoction for myself, and an earl-gray tea-infused gin drink for Angus (sorry, don’t recall the names).

A rendering from The Dutch's website

After tasting all of our drinks (which we didn’t finish — gotta pace yourselves!), we bid adieu to the Tanqueray folks and hopped back into the car with Angus and Tony. We were all pretty hungry, and eager to get something into our stomachs to aid in the fight against too much alcohol, so we headed for our dinner destination: The Dutch. Newly opened in SoHo, The Dutch is Andrew Carmellini’s American restaurant, and features a solid cocktail menu in addition to its culinary delights. It was very crowded, but we’re seated quickly and treated to attentive service. We start out the evening with oysters and cocktails: a gibson martini with pickled ramps for Charlotte and Tony (Chris: “it tastes like ranch dressing, only not horrible!”  Tony: “… it really does!”), another rosemary drink for yours truly, and I have no idea what Angus got. Should’ve taken notes!

After the oysters and cocktails, we moved on to white wine and appetizers. There was less sharing here, so I’m only sure of what Charlotte and I got: tripe in a tomato sauce for her, and vinegary asparagus for me. I’ve never had tripe before, but it wasn’t bad at all, and my asparagus was delicious. We finished up with red wine, a gigantic rabbit pot pie for Charlotte and a lamb neck mole for me, the latter of which was absolutely out of this world.

The main bar at PDT, from their website

Fully sated, we headed for our next destination: PDT (Please Don’t Tell). I’ve been to PDT before, so I knew what to expect: it’s a speakeasy-themed bar, the entrance to which is found within a phone booth in the hotdog joint (Crif Dogs) next door. It’s a fantastic place, and I was glad to be going back, but I did not expect that we’d get to hang out with the owner, Jim, and have a chance to look over the new book he’s putting out in November! We talked about how bar owners don’t really get to define their signature cocktail; their customers do. PDT’s is an old-fashioned made with bacon-infused bourbon and maple syrup. We tried that, and it was quite tasty, but I think I believe Jim when he says that there are better cocktails on the menu.

As an example of what he was talking about, let me describe my drink: the Venus & Cupid, a tequila-based cocktail that, unlike most tequila-based cocktails I’ve ever had, has absolutely no relation to a margarita whatsoever. There is no citrus and no salt. There is tequila, and mezcal, and punt y mes (I think), and … something that tasted like cinnamon. And egg white. Honestly, the drink was a revelation; I don’t know if it was the best cocktail I’ve ever had, but it might well have been the most daring and most brilliantly executed. Tequila is, in my opinion, the hardest base spirit to work with, and the Venus & Cupid is absolutely inspired craftsmanship. If you are in New York, go to PDT and get it. Sip it slowly and with great relish. Trust me: you will not regret it.

Little Branch's Front Door (pic by ldandersen)

After PDT, we hopped back into the car and headed west toward 7th Avenue, where we stopped in front of an unassuming door on the edge of an unremarkable building. This, I was informed, was the entrance to Little Branch, another speakeasy-style club in which some of the best bartenders in the world performed their craft. We walked down the stairs into the bar, the size of which can politely be called “intimate”, and were greeted by a live jazz trio and a throng of people. We made our way to the bar, where Angus introduced us to one of the bartenders, Sammy. He explained to us that Sammy is from Austrlia, and has an encyclopedic knowledge of cocktails that is amazing even by Angus’s standards.

One of the items on the menu was “Bartender’s Choice” where you provide them with the base spirit, and they do the rest. I couldn’t resist that chance, and the first bottle my eye happened upon was a 750 ml of Laird’s Applejack. Armed with only that to go on, Sammy produced the second-most original drink I had that evening (other than the aforementioned Venus & Cupid). I have no idea what was in it other than the Applejack, but it looked almost like chocolate milk and tasted smooth and sweet. The apple notes from the liquor were not lost, but instead complemented by a variety of flavors. When you have bartenders of this caliber, going with the bartender’s choice is not a bad idea!

Cocktails at Milk & Honey (pic by ldandersen)

It was nearing midnight, so Tony took his leave as we headed out of Little Branch toward our final destination. Back in the car with Angus, we weaved our way through Chinatown, crossing to its western edge and locating our destination, the blank storefront that houses another famous Manhattan cocktail bar: Milk & Honey. A sister club to the London bar of the same name, Milk & Honey is one of the tougher bars to get into if you’re not a paying member. Angus is either a member or just knows the right people, so we had no problems there. Smaller even than Little Branch, but far quieter and less crowded, it’s an unassuming bar except in regard to its drinks. It might’ve been my favorite stop of the night, although Pegu Club’s upscale Asian theme was very nice as well, and I’ve always liked PDT’s decor.

The way it works at Milk & Honey New york is: there’s no menu. Sure, you can order any number of classic cocktails like a Manhattan or a Martini, but generally what happens is you tell your server or the bartender what you’re feeling like in general terms and they make you a drink. I asked for something which used Rye whiskey and was a stirred drink, ie: no fruit juice. Charlotte specified that she wanted something with gin which was fairly dry. Both of us were highly satisfied with the results, which was actually mildly surprising, since Charlotte’s drink came with a fair amount of citrus in it, which isn’t usually her thing. The bartender had omitted almost any kind of sugar however, and the resulting elixir was an oddly sippable combination of dry and sour. My drink resembled a Manhattan, but with additional herbal notes that I’m afraid I couldn’t identify.

