✏️ Lacoste Update #2

Some of my friends who made this trip last year said that Lacoste got boring after a few weeks during the winter. I have recently reconsidered said friendships, as I'm having the time of my life. I'm beyond grateful for this trip. There's so much I could write about, but I'll do my best not to hurl my stories in prose like an excited school girl.

Treasures of Provence is called an art history class so that SCAD has an alibi when the higher ups figure out that all we ever do is take field trips—which is awesome. One of my favorite trips was to a Roman aqueduct called Pont du Garde. After exploring the bridge itself, my friends Alex, Leah and I faced our fears of freezing water, striped down in front of flocking of tourists, and dove in the river. The story was well worth the two hours of shivering on the bus ride home.

I call this one, "New Friends on a Cliff. Taken right before I pushed 'em off. Hehe, bye friends."

I call this one, "New Friends on a Cliff. Taken right before I pushed 'em off. Hehe, bye friends."

I had mentioned in my last post that we're short on males here, but I honestly wasn’t expecting such a drought of athleticism as well. Nonetheless, my professor (who is in his 30s) and I can occasionally scrounge up enough recruits for an adventure. Such adventures sparked my new love for mountain biking. There are seemingly endless trails behind the chateau of Lacoste, and exploring them as quickly and dangerously as possible has become a quality pastime.

The other weekend we took a trip to Lyon, which, in a way, is like Paris' little brother—the little brother that gave your parents more trouble but consequently had way more friends at school and is actually a really sweet kid if you're not in a rush to get to know him. Most of the days in Lyon were spent drifting through museums and cathedrals, trying to find an apologetic demeanor through which to address the mass lumpy rainbow-haired art students that I was traveling with. Occasionally though, I managed to escape the hoard and find hole in the wall restaurant or a cool record stores that specializes in African funk music. Per the group's elation over the reasonable drinking age, I decided to take a sip of the night life in Lyon. A sip of a mock-cocktail, that is. And literally just like a sip or two. I split it with my straight edge friend Emma. As usual, sobriety sparred my wallet, and made being a wing-man/babysitter all the more entertaining.

"McDonalds in Lyon Paris" Pencil on paper.

"McDonalds in Lyon Paris" Pencil on paper.

Other highlights since my last post include: bike trips to neighboring cities, helping a miniature horse (who I’m still convinced was a ghost) find its way home, discussing philosophy with professors in 7th century caves, and frequently blurring the line between kleptomania and "wanting a souvenir”. Tuesday we’re leaving for Paris, so I’m bound to back soon with plenty more stories.