A lot has happened since I last wrote, which is somewhat odd because, fundamentally, it is only me and a backpack. First I must apologize in advance if there are typos as I am using an AZERTY keyboard with a French character set, meaning I have to look directly at the keyboard and sometimes search for punctuation marks. One oddity is that I have to press shift for a period but not for an exclamation point. Are the French happier than we think?

At any rate, I am now two towns removed from Paris and sort of in a different gear. Sunday night in Paris, my friends, was fantastic. It was the last night in town for at least three of us, so the plan was to go out with a bang. A few of us went out for sushi for dinner and then we got back to what seems like the American-college-age-tourist-in-Paris thing to do: outdoor drinking in front of famous places. Evidently our soiree at the Eiffel Tower was not classy enough (and really just a bit too far away), so we brought our bottles to the centuries-old cathedral of Notre-Dame, perched mightily on an island in the Seine River. The night was beautiful and the company was too, in the form of a few hotties from Calgary. The night ended past curfew again, and we were greeted near the hostel by three streakers, some drunk Frenchies running naked (and rubbing each other — hopefully for warmth), enraged about losing some rugby game, or so the story went.

Downtown Rennes

Monday bright and early it was time to move on, and I was excited about my next stop. Rennes, France, is the capital of Britanny, the northwest-most region of France and the most resembling, uhh, Britain. Let’s Go recommended it as a lively party town. Let’s Go, I now realize, is written by Harvard students who have no authority about what defines a good party, or for that matter, any party. The French TGV (the world’s fastest bullet train) ride was pretty fun and Rennes’ airport-tram-style Métro was new and impressive. They even have a random Domino’s Pizza in town. But the Hostellers International hostel is weird, sporting a pistachio green color scheme and a handful of strange smells. At least it’s cheap — for only €13 I got a double room with in-room shower, and, as it turned out, no roommate for the night.

Houseboat in Rennes

Rennes is the confluence of many area rivers and the tree-lined canal outside my window was beautiful, sporting a few parked houseboats and an air of elegance. The city itself, though, has a few problems, at least to my untrained eye. Everything stationary is covered with graffiti, which I’m told is more of a European problem than a Rennes problem. But Rennes feels especially overrun by street kids and beggars, moreso than any place I have been before (but reminiscent of a documentary I saw about Portland’s rampant homeless teenagers). Dozens of 20somes sporting black t-shirts, camo pants, piercings, obnoxious hair and tattoos and each with their own giant dog. While I am used to seeing people like this on the intersection of Belmont and Clark in one of Chicago’s hipster neighborhoods, to a complete stranger, this seemed more cult-like and potentially dangerous. Many were begging for change — and seriously, what’s with all the dogs? So there I was, stuck in a “party town” with no parties, wishing I was still in Paris, or anywhere else. I was sure some (or all) of my disenchantment was related to being lonely for the first time in a long time, so I didn’t make too much of it. I wandered the Old Town as best I could and headed back to the hostel with groceries for dinner. If Paris makes the case for traveling alone, Rennes certainly makes the case for traveling with a friend.

Near the Lorient hostel

This morning I left Rennes with determination, and I was pleasantly surprised with the results. I was headed to Lorient on the Atlantic coast for a few days in what I thought would be a fishing village, on par with Camaret Sur-la-Mer from my childhood trip to Britanny. Expecting a dilapidated wooden boardwalk and little more, I was treated to a modern industrial town. This Internet café is on the same block as Milwaukee Factory, a Tex-Mex restaurant. I have not had any American food yet and I am definitely not missing much of it… living on fresh veggies and bread, yogurt and cheap camembert (I skipped the bottle of Polish “Bison Vodka” laughing at me on the shelf) will probably get old in a few weeks, but conveniently I will be in Italy.

My hostel here is out of town, adjacent to a large park area, on a little noodle of the Atlantic or some fjord-like (sans rocky cliffs) river inlet. The trees are large and the water is beautiful; I expect to spend much of tomorrow hiking through the park paths and relaxing by the water. Tomorrow is also going to be my first laundry day; I will let you know how that goes. I like this town a lot, the seaside architecture is refreshing, and I can’t wait to go out for fresh-as-can-be moules (mussels) tomorrow night.