We spent some time talking with an employee whose name, unfortunately, I didn’t get. He and Angus seemed to know each other well, possibly to have even worked together in the past, and they traded in a bit of bar gossip as we drank our cocktails. Eventually we were finished, and though another round was offered, Charlotte and I decided that our livers had taken enough of a beating for one night. Angus escorted us outside, where we thanked him profusely for the tour. We jumped into a cab and made for our hotel. The last we saw of Angus, he was walking — looking neither tired nor even tipsy — back into the bar to continue the conversation. The man is a professional!

I’d like to again extend my thanks to Tanqueray, Skybridge Marketing Group, Taylor Strategy, and most of all to Angus Winchester for arranging this tour and taking care of Charlotte and I!

—

Notes:

If you’re into cocktails and are not following them already, you should go now and add @anguswinchester and @RetroManNYC to your Twitter feed.

All photos used are Creative Commons entries from Flickr, except pictures I took myself or took from the bar’s official website (noted in caption). The photos are linked to their respective pages on Flickr.

I was not prompted in any way by Tanqueray to make this post or endorse their product. All opinions, thoughts, etc expressed in this article are mine, and do not reflect the views or opinions of the Tanqueray organization or their employees, contractors, etc.

In the morning, we headed out for Miami Beach,  taking a leisurely drive toward South Beach. As we got there, it became more and more crowded, and it seemed unlikely that we would be able to find any parking, but we lucked into a space, hopped out, and began exploring on foot.

Check out the Whole Gallery

After wandering around the beach for a bit, we stopped for lunch at a local hotel restaurant, where I had a very tasty Cuban sandwich and Charlotte got a gigantic chopped salad with grilled shrimp. We then proceeded to wander south along Ocean Avenue, which is pretty much dominated by restaurants playing thudding club music while patrons sit in outdoor dining drinking out of ridiculous 32oz margarita glasses. It’s crowded, there are people constantly shoving pamphlets at you, and there’s a lot of skin on display from both sexes. Basically it’s like Times Square, only if everyone was wearing bathing suits, which surprisingly doesn’t make it much less awful than Times Square.

Eventually sick of the crowds, we threaded our way through the art deco neighborhood before returning to our car and heading for Downtown Miami … but that’s another photo-set!

Apparently while we were touring, the Sheriff’s office was also practicing their airboat maneuvers. I guess they need the practice, because they rounded a corner and slammed into a passenger boat, tearing off the back of it and sending several police officers flying into the swamp.

No one died, and none of the civilians were severely injured. One of the deputies, however, apparently lost his toe. Our boat driver was coordinating the rescue efforts on his phone while continuing to point out the sights for us, even as several helicopters, ambulances, and fire engines showed up on the scene.

Check out the gallery!

Very exciting. Unfortunately, I have no pictures of the accident  scene itself. We drove by it on the airboat and Gabe was brave enough to photograph the three severely pissed-off looking police offers stained up to their nipples by swamp water. I was not.

I can only assume the toe ended up in some gator’s belly, and that gator now has a taste for man!

UPDATE: Gabe has sent along the pic of the soaked police officers. Here it is!

To Protect and to Serve

View the whole gallery over at Flickr.

Sunday – May 16th – Albi and Cordes

Charlotte and I wake at 9:45 to her sister Axelle knocking on the door and politely asking us if anyone had told us that we had to be out of the cabin by ten. No … no one had told us that! We leap out of bed and hastily pull on clothes, brush our teeth, and pack up. We’re walking out of the cabin just as an employee comes to check and make sure we’re walking out of the cabin. Good timing!

We’re meeting back at the reception venue for breakfast, so Charlotte and I hop into the car and head in that direction. We’re some of the first people to arrive, but Jerome and Eglantine are already there, getting things rolling. They have some leftover snacks from the wedding, and they’ve added big boxes of croissants, chocolate croissants (called chocolatines in south-western France, and pain au chocolat everywhere else), bread and fruit. They’ve also got pate, cheeses, ham, and a variety of juices and drinks. Pretty solid breakfast! Jerome is working on the coffee, much to everyone’s relief. Charlotte and I help bring stuff out to the tables, and from there everyone just kind of hangs around, eating and drinking, as more and more people show up.

Eventually most of Charlotte’s family moves out onto the steps — the sun is out for what feels like the first time in days and it’s actually warm enough to be outside. Someone finds a pack of balloons, and people spend time inflating those, bouncing them around with some of the kids. An inquisitive nine-year-old on Jerome’s side of the family spends quite some time asking Charlotte questions, many of which are about me being American and unable to speak French.

The party finally breaks apart sometime past noon. Charlotte and I want to go check into our hotel, take showers, and maybe take a nap. We’re staying at the old farmhouse where her parents are staying, for our final night in Albi. It’s a very cool place, and the interiors are modern and comfy (but cold — stone buildings really eat warmth). Charlotte naps while I take a shower, and then I mess around on the computer while she takes hers. We decide that we’re going to go to the nearby town of Cordes, which is built along the side of a hill and is really quite pretty, where we’ll find a cafe and spend a couple of hours reading and laptopping. Since we’re not planning on touring, I neglect to bring the camera. Oops!

That not-touring plan lasts until we get to the first cafe in Cordes, where the owner pisses Charlotte off by bitching when she asks for change to feed the parking meter (which wants €2.50 for two hours, on a Sunday, which is ridiculous to begin with). So we decide the hell with that cafe, and start into the town. This turns into an hour-long walk through the steep, winding streets of the town, checking out some amazing architecture and stopping in a few artisan and souveniere shops along the way. Not exactly the restful experience we’d been planning, but the town is amazing and we’re glad to have seen it. We stop at a cafe at the top of the hill, where Charlotte gets a tea and I have “un demi” — a 25cl glass of beer (about 8oz). We relax for a bit and the head back down to where we parked.

