Bordeaux Part 1- Unfolding the City of Bordeaux

Now- for my trip to Bordeaux I only planned 2 things- the location of my hotel, being in the heart of where everything in the city was happening, and getting tickets to the ballet. I knew why I wanted to be in Bordeaux, but I also knew WHERE everything was happening. Now all I do I walk and sight see, walk into things, and I feel like I am actually apart of what is going on. The city definitely unfolded around me.

My hotel was on Rue Sainte-Catherine, a lively pedestrian street filled with shops, cafés, and the hum of city life. It was the perfect place to start wandering. Not everything was beautiful—parts of the city felt modernized and  trashed, and the contrast was hard to ignore—but still, the charm and history won me over.

Among the many churches, Saint-André Cathedral was the first that really moved me. Its sheer size and detail took my breath away. Inside, colored light from stained glass fell across stone floors, and stone figures of bishops and cardinals lined the walls like quiet witnesses. Then I learned Eleanor of Aquitaine married Louis VII here in 1137—and suddenly I wasn’t just seeing a church, I was standing in history. As I kept walking, someone handed me a flyer for a string quartet at the cathedral that day.

As I kept enjoying the spring’s of the city, I couldn’t help but walk straight towards the opera house. There it was: the Bordeaux National Opera. The space in front of it opened wide, giving the whole scene room to breathe. Goddesses stood proudly on the roof. The columns were elegant and commanding. It was overwhelming in the best way.

Not far from it, I stumbled onto the Monument aux Girondins, and it was just… stunning. Water moved through it in a way that brought everything to life. One side featured a proud rooster, the other a graceful woman. The horses, mid-leap, looked powerful and mythic. The whole thing played with classical symbolism so beautifully. I stood on the monuments steps with a macaroon, its soft sweetness somehow matching the glory of the fountain. It was a tiny perfect moment.

Later, I took a tour of the National Opera, which was another kind of overwhelming. The guide had a thick accent that made things hard to follow, but he still managed to paint a vivid picture of what it was like when the opera was built. Back then, it wasn’t just about the show—it was about being seen. Especially for women. Status mattered deeply in a city like this, especially a port town.

Inside, the building was unbelievably elaborate. The ceiling painting, he said, had lost its detail after restoration—but even so, the theater itself was breathtaking. Gold trim, ornate carvings, and that royal blue on the seats, recently restored to their original color. He said it symbolized the royal family, and honestly, it felt like it. The whole place was almost too much to take in at once.

That same evening, I ended up at the string quartet concert. It hadn’t been planned, but it turned out to be one of the most memorable hours of my trip. The group played beautiful classical pieces, along with a surprise: a sweeping arrangement of You Raise Me Up. Their movements felt almost choreographed, and the music seemed to ripple from one side of the quartet to the other like a canon—one voice answering the next, staggered but connected. At times, they played the same melody out of sync, like echoes folding back into themselves. I don’t know the musical term for it, but it felt like listening to a conversation across time.

The dynamics of the performance were just as striking. The music would swell, then drop suddenly—like a dancer lowering themselves to the floor, graceful and precise. We were all swept up in it, and the audience erupted when they finished. We clapped until they returned for an encore. It was an unexpected delight—and somehow, it fit perfectly into the rhythm of the day.