The Doors of Bordeaux

The simplest way to explain the difference between Paris and Bordeaux is Paris made me look up. Bordeaux made me look in.

Paris felt big and glittering and almost unreal. The Eiffel Tower, the Louvre, Notre-Dame, the crowds, the lights — everything felt like it had already been introduced to me by movies and pictures and history books.

Bordeaux felt different. Not less beautiful.

Just quieter in its invitation to see all it had to offer. It didn’t shout for my attention quite the same way. It waited for me to find and notice it's treasures.

The first thing we found in Bordeaux was a local artist whose work had this dark Alice-in-Wonderland kind of feel. My brother and I both bought pieces with canelés — the little Bordeaux dessert I am still not sure I pronounce correctly — and I also bought one with a three-minute egg because I had eaten one for breakfast and apparently that is enough reason for me to buy art now.

I found a baguette magnet for John Grady and am still looking for something small for Wyatt.

We had a 24-hour metro pass, which I’m sure could have used much more strategically. But we are travelers with confidence, not necessarily travelers with efficiency. So we walked. When I say we walked, it was miles and miles through the streets and squares and shopping. We sometimes underestimated the distance from point where we were to point destination. But, to my delight, we found ourselves in residential areas where kids were playing and people were not sightseeing or posing or trying to find the next attraction.

They were just living. 

I loved it even when my shins didn't. 

There is something about wandering away from the tourist path that makes a place feel more real. Not always more polished or more comfortable. But more human.

We stayed at the Meininger Hotel, close to the train station, in a bright and colorful room. It was a very nice hotel, but we were definitely not in the prettiest district. 

We could hear trains and buses everywhere. The city had movement and noise, edges and flaws and that became part of the story that most tourists might not see. 

Bordeaux was not just one thing... It was a mix of many contradictions ... It was old stone and modern traffic. Church bells and train sounds. Wine history and World Cup excitement. Beautiful doors and plain sidewalks. Ordinary and extraordinary. 

The doors through out France (in Paris too, but noticed more in Bordeaux) were incredible. 

Red doors.

Blue doors.

Gray doors.

Aqua doors.

Green doors.

Brown doors.

Some narrow. Some grand. Some chipped and worn. Some framed in wrought iron. Some softened by plants. Some painted in colors I would never choose for my own house but somehow wanted to photograph over and over again.

There were no standard door frames. Every one felt made for its place, like a gateway into another life. Sometimes, if the timing was just right, a door would open and we would catch a glimpse inside — a courtyard, a stairway, a shadowed entry, a little hidden world just beyond the street. And I kept wondering about the people behind them.

The families. The routines. The dinner tables and meals. The laughter. The arguments. The prayers. The lives happening behind each address. 

I don’t pretend to know the stories behind the doors of Bordeaux. But I know every door made me wonder.

That became one of the gifts of travel. It reminds us that the kind of the life we know is not the only life being lived. Our routines are not the only routines. Our homes are not the only homes filled with people trying to make dinner, raise children, keep up with work, love their people, and find hope for tomorrow at the end of the day. People are living whole lives behind doors we only pass for a moment.

And God sees every one of them and they all have an invitation to His home and His table. 

 

"I am the door. If anyone enters by me, he will be saved and will go in and out and find pasture." 

--John 10:9 

The welcome here has been an unexpected love. Everywhere we go, there is a cheerful “bonjour,” “bonsoir,” or “bon voyage.” There has been so much encouragement in the greeting that I find it difficult to not respond in French and act like I know what I'm doing. I found it lovely being welcomed in a language that is not yours. It feels like hospitality... with an accent.

It reminds me this scripture:

“Do not forget to show hospitality to strangers…”

— Hebrews 13:2

I know that verse is much deeper than someone kindly greeting me in a shop or restaurant. But still, I have thought about hospitality here and put it in contrast to the stereotyped European culture towards Americans. I have found everyone very pleasant. 

It's simple hospitality that says, “You are not from here....  but you may enter.”

You may eat here.

You may sit here.

You may ask your question badly and we will try to understand.

You may be a stranger, but you are welcome here. This kind of hospitality matters, especially when you are far from home.

Still in Bordeaux.... We ate well and tried new things. We had dinner at Le Canard, where duck was basically the only option, and that was not a problem... Actually we had already discussed trying fioe gras. But it was the tataki canard and burger de canard effiloché (pulled duck) that are worth writing home! 