From there we head back to the hotel and have dinner at their “restaurant” (the owners of the place also do the cooking and serving). I had planned on bringing my laptop back there to use the internet for a bit (they don’t have in-room wifi), but that instead turns into Charlotte and I falling asleep at about 9:30 at night. I guess the wedding, coupled with the short sleep, coupled with the overall exhaustion that comes from having visited half a dozen towns in as many days, conspired to tire us out!

[Pictures from Day Nine]

Monday – May 17th – Albi to Barcelona

It’s my last day in France, and Charlotte’s last day in Albi. She’s headed with her parents northward, to their home in Fontainebleau, and then to Paris for her final exams. I’m headed back to Barcelona, to drop off the rental car and stay one last night at a hotel near the airport before flying out in the morning. We start the day off by having breakfast with her parents, along with Eglantine and Jerome. Coffee, juice, croissants, bread, butter, jam … mmm! We spend a good amount of time chatting and laughing before Eglantine and Jerome head off, while Charlotte and I go to pack up our stuff, and her parents pack up theirs. We load up the car and take a short walk together, checking out some of the grounds and stopping at a lilly pond to watch the frogs sunning themselves.

Allow me to be sentimental for a moment … Charlotte and I aren’t going to see each other for three and a half weeks, which is the longest we’ve been apart since we first met in person (when I flew to Paris to visit, came back and had to wait a month before her move to the US). Neither of us are thrilled about this, but we can’t afford for me to stay in France indefinitely, and honestly she needs the time to study without distraction, so that’s how it’s gotta be. We head back to the cars and say our goodbyes. As I’m typing this, she’s preparing for the second of her final exams, and I’ve still got 15 days to go before I see her again. Bleh!

From here on out, I’m on my own. I get in the car and head back toward Albi. I have a bunch of maps available, should I get lost, but it turns out not to be a problem: within ten minutes, I come to a roundabout with a sign pointing toward Toulouse. That puts me on a big highway, and from there I’ll spend the next four and a half hours following highway signs without trouble, all the way back to Barcelona, with a couple of stops along the way for gas, coffee, and diet coke.

The return trip takes me back past several of the cities we visited. I drive by the pink bricks of Toulouse, and later the walled old city of Carcassonne. It feels a little like visiting old friends. “Hey, how ya doing? Nice to see you again. I gotta run, but I’ll be back soon!” Then the highway takes me towards Narbonne, on the coast, before veering south and taking me past Perpignan and into the Pyrenees foothills. I can see the same snow-capped mountains, climbing the hill into Spain, that we saw coming down it eight days ago. I clear the toll booths and customs without problem, and bid France “au revoir” as the radio stations I’ve been flipping through (hunting for music I actually recognize) begin to switch from French to Spanish.

Finally I reach Barcelona, where I encounter a little bit of traffic (it’s just about 5:30 PM by now), but nothing too horrific, probably because I’m driving into the city and not out of it. I worry that I’ve missed a turn a few times, but each time just as I’m becoming convinced something’s gone terribly awry, I see another sign for the airport. Eventually I make my way on to a big highway pointed towards terminals one and two, from which I can see the hotel I’ll be staying at. As I exit to get to the hotel, I drive by the back of the Sixt Rental Car building where I need to drop off my car. Awesome. This whole trip has gone perfectly, from a driving standpoint.

Famous last words … I make it to the hotel and check in just fine, unloading the whole car in the process. Then I get back in so that I can make the short drive over to Sixt. However, the entire area I’m in is not only littered with one-way roads (a staple in Barcelona, even outside of the city where there’s plenty of space), but also under construction. For the next NINETY MINUTES, I drive my car around and around and around, getting on and off highways, trying surface road after surface road, hoping to get to the Sixt buildings. I see it from every angle. I am often within 100 yards of it. I just can’t get to it. I become frustrated, then angry, then absolutely enraged, then plaintative, and finally just kind of shocked and dismayed. At one point, I drive BACKWARDS down a one-way street four about an eighth of a mile, but there’s no entrance on that road. Argh!

I finally find my way into Sixt. The entrance was clear and obvious all along: all I had to do was IGNORE A DO NOT ENTER SIGN and turn onto a road that was marked as one way, but was actually two ways. Stupid me, right? After 90 minutes of driving, I finally drop off my car, and then walk back to the hotel. The walk takes three minutes. I go upstairs, get my laptop, go to the hotel bar, and order a well-deserved beer. It’s later than I expected, and I have to get up at six in the morning, so I don’t stick around too long — just enough to grab dinner and answer a few emails. Then it’s up to bed.

I’ll spare you most of the details of the flight back. It was an entirely unexciting trip, which is fine … generally I’m not looking for “exciting” on plane flights. My seat on the international flight had a power plug for my laptop, so I’m able to use it the entire time, which is great. Then I spend five hours in the Atlanta airport before hopping on a plane to Indy. My friend Gabe picks me up, and drops me off, where the cats are thrilled to see me and spend the next few hours climbing on top of me, while I sleep on the couch.

The Great European Tour of 2010 is over. It was a good time (except being sick), and we saw some amazing stuff. I’m really looking forward to getting back to Toulouse when it’s not freezing, rainy, and a national holiday. I also suspect I’ll be back to Carcassonne at some point, and probably Albi as well. Barcelona was fascinating and I could see spending more time there too. In all, Spain and Southern France left a very good impression. I’m glad I went, look forward to going back, and would recommend the trip to anyone. For now, though, I’m happy to be back in the land of large coffees and stuff that’s open late!

