PUTAIN! J'SUIS FRANÇAIS!

I would argue that taking the late-night bus is the most efficient mode of travel for a penny-pinching nomad. In most cases, it is the cheapest ticket you will find. Sleeping on the bus is no easy task; you must train your body to adapt to this uncomfortable environment. Frequent stops with bright lights and announcements will be your greatest challenge. A bandana to cover your eyes and a pair of decent headphones will significantly aid you in this battle. If you can successfully surrender to slumber, you will likely wake up at your desired destination. The station is often located in or nearby the city center. This affordable bus ticket is multiple-faceted. You save money on a hotel room and the costly trek from the airport.

After thirteen hours on the bus, I arrived in Strasbourg. I discovered this magnificent city during my first voyage in Europe. It was love at first sight. At the time, I did not realize the importance of this region. My parents had informed me of my ancestry, but I had never researched it that extensively. My most recent identity crisis led me to retrace my roots relentlessly. I quickly discovered that most of my blood hails from the Alsace region. This time around, I didn't want to be an American idiot. After years of intensive study, I was ready to be with my people. I routed myself to the city center, which housed a legendary landmark. While walking these ancient streets, I easily understood the passing conversations. It felt as if I had just unlocked a new world. In my heart, I knew that my ancestors walked these streets several centuries ago.

It did not take long to get to this colossal cathedral. While I waited for my friend Nes, I had my first French interaction. A young schoolgirl asked me for a cigarette. Yup, I was definitely in France now. Nes rolled up, and we went to a nearby cafe. This double shot was the best! It definitely cracked the top ten all-time. This immediately set my expectations for the French coffee game quite high. I mean, the French are renowned for their cafe culture. After quickly checking into my Airbnb, we explored the city for a drinking spot. As we sat outside, the rumblings of an approaching manifestation filled the street. Yup, I was definitely in France now. Nes had an early morning, so she returned home, and I quickly located the mob. I joined the protestors just as they arrived in the public square. A bonfire was quickly constructed as loud music filled the air. From a distance, I sat cross-legged and watched the protestors dance around the fire.

My five days in Strasbourg were rather routine. The morning consisted of cafe cruising, espresso exploration, and serious study sessions. I would typically grab a beer and baguette, then explore the city for a spot to grub. After my midday meal, you would find me at the local library. Nes would show me her favorite places in the city in the evenings. While she took me to several incredible places, my favorite was the authentic Alsacian restaurant. You are transported back several centuries from the moment you walk in. It looks like someone turned their wine cellar into a restaurant. This took tavern vibes to a whole new level. The food was fabulous; my dish was three different baked cheeses in a bed of shredded potatoes. I felt at home with a local brew to aid me in my meal.

There was one day that broke my regular routine. Many of the local shops and services shut down for a city-wide manifestation. Even the local library was closed down, so I had to join the festivities. This may have been the largest march that I had participated in. I am impressed that the French continually fight for their rights. The streets of Strasbourg were filled with passionate people protesting proudly. Graffiti and shattered glass littered the streets. The police were ready for action with big-boy rifles and riot gear. They looked ready for all hell to break loose. Luckily, it turned out relatively peaceful, from what I saw. With protests occurring nationwide, this was not always the case.

Strasbourg has my heart, but I had to get on that afternoon train to Dijon. You see, My former coworker lives in this region, and I missed him dearly. It was a smooth ride, and the French countryside is something to behold. After checking into my sleeping spot, Theo scooped me up from a nearby park. We had to drive forty-five minutes to his charming commune of Mercurey. We traveled through several small villages and ended up at his hometown bar. Two village elders greeted us, and we pounded a beer with them. Theo booked us a table at an authentic Bourguignon restaurant. Another one of his friends from the wine industry joined us for a night of gluttony. Putainnnn de merde mon frère. We dined on some local delicacies, and it was beyond heavenly. The boeuf bourguignon went down easily paired with wine from the region. You would pay money to see the faces I made during this dining excursion. Sorry ancestors, but the boys from Burgundy won that evening.

After finding my morning espresso, I started searching for the public library. After walking all over town, they were closed for the day. Desperately needing the toilet, I stumbled into a nearby bar. It was only midday, and the bar was empty besides the bartender and three rambunctious French fellows. These guys started conversating with me and were extremely excited to be with an American. A bottle of tequila later, and we were the best of friends. My new friend RG had to get to work and open up the place he tended bar at. We jumped in the car and ended up at The Barbarian's Pub. After getting the bar open, it did not take long for things to pop off. The locals loved this place, and the pints were flowing freely.

Making friends that night was simple. RG made sure everyone knew that he had found an American. I suppose that most American tourists overlook Dijon. That night, I felt like the belle of the ball. It was almost like a sideshow act. Regard! This is American speaks French. Several people did not believe I was from the States and thought it was some elaborate joke. They were pretty drunk, but I will take it! Theo even came for a few pints. We ended up closing down the bar that night. Of course, the festivities did not stop there. After finding a case of beer, the squad found the afty. Around seven in the morning, I was walking the streets of a silent Dijon. The freshly cleaned marble streets glistened as the sun began its ascent. Just thinking about this memory makes me teary-eyed. It certainly makes the list of the most magical moments of my life.

After a few hours of sleep, I had to pack my bag and check out of my Airbnb. There were murmurs of a city-wide manifestation, so I routed myself to the expected meet-up spot. Nes had given me a classic French novel, so I thumbed through that while waiting for things to kick off. Slowly but surely, people began to mobilize for the protest. It was controlled chaos in the streets of Dijon. Naturally, I found myself amongst the anarchists starting fires, breaking glass, and spray painting the streets. The gendarmerie rolled up guns blazing. In awe, almost in slow motion, I watched as they fired several rounds of tear gas toward the crowd. You know, it had been a while since I had a good cry. Regardless of the opposition, we continued to march the streets.

After a successful protest, I sought sanctuary at the local cinema. Sur Les Chemins Noirs was the film I blindly chose. It could not have been more relatable. An acclaimed author traversed the lesser-known trails of the French countryside. It accurately depicted the trials and tribulations of long-term travel. Living out of a backpack for months is a complex task. After the movie, I began walking the streets of Dijon with beer on my mind. While passing by a random cafe, I saw RG sipping an espresso. Fate brought us together again. He did not work that evening, so we gathered the squad. We did some barhopping, and it was as if this man knew everyone in town. This is definitely one of the perks of the service industry. My favorite bar was this pirate-themed bar; it felt like we were in the bowels of a 16th-century ship. It was another fantastic night, but I had a bus to catch. After a few bisoux, I rushed to the station. On se voit bientôt gros.