We had a mid-walk stop at a small wine shop and sipped wine and bought their cheese board, which feels like a sentence I would like to repeat often in life.

We found a fromagerie and bought two local cheeses - one goat milk called herbs de province and the other a sheep milk in the brebis family. We added a pistachio salami and a baguette for the train ride to Marseilles, along with two bottles of wine we had picked up along the way.

I also bought a last minute pastry... vanilla custard brioche with sugar crumb topping from Aux Merveilleux de Fred, and I will be thinking about it for a while.

We planned a tour to Cité du Vin, the city of wine, and I feel more prepared now to enjoy a good wine tasting than I ever have in my life. It challenged us to recognize everyday scents, then blend them together. It taught us to name textures, notice our palate, understand how to properly spit, and appreciate how history, land, weather, and process all shape what ends up in the glass.

It was a fascinating display of an ordinary activity that is recognized and appreciated around the world.

One small sip can carry so much story.

Soil. Climate. Patience. Time. Process. And, of course, human expertise and expression.... All to yield a 20 minute memory. 

I couldn’t help but think how often we want the result without respecting what shaped it. Wine does not become wine quickly. Fruit does not become mature because we demand it. Good things often take time, pressure, care, and the right conditions.

At the end of the tour, we stepped out to a 360-degree rooftop view of the city, and there was Bordeaux stretched out around us — rooftops, river, streets, people, life.

There is a whole city behind all those doors.

We happened to be here when France played Senegal, and the whole city seemed to be watching. France won 3–1, and even for someone who does not fully understand all the rules of soccer, it was exciting to feel the energy of a city gathered around the common desire.

People poured out into the streets from the pubs and restaurants with screens facing the streets. You could feel the cheers ripple out before you even knew what had happened. We found a spot to watch the game and got to participate in the city's energy and excitement.... And learned why Mbappe is a household name around the globe. 

People gather around what they love. Sometimes sport. Sometimes food. Sometimes history. Sometimes faith.

We went into two churches in Bordeaux, and the stained glass was exquisite. One felt especially peaceful.

We had been walking for a long time. It was hot. Our feet were tired. And the church was open and inviting, so we stepped inside to rest and sit for a while.

There was someone there keeping watch, and another person came in, knelt, and prayed while we sat quietly. I loved that this beautiful church was not just a building for people to admire. It was still a place where someone came to kneel before God.

As we left, I saw the fountain of holy water near the door — the reminder of baptism, the sign of coming in and going out. It brought back a memory of going to Catholic Mass with a childhood friend and knowing what to do with the water because of that small window of experience in my life. And as I walked out, the Scripture came out of my mouth almost before I thought about it:

"You will be blessed when you come in and blessed when you go out.”

— Deuteronomy 28:6

Blessed coming in.

Blessed going out.

That phrase felt like the whole day.

Doorways.

Churches.

Hotels.

Restaurants.

Train stations.

Shops.

Courtyards.

Streets.

Coming in and going out.

Being welcomed and then moving on.

Passing through in a moment but taking a lifetime of memories. 

Being reminded that God is not only present in the places that feel familiar to me. He is present here too. Behind the colorful doors. Inside the quiet churches. On the crowded streets. In the laughter outside the pubs. At the table with bread and cheese. In the tired feet and full heart. In my coming and going.

"See, I have placed before you an open door that no one can shut.”

— Revelation 3:8 

While Bordeaux gave me beautiful doors to photograph, that verse reminded me of the one door that matters most. The one that does not just lead to a courtyard, or a stairway, or a hidden room, or another city adventure. But the door that leads to abundant life.

I think that is what I will carrying from Bordeaux. Not just the wine, though I did enjoy learning about that. Not just the cheese or the duck, although let’s be honest, that was a highlight. Not just the art or the soccer or the colorful streets. But the reminder that every door represents a life. Every welcome matters to the welcomed. Every coming and going is a gift from God. And that sometimes, when you wander farther than planned, you find yourself exactly where you needed to be.

What doors has God placed in front of you lately — doors of welcome, wonder, rest, or opportunity — and are you paying attention as you come in and go out?

Lord, thank You for the doors You open, the places You lead, and the people You place along the way. Help me notice Your presence in unfamiliar streets, ordinary welcomes, quiet churches, and unexpected moments. Bless my coming in and my going out, and teach me to walk through each day with wonder, gratitude, and faith. Amen.

Until next time, keep following the Plott, and I will be praying for us all. 💛