[No Pictures, Sorry!]

Friday – May 14th – Albi Civil Ceremony

In the morning, Charlotte gets up and goes to the bank. She’s got some money that’s been sitting in a French account for a few years, but the process for releasing it is arduous and much better done in person, so she’s going to give it a shot while we’re here. As she heads out, I get up and take a shower, then take a walk, meeting her at a local cafe. The person who would be able to help her wasn’t there, so she’ll have to come back at ten the next morning. Alas! We drink coffee and then wander off, deciding to get a to-go lunch somewhere and bring it back to the hotel.

“Somewhere” turns out to be the bakery across the street. Charlotte grabs a panini and I, still somewhat wary of food, just take a piece of brioche with some sugar crystals on top of it. Tasty! We head back to the hotel, eat our food, and get dressed for the civil ceremony. We’ve been told to keep it semi-casual, so I opt for jeans and a button-down, which accomplishes the goal of making me neither the most nor the least dressed-up person there. Charlotte wears a dress, but pulls a cardigan over it to help de-formalize it. We get to the town hall early (our hotel is like two minutes away), so we walk back up the road a little bit and stop at yet another cafe for some coffee. Eventually we return to the town hall and meet up with friends and family.

We mill around the town hall’s courtyard for a while, waiting for everyone to arrive and for the wedding ceremony ahead of us to finish up. We’re alerted that this has happened when a bunch of dudes suddenly come out of the front door and hold up golf clubs, forming an arch for the bride and groom to walk under. It’s … an unexpected happening. That party disperses, and we make our way upstairs. The Civil Ceremony is short and sweet, with a focus placed on signing documents and agreeing to things. Everyone cheers the now officially married — in the eyes of France — couple, and we return to the courtyard for more pictures and talking.

Eventually we decide to head for … hold on for a surprise … a cafe! It’s early evening by this point, so most people grab a beer or similar. Charlotte has a Kir Cassis, which is white wine mixed with blackberry liqueur. Yum. I get a Leffe Blonde, and we snack on olives and chat with Charlotte’s siblings, cousins, and others. Jerome and Eglantine, the newlyweds, wander from table to table talking with everyone. Eventually we’re all freezing to death, and many people go home. The rest of us move inside and hang out for a while longer.

Charlotte and I excuse ourselves to go back to the hotel so that she can study a bit. We’ve made plans to go to dinner with all of her siblings except Eglantine, so that Charlotte and her other sisters can work on the details of their wedding speech. We’re having dinner at a hotel on the outskirts of Albi, which is actually a set of old farmhouses that have been converted to lodging by their owners. It’s also the place that Charlotte’s mom and dad are staying, along with her sister Nolwenn, brother-in-law Fred, and their two kids. We nearly get lost on the way, but manage to find the place just in time — everyone else has already ordered their appetizers! The meal is very tasty, and the ladies get in some good discussion about their speech for Eglantine. Tired and excited for tomorrow’s religious ceremony and reception, we head out, returning to our hotel and crashing for the night.

[Pictures from Day Seven]

May 15th – Albi (Wedding)

Eglantine’s wedding ceremony isn’t until 4:30 in the afternoon, which means Charlotte and I can spend the morning doing a necessary errand: Laundry. She had to bring so many books and stuff along with her on this trip that there was just no way for both of us to pack a full 12+ days worth of clothing (including a complete suit for yours truly). We’re rapidly running out of clean clothes, and don’t like the idea of having to hit the laundromat the day after the wedding, so we decide to do it today.

Charlotte has another bank meeting set up. We hop in the car with our suitcase full of dirty clothes, and I drop her off at the bank. I’m supposed to find parking near the laundromat and get started, and Charlotte will meet me there. What actually happens is that I drive through the winding streets of Albi for half an hour without finding a single parking space. I finally give up and pay for parking in a garage about ten feet from where I dropped Charlotte off in the first place, and walk the rest of the way to the laundromat. Charlotte is waiting for me there, and helpfully points out that two spaces have just opened up right in front of it! I resist the urge to shake my fist at the heavens, and we head into the laundromat. It’s totally automated and unattended, but it’s open, and that’s all we need. We get our laundry going, and sit around drinking diet coke and eating something which is exactly like Pocky, but has a different name.

Charlotte heads out to run another errand, and I hang out at the laundromat, messing around on my laptop and waiting for our clothes to dry. Eventually they do, and I fold them up and put them back in the suitcase. Charlotte arrives a few minutes later, and we head out, dropping the suitcase in the car and making a quick diversion into central Albi to look for a hair decoration for Charlotte. We find a place that sells several, and she settles on a clip with a bunch of black feathers in it. Satisfied, we return to the hotel to get into our wedding best, stopping at the same bakery as the day before to get sandwiches for lunch. We eat at the hotel, Charlotte does some studying, I do some internet browsing, and eventually it’s time to get ready.

Once dressed up, we check out of the hotel, get back in the car, and head for the Cathedral. It’s not far away, and we’re one of the first cars to get there, so we spend some time hanging out in the parking lot and chatting with the other guests that arrived early, several of whom are Charlotte’s aunts and uncles on her Mother’s side. Eventually everyone arrives, and we make our way into the church and get seated. Soon the ceremony begins. One of Charlotte’s uncles is officiating, and there’s a lot more singing, praying, and bible reading than there was in the civil ceremony. Trying to sing along with songs I’ve never heard in a language I don’t speak proves to be comedy gold, but I do my best.

