What Napoleon Would Have Wanted

It was December 2015. It was to be the winter for the trip of a lifetime.

My wanderlust began at a young age. With my first visit to South Africa at the fourteen, the spark was ignited and only grew with age. Now in my mid-thirties, I have traveled to 17 countries and over 20 states. To describe this trip, I first need to explain how I arrived there. Having studied French most of my life, studying abroad in Tours, France in high school and in Angers, France in college, you could say that my Francophilia only ripened deeper with age, like a fine Beaujolais. After college, I took it a step further and taught English abroad in French Guiana (in South America). That year, despite many hardships, was one of the best of my life. In Kourou, French Guiana I was known as “l’américaine” (the American woman), recognized pedaling around town on my bike and to many, the first and only American they had met. During that seminal time, I fostered a sense of community around me that I had heretofore not experienced. I made friends with other teaching assistants from around the world, friends from my tango class and friends from the theatre class at the French foreign legion.

So in December of 2015, when one of my teaching assistant friends I had met in French Guiana asked me to visit her in Corsica, I of course, obliged.

First I would stop in mainland France to visit a friend from the French foreign Legion and round out the end of the trip with a night in Istanbul.

When I first arrived in Lyons, France after a grueling journey of over 17 hours (due to several layovers along the way), I was met with the unfortunate news that my journey was not over: since this was just after the 2015 Paris attacks, my friend had been called from Lyons to Paris to help secure the city. So a long train journey was ahead and then yet two more smaller trains and buses to the small town of Fountainbleu, outside Paris. Though I didn’t get to see my friend that often while there due to the security measures, I spent the days wandering the quaint town of Fountainbleu, visiting the quaint shops and cafes and of course, the giant castle that took up most of the town. One of the Napoleon’s castles, it boasted some incredible architecture and artwork. I went to the open air markets and conversed with local farmers and artisans.

After a few days there, I took my leave and made my way to the port town of Marseilles, where the overnight ferry to Corsica awaited. Boats bobbed along an azur rocky coastline, accents changed to Southern French accents and bold, saturated paint decorated building facades. The overnight ferry was a dream in itself—since it was off season, the crew and the passengers mingled and we drank and swapped stories late into the night. The only American aboard, I got to regale my newfound companions with stories of my home and former travels. When the light of a dazzling Mediterranean morning broke, I found I had barely slept a wink.

When we arrived at the port, the cerulean glints off the Mediterranean in the bay hugged by mountains would have taken the breath from even the most jaded of wayfarers. My friend picked me and my gaping jaw up from the port and we spent the week exploring the island—going to small cozy bars and cafes, trekking through ancient stone towns with narrow hilly roads that wound deep into mountainsides and breathed out into sweeping sea panoramas, going on long hikes along the coast and frequenting pop up Christmas markets and winter festivals.

On my last night in Corsica, we laughed and danced at a piano bar, overlooking the accordion player and a chanteuse as the performed below our small balcony view.

The night day was the ferry ride back to Marseilles, a train to Lyons and then an overnight layover in Istanbul. Though exhausted, the spirit of adventure enlivened me: with just my carry-on tote in hand, I left the airport and ventured into the heart of downtown. I watched the city slowly come into view ahead and to the left and to right were the dazzling lights of bridges reflected onto the Black Sea. When I arrived, I rented a cheap room (cheap for the exchange rate to USD) on the top floor of a hotel overlooking the city. It turned out that I wouldn’t spend any time there. I went out into the night and explored the markets, the small side streets, letting the scents and sounds guide me. The lights of Galata tower glowed above. Every shop had a cat and every cat had throngs of adorers. (This is my kind of city, I thought).

Eventually I walked to district/series of side streets with throngs of hip young people, lines of bars and small open courtyards with outside seating. I went into a bar and talked with one of the bartenders who then invited me to a rooftop party later that night! It was to be comprised mostly of Erasmus students (students who study abroad in other countries) and I mentioned I had done that in Angers, France. Later that night, we arrive and met some other friends of his— Erasmus students—and we dance the night away. Much to my surprise, at one point, the dance floor lit up in rings of fire! Talented dancers jumped in and out of the fire rings, showcasing their moves.

Later that morning, I made it back to the airport, boarded the Turkish Airlines flight (best airline ever: they offer cherry juice and hot towels, in economy class!) and slept the whole way home. My last thought before falling asleep: I now have adventures linked by three places where Napoleon was either born, imprisoned or died (Corsica, France and French Guiana).