Neither am I

We begin one of our last student excursions surrounded by 3 million gallons of water and 12,000 types of sea life from all over the world. The La Rochelle Aquarium is one of the biggest in France, and is so impressive that it provokes us to silence, leaving only the bubbling sound of running water.

 Well placed lighting shine through the water creates an underwater ambience as we observe, starfish, sea shrimp, crabs, and many other animals.

               They're nature’s aquatic miracles from waters we may never swim in. 

However, from the depths of my stomach comes a growl. All these breathtaking and beautiful aquatic lifeforms are making me hungry. I skipped breakfast and being surrounded by 12,000 potential meals is only making things worse. In the hungriest part of the morning I consider reaching in for small salmon or two. 

11,998 animals is still a lot.

My picnic lunch cries out from my bag like an infant in dire need of a mother’s love, but our guides insist that we go into the city before breaking for lunch. There is no end to this famine.
As we’re walking an intricate display of chocolates catches our stomachs.

“Wow! Look at them! They’re so pretty!” says Kamila until she saw the price. “80€?! I’m not that hungry!”

Neither am I.

Finally, we sit to eat in the open square next to the carousel. There are few words passed as we devour long awaited lunches, and within minutes the seemingly timeless hunger is no more. Stuffed like pigs we are ready to continue our adventure through the city, which is quite beautiful. Cafes, bars, and restaurants line the harbor filled with boats and birds. 

The main attractions are three towers; Tour de la Chaine, Tour De la Lanterne, and Tour St. Nicolas, and our tour includes exploring them. 

We soon discovered while climbing the Tour de la Lanterne 5 floors that eating a lot of food wasn’t such a good idea. Every step was a sluggish reminder of how much we had stuffed our faces. However, the view of the city and harbor from the top made the walking worth it. We were able to make to a second tower, which showed us the entire harbour equipped with lively restaurants and bars.

“Do you want to go to the third one?” asks one our tour guides.

“Actually......I can see it from here....looks good,” I respond


“Let’s go for ice cream!” suggests Kamila.

There are no objections to her suggestion, and as we lounge enjoying ice cream, crepes, coffee, and admittedly, a bit of rest from walking, the sun sets on the harbor, ending another eventful student adventure.

Souvenez-vous de Charette

General Francois de Charette was loyalist to French royalty, and was one of the many Vendeans opposed to the First Republic after the French Revolution. He was a leader of rebel forces in Vendee, and caused a lot of trouble for the new regime who came to crush the rebellion, but he and his men were hunted down. He escaped, wounded, to La Chabotterie where he was discovered and eventually captured. 

He died March 26, 1796 after telling a French firing squad to shoot him in the heart. 

40 years after his death, across the Atlantic Ocean, near present day San Antonio, Texas, 185 rebel fighters faced off against some 5000 Mexican soldiers for 13 days at The Alamo. They wanted liberation from an oppressive Mexican Government, and died for the idea of what Texas could be. 

Their sacrifice was inspiration for the remaining Texan Army led by General Sam Houston, who cried, “Remember the Alamo” as they went defeat the General Antonio Lopez De Santa Anna and Mexican Army at the Battle of San Jacinto.

I remember.

I had never heard of Charette, or the entire Vendee Revolt, before arriving here. However, I had a revelation when we visited he Historial de la Vendee and La Chabotterie. Learning about Vendean history and visiting where Charette escaped to reminded me of The Alamo. 

I see him everywhere and when I do I think of Lieutenant Colonel William B. Travis, Colonel Jim Bowie, and of course, the King of the Wild Frontier, Davy Crockett; tall Texas heroes of my heart. 

Travis

Bowie - with his knife

Crockett

I spent hours as a child finding life in still paintings of their final battle, and now everywhere in Vendee it is the same. These men, Vendean and Texas, fought and died for an idea, and are now immortalized in bodacious portraits and battle scenes. Sure, they died pretty horrible deaths, but now they are forever remembered in a gallant poses and awesome attire. 

He's bleeding and still looks awesome

Epic Travis

Bowie - with his knife....again

Crockett with his Coonskin Cap

                             Rebels always have the coolest clothing.

Jedi Master Luke Skywalker

First Mate Chewbacca and Captain Han Solo

The oppressor, the mighty regime, is always dressed typical, and lame by comparison.

French Opressors

General Santa Anna considered himself “The Napoleon of the West”, which clearly reflected in the Mexican Army’s fashion sense.

Mexican Opressors

                                        Those outfits are sooooo 1796.



You can travel the entire globe, see the most remote of villages and most timeless of monuments, but if you don’t see a piece of yourself, your culture and past, in the people and place you visit, then you haven’t gone far enough. With just a little listening, and a touch of adventure, I’ve come to find that there is always a way to bridge the cultural gap. Remember the Alamo. Souvenez-vous de Charette.

Bulgarian grip

I emerged from the comforts of cafes and kebabs, and entered into the world jf Judo. Lights lit up the sacred training room, and even the air in Judo Club Yonnais smelled rugged; as if the atmosphere had been infused with the aroma of warrior sweat and battle. I am not here to participate. No. Probably never. 

The biggest workout I will get tonight will be from the flexing of my fingers grasping ever so tightly upon my camera. However, while I am clasping cameras, Stoyan, a Bulgarian exchange student, looks to grip his opponents, to throw, twist, and perhaps choke them into submission. He will do all of the work tonight.

For the past two months every Tuesday and Friday was the same. He would enter the university with a smirk as if he had a big secret and always seemed to be in a good mood.

“Why are you smiling?”  I  asked.

“Because man, tonight is judo. Ussssss!”

That smile was enduring. It is as solid as his Judo hardened handshake, which was bizarre because he almost never smiles. Sometimes the sunniest of days, the funniest jokes, barely earned a smirk from him, but judo somehow had his honest joy. 

I had to see  for myself. I had to know why.

“Politeness,courage, friendship, self-control, modesty, honor, and respect” are plastered along the walls. These principles of judo are tattooed on his face as he begins warming up; leaping, ducking, and rolling in preparation for battle. 

 

There are no smiles, not now. Not when he does what he loves. Only focus.

His arm is wrapped around the neck of his opponent who struggles to break free of the Bulgarian grip.

 His legs grapple his adversary, squeezing all oxygen from their body.  

One by one, his opponents tap out, but before and after every match they bow in respect.

 Even after physically humiliating someone, there is always respect. 

Honor seemed even more important when Stoyan battled an Old Judo Man, whose years of training showed in every move. Against him was the only time I thought that he had met his match. 

“Man, he is stronger than all of the younger guys,” said Stoyan.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t mess with that guy.”

Actually, I wouldn’t mess with any of these guys.

 I’m a writer, not a fighter. 

  

The judo instructor calls the class to an end, and everyone sits around catching their breaths. Stoyan sits sweating against the wall. Without a smile, smirk, or hint of emotion. 

 But somehow I know, he had a great night.