Soon the happy couple are happily married for the second time in two days, and everyone greets them outside with confetti and road flares … for some reason that seems unclear even to the two dudes who are wielding them. Blanketed in smoke from the flares, people cough and squint, but are generally happy. It’s very cold out, however, and all of the women are freezing. Most of them end up covered in jackets and unable to show off their outfits. Alas!

Charlotte and I end up near the back of the group of cars heading to the reception. This is slightly problematic, because we don’t know where it is, so we’re a bit concerned about losing track of the caravan. We manage not to, which is fine, right up until we realize we’ve followed a group of people to a small campground where they’ve all rented cabins. They’re there to change! D’oh. Charlotte and I strike back out on the road, calling her sister and getting directions, which summed up are basically: Turn left at this tiny village, and then drive into the middle of French farmland for like half an hour, and then you’ll be there. We manage to find the place, a big stone structure that was probably built when Jesus was still a teenager, and park. Somehow we beat a huge chunk of the guests there, and manage to arrive just as Eglantine and Jerome are having their first champagne toast. Everyone applauds, and then sets about eating hors d’oeuvres, drinking champagne, and chatting.

France in mid-May is generally beautiful but unfortunately we caught it on a grey, cold week, and the wedding day is no exception. It’s freezing out, and everyone is bundled up. Thankfully the courtyard is protected by heavy stone walls on three sides, easily 20 feet high, which keep the wind away. The venue’s main staircase makes an excellent place to take pictures, and Charlotte and I get pulled into a few, in between champagne and snacks. Eventually night falls, and the guests move indoors for dinner and to warm up (there are space heaters inside!).

Dinner consists of four courses — fois gras appetizer, pot roast main course, salad and cheese course, and the cake. Having stuffed myself on hors d’oeuveres, it’s a challenge to make it through dinner, but I manage to at least try everything! During this time, many people make speeches (including Charlotte and her sisters) and there are two slide-shows of pictures from the bride and groom’s youth. Eglantine and Jerome cut the cake, there’s more champagne toasting, and then some of the guests begin to head out. The DJ takes this as a sign, drops the lights, cranks the music, and a couple of people clear and move some tables to make dancing space. For the next hour or so, Charlotte and I dance (her well, me poorly), and then we decide it’s time to head for our lodgings.

This proves to be somewhat more difficult than expected. As it turns out, the place we’re staying that night is a cabin at the very same campground that we had earlier turned into. This is not in itself a big deal, but what IS a big deal is that the road to the cabins is only drivable until ten PM. Given that it’s some godawful hour in the early morning, Charlotte and I have to park in the front parking lot and then stumbling along the winding road. It is pitch black out and we have only her blackberry and my laptop computer to use as flashlights, while also hauling suitcases and carry-on bags. We furtively wander up to cabin after cabin, trying to find the one that is ours. Naturally, it is the one at the very furthest reaches of the road, and down a small grass hill. Exhausted, we stumble inside. It’s not as rustic as I expect, but it is very small. We quickly find a bed, and almost immediately pass out.

[Pictures from Day Eight - Ceremony]
[Pictures from Day Eight - Reception]

In the morning, I feel less nauseous but my whole body feels like it’s full of ground glass. Fun! Still, I want to see some of Toulouse, even though it’s still grey and cold out, not to mention a French holiday. Undeterred, we wander first to a cafe, and then to the Saint-Sernin Basilica. This structure is the largest Romanesque church in Europe, and it’s quite impressive! It’s built in a cross shape, but has many rounded walls that look like overlapping cylinders. It also has a huge tower which was added on to over multiple periods in history and thus features 12th century Romanesque architecture, 14th century gothic architecture, and a 15th century spire. It also, apparently, has one of the most beautiful pipe organs in the world inside of it … but unfortunately it’s closed, so we can’t see that. D’oh!

Once we’ve circled the Basilica, we head down the Rue du Taur (Road of the Bull), which leads directly from Saint-Sernin to the Capitol Plaza. This is a huge central square that’s mostly empty at the moment, but does have a small outdoor market in one corner. At the far end is the Capitol Building, which is a gigantic structure made out of the pink brink that Toulouse is famous for. We were hoping to get inside but it, like almost everything else, appears to be closed. The moral of this story is: Charlotte and I are going to need to get back to Toulouse at some point!

We start making our way back to our hotel, stopping by a park to check out some more scenery, when the sky finally decides to stop spitting down the occasional rain drops, and really let go. It goes from dry to pouring in rapid fashion, and Charlotte and I find ourselves huddled underneath an awning at the very cafe where we’d previously had breakfast. Eventually the rain dies down a bit, and we head for the hotel. Along the way we find a gigantic indoor market, and there are few things in the world that excite Charlotte more than indoor markets, so we stroll through that, checking out the stalls. Most of them are getting ready to leave but there’s still plenty of fish, cheese, veggies and other good stuff on display! Eventually we make it back to the hotel, hop in the car, and head for our final destination: Albi.

We find our way to the town without much difficulty. It’s only about a 40 minute drive northeast of Toulouse, almost all of it on a major highway. Unfortunately it’s still cold and rainy out, which is never the best thing for Charlotte’s mood. We decide that lunch and coffee should help her feel better, and stop off at a cafe. She calls her sister to let her know we’re in town, and we’re shortly surprised by Jerome, Charlotte’s soon-to-be Brother-in-Law, who swings by the cafe to say a quick hello before heading out again. Charlotte gets a croque madame, and I get some kind of chicken sandwich on a baguette, and we eat, and head off to find our hotel.

