AH, NOSTALGIA
At this time of year, Europe marches to the front of the global sports stage. The Tour of Italy is in its second week, and the Tour de France, the greatest bike race in the world, is not far behind. Today is the Champions League final, which is the Super Bowl of European soccer.
The coverage of these events, especially the bike races, often makes me nostalgic for a trip I made to France four years ago to watch the second half of the Tour de France. It was a thrilling race that gave Lance Armstrong is fifth TdF title by his slimmest margin of victory, and the trip was worth every penny I paid. But it was also a little disorienting, as travel to foreign parts usually is.
I think the first jolt came when I saw the Museum of Shirts and Masculine Elegance listed on a tourist map. For the first few days of my trip, I had seen a globalized France of super-highways (like interstates) and convenience stores that would have been perfectly at home at the Bass Road exit here in Macon. But