The sandwich was the first food I’ve had in about 24 hours and even though I only ate half of it, by the time I got to the hotel I am feeling pretty awful. The hotel itself doesn’t make us feel any better — it’s about as budget as budget can get, featuring a room that’s barely big enough to hold the full-sized bed, and which smells overwhelmingly of men’s cologne. On opening the bathroom door, we’re greeted by a tiny, cramped bathroom pod which also reeks … this time of mildew. Awesome. There’s no one on duty at the desk downstairs (we checked in at a kiosk) and their help line doesn’t open until 5 PM, so Charlotte and I wait around in the room hoping we can get switched. I kind of semi-pass-out on the bed, and eventually wake up feeling better. Five o’clock rolls around and Charlotte calls the help line … which is broken. Unsure what else to do, and unwilling to spend the night in a room that smells like wet mold and cologne, we get online and book a new hotel elsewhere in Albi. Then we pack up and head out.

Naturally as soon as we get downstairs, a hotel attendant shows up at the front desk. Charlotte and I explain that the room smelled awful and that we waited to try and switch rooms but weren’t able to, and had to book a new room elsewhere. The attendant, or manager, or whoever she is basically goes “no refunds!” and her demeanor makes it clear that she’s not going to argue with us. Charlotte and I decide to take it up with customer service, and head out to our new hotel. It proves to be not much larger, but it’s better-located, nicer-looking AND doesn’t smell terrible. Win!

We relax there for a bit longer, and then talk to Eglantine again, who says she’ll come over and pick us up so we can hang out with Charlotte’s family at her place. This sounds good to us, and for the next couple of hours, we hang out at Eglantine and Jerome’s apartment. It’s a nice place, quite spacious, which is good because we’re fitting not only Eglantine, Jerome, their son Alexandre, their dog, Charlotte and I, but also Charlotte’s parents, her sister Nolwenn, brother-in-law Fred, niece Valentine, nephew Gabriel, and two of Eglantine’s friends! Much French is spoken, very little of which I understand, but that’s ok. I amuse myself by watching Valentine run around with Charlotte’s pocket camera, taking pictures of people’s feet and laughing hysterically.

Eventually the crowd disperses, and we head back to our hotel, ready to get some sleep. Tomorrow: the Civil Ceremony!

[Pictures from Day Six]

Tuesday – May 11th – Carcassonne

Charlotte and I wake up a bit late (even for us), and decide that we want to spend another night in Carcassonne. The lady who owns the house is amenable to that, so all is well. We walk over to the old city, a walled medieval village that’s underwent a major restoration in the 19th century and is now bustling with shops, restaurants, cafes, and the like. Our first stop: the central courtyard, where we pick a cafe and enjoy delicious salads for brunch.

Once done with our food, we set about exploring old city in earnest. There’s an entire tour of the city’s central castle to take, which includes a small museum of mostly sculptural artwork. We check that out, taking numerous pictures, and then circle back around to the Cathedral, which is gigantic and has tons of interesting architectural details and stained glass work. During this time, we also swing into a couple of shops, which sell everything from leather goods, to medieval outfits and weaponry, to ugly glass statues of mostly-naked fairies with huge boobs. Overall, Carcassonne’s old city proves to be an odd but enjoyable combination of modern tourist crap and authentically restored medieval buildings. I highly recommend visiting.

Eventually, Charlotte and I decide we’ve seen enough of the area and head back into the “New City” (an area so new, it was old before the European discovery of America). We do a bit of shopping and Charlotte finds a dress for the upcoming wedding, which makes her very happy. We celebrate in the traditional French way: by stopping at a cafe and having espressos. While there, we come up with a plan to bring a US-style coffee lounge to France, coupled with a bar. That way we could offer three things that are very hard to find in France, all in one place: a lounge-y, bring your laptop or a book atmosphere; American-sized coffees (in addition to traditional French offerings); and modern artisan cocktails. All we need is a couple hundred thousand bucks to get it off the ground! Any takers?

Once done daydreaming, we head back to the hotel for some internet and studying time. Dinnertime soon rolls around, and we go back into new city to visit an Italian restaurant that’s gotten good reviews on the web. Charlotte gets prawns and I get a kind of flat calzone thing filled with sausage, cheese, bechamel sauce, mushrooms, and a fried egg over-easy. It is ridiculously delicious. We split a bottle of wine, but decide to be good and skip dessert. We head back out into the new city, and promptly get completely lost, ending up at the furthest corner away from where our hotel is. Awesome! So after a sheepish huddle around the map, we begin the walk back, finally finding our place of lodging and crashing out for the night.

[Pictures from Day Five]

Wednesday – May 12th – Carcassonne to Toulouse

We wake up around ten-ish, as seems to be the pattern, and go downstairs to enjoy the free breakfast. There we meet two British guys who currently live in Amsterdam and are road-tripping through France. We chat with them and the lady who runs the hotel for a bit, then head back upstairs, shower, get out stuff together and check out. We jump in the car and bid the city of Carcassonne “au revoir” as we head for Toulouse. Our next stop is less than 100 KM away, but it will take us several hours to get there because on the way we stop at a mall and begin the great shoe hunt of 2010. Charlotte has her wedding outfit, now, except for the shoes, and she’s having a hard time finding a pair she likes that don’t cost a zillion dollars.

We try pretty much every store in the mall that sells shoes, even stores that are 90% clothing and just have a token shoe selection, without a ton of luck. Finally we manage to hunt down an elusive shoe store called “Andre” (the mall directory is somewhat confusing because some of the stores have outdoor entrances and some don’t). Here we find not one, but four pairs of shoes Charlotte actually likes. After modeling them all for me (my conclusion: “I don’t get women’s’ shoes. They all look uncomfortable as hell.”), she selects a pair, and we breathe a collective sigh of relief: all of the shopping for the wedding is now done!

Shoes successfully acquired, Charlotte and I decide to grab lunch. We settle on a restaurant called Les Trois Gats (the three cats), which is — somewhat amusingly — a Barcelona-style tapas joint. We’re not feeling like tapas though, and instead get salads. Mine has eggs and ham, Charlotte’s has smoked fish. Both are quite tasty. I also have a beer, and life seems pretty good. We hop back into the car, and continue on to Toulouse. We have no plans and no hotel, but we’ll sure things will work out.

Toulouse is surrounded by a circular highway that makes getting in and out of it relatively easy, if you know where you’re going. We don’t … and end up taking a lengthy but rather bucolic tour through some French suburbs before getting back into the city proper. This time we do the smart thing, park the car, and hit a news stand to find a map. We then take this map to a small internet cafe, and find a hotel that’s close to us and within our price range. We manage to make to confusing drive from the cafe to the hotel without running over any pedestrians, and pull into their underground parking garage. Upstairs, the clerk confirms that they have rooms available, and we book one, heading upstairs to relax for a bit.

It’s cold and grey out, and beginning to rain, and I’m not feeling hungry, so we decide Charlotte will just grab dinner from the nearest available source — a Thai restaurant just down the street — and we’ll hang out in the hotel bar. Charlotte has a glass of vermouth on ice, and I have a small glass of Armagnac. This proves to be a mistake, as the Armagnac sets off what seems to be be either a mild bout of food poisoning, or a small case of the flu. Either way, by the time we head back up to the room, I’m feeling nauseous and my whole body aches. Awesome! Charlotte falls asleep while I sit around reading ESPN.com and hoping to feel better. Eventually I also manage to sleep. Not our best day in France, unfortunately.

[Sorry, No Pictures from Today]

Sunday – May 9th – Barcelona to Perpignan

Epic fail! The hotel provides no alarm clock, and they never bother to give us our wake-up call. As a result, we wake up at 11:50 with a noon deadline for checking out. A quick call to the front desk confirms that, yes, we can stick around for more than ten minutes. We shower and pack up rapidly, check out, and take a cab into the city, where our rental car is waiting. We pick it up – a shiny new Opel Corsa (which means “has no horsepower” in Spanish) and head out into the Barcelona streets. This experience will prove mildly horrifying, as the Barcelona populace apparently do not believe in road signs, or having any kind of logical system for which way their one-way roads will run. After a long, confusing drive, we end up at our first destination: the Park Güell near the north of the city.

Like nearly everything we saw the day before, the Park Güell was designed by Gaudí. Initially planned to be a sort of Utopian neighborhood for rich people, it never took off, probably because rich people were like, “ain’t no way I’m climbing those hills every day.” Anyway, the city eventually bought the land and turned it into a park, which allows people like us to visit. We wander for a while, enjoying the sunny day and taking pictures of Gaudí’s statues, architecture, and landscaping. Eventually, we’re tired of crowds and ready to be on the move, so we venture back out into the Barcelona traffic. This experience proves substantially less harrowing, as we are able to quickly find our way to the major highway, AP-7, which heads north along the coast toward France. For the next two hours or so, not counting the short time we spend at a sandwich shop just off the highway, we drive.

Driving is good. We’re averaging about 130 KPH, checking out the Spanish and, eventually, French scenery. As we cross the border, we also come up over the edge of the mountain foothills we’ve been steadily climbing, and are greeted with a long, slow descent into farmland, with the white-capped Pyrenees mountains in the distance. It’s very picturesque, and we enjoy snapping photos and checking out the sites until we arrive in Perpignan. With no hotel booked and no knowledge of the city, this proves to be a confusing event until we finally stop at a gas station and buy a map. We make our way to the city center and start looking for hotels, eventually settling on a semi-budget chain that provides the important stuff: bed, bathroom, and wifi. I’m excited to be in France, as I haven’t had a good duck gizzard salad in more than a year. We hit a local restaurant and my wishes are soon answered! The salad has not only duck gizzards, but duck foi gras, duck leg confit, and cured duck ham. Also lettuce and such. That is what I’m TALKING about! Full and content, we resolve to explore Perpignan further in the morning, and head back to the hotel to hit the internet and then catch some sleep.

[Pictures from Day Three]

Monday – May 10th – Perpignan to Carcassonne

Epic Fail TWO! Again with the not-getting our wake-up call. This is the last time on the trip that Charlotte and I will place our trust in the hotel to wake us up. Fortunately, she realizes something is amiss around 10 AM. I sleep through her shower, but she hauls me out of bed half an hour later. We get our stuff together and check out of the hotel (leaving everything in the car). Our first stop is a cafe, where we have coffee and croissants. We follow that up with a trip to Perpignan’s central cathedral, which is a pretty remarkable structure, especially on the inside. Sadly, photos aren’t allowed, so if you want to know what it looks like in there, you’ll have to go yourself!

After the cathedral, we hop into the car and head towards what is probably Perpignan’s most significant architectural attraction: the palace of the Kings of Majorca. It’s a more functional structure than many of the palaces/chateaus I’ve visited in the past; Perpignan lies at what was once the border of Aragon (a precursor of Spain), and the structure is more of a siege fortress than a gilded palace. It’s surrounded by thick stone and brick walls shaped like a pentagon, and additionally by a trench and another set of walls. The fortress is currently undergoing restoration, but most of it is still accessible, and Charlotte and I climb to the top of the highest tower for a nifty 360-degree panorama of Perpignan before exploring the rest. Once we’ve seen everything, we hop back in the car and head off on some back roads to the town of Tautavel, which is famouse for the discovery of the oldest known human skull in Europe (~450,000 BCE), and which has a Museum of Pre-History I want to visit.

Along the way to Tautavel, we stop at a small village hoping to find lunch. We’re investigating what appears to be the one open restaurant (eventually deciding against it), when Charlotte is called across the street by an old woman leaning out of her window. She proceeds to complain in heavily accented French about her broken car, her cleaning lady, and several other subjects. Charlotte does her best to a) understand the woman and b) ascertain whether anything is really wrong. When it becomes clear that there’s no emergency, we politely excuse ourselves and proceed to wander up the hill and through the near-deserted village, looking for a cafe. Finally one of the few local residents we’ve seen takes pity on us and explains that the entire village basically closes down during work hours since everyone works in Perpignan. We thank her, and head on to the next town, which fortunately has a bakery where we buy “lunch” … a hotdog wrapped in croissant dough for Charlotte, and a pain aux raisin for me.

We eventually find our way to Tautavel, which is not a particularly large village, and which is also mostly closed (Mondays, Charlotte explains to me, are treated like Sundays by many French businesses). Fortunately, the Museum of Pre-History is open. Unfortunately, the two ladies manning the desk were DEFINITELY hoping to close early, because they greet our arrival (along with a group of four French people) with scowls. Nonetheless, we head in and take a lengthy, pleasant journey through time, looking at relics, pictures, statues, movies, and vignettes depicting life in prehistoric France. We finally leave, and the two women rush in to close the doors and get the hell out of there. Charlotte and I jump back in the car, and begin a lengthy drive through very scenic wine country toward our next destination: Carcassonne.

Diversion! Charlotte sees a sign for Chateau Queribus, which is one of the castles she wanted to visit, so we decide to check it out. We end up on a long, winding road about a car-and-a-half wide that’s slowly ascending the side of a mountain. The drop is enough to ping my fear of heights considerably, and there’s no guard rail, so that’s pretty scary. Still, when we round the corner and see an amazing castle, perched atop the rocks at the top of the peak, it’s very worth it. We end up at a small parking lot, where we take pics of the castle and surrounding scenery, and discuss the pros and cons of living on the top of a mountain, surrounded by nothing. Eventually we head back down, and continue on our way.

We arrive in Carcassonne and rapidly find that the streets there are more confusing even than Barcelona. We know exactly where our hotel is, but it takes us about forty-five minutes to get from the bridge into town to the actual building we’re staying at. Note: the bridge is a two-minute walk from said building. We end up driving through a tiny, cramped alley that we’re not sure was meant for cars, and through a park, and past a cemetery, but we do eventually find our way in. The place: a house with several bedrooms and baths which are rented out by the owners, is comfortable, but we head rapidly back out to get some food before all the restaurants close. We hit the first cafe we find, which is populated by a group of five people who seem to know the owners, and two dogs, who spend most of the time hiding under the table and begging for Charlotte’s rabbit. Our hunger sated, we head back to the house and crash.

[Pictures from Day Four]

Having no alarm and not having a wake-up call, we don’t get up until around noon. I’m pretty hung-over, but snagging a coffee and a bottle of water helps to mitigate that issue. we’ve decided to have lunch at Bar Velódromo, an art-deco cafe at the edge of Barcelona’s Eixample district. The Eixample also houses a ton of Modernista architecture that we plan on checking out once we’re full. Velódromo turns out to be very tasty, and after lunch we step outside into a lovely sunny day. We walk down Avinguda Diagonal, which runs — unsurprisingly — diagonally through the Eixample, toward the start of our Modernista walking tour. From there we wander back and forth along the uniform, square blocks that make up the Eixample, taking pictures of various structures.

We break off from the tour to hit two different places designed by Antoni Gaudí, arguably the most famous of the Modernista architects. The first, La Predrera, is an apartment building that’s still mostly inhabited. We’re able to check out the common areas on the ground floor, not to mention an example apartment, the attic, and the roof, which is covered in sculptures and provides some great views of Barcelona. After that, we head for Casa Batlló, which is Charlotte’s self-described “favorite building ever” and another example of Gaudí’s fascinating style.

Casa Batlló was originally built as a single-family dwelling, but has since been converted into apartments. Large chunks of it are still accessible, however, including the first and second-floor common areas, a lounge, the back-yard terrace (covered in mosaic work), the common staircase/elevator area shared by the apartments, and the roof. It’s much smaller than La Predrera, but in many ways more interesting, with each room showcasing unique design elements and many small alcoves to explore. Charlotte and I wander through, taking many pictures and enjoying the unique architecture. Barcelona’s Modernista houses are definitely a must-visit. We finish up the afternoon by checking out a few more houses, and then jumping on the metro to our final destination.

Sagrada Família is a cathedral on the western edge of the Eixample district. It’s Gaudí’s masterwork, which he never lived to see finished (it’s still in progress to this very day). It is a huge cathedral with multiple towers, arches, and an unbelievable amount of sculpture. I’m not being hyperbolic when I say that there has never been, and will never be, another cathedral quite like it. Unfortunately it had closed by the time we got there, but even just being able to walk around the exterior made it well worth the trip!

Tired and ready for dinner, we once again head for the hotel, and then for the mall down the street. We decide to try a different restaurant this time, which proves to be a mistake. Our waiter is a jerk, and the food, well, I’ll let Charlotte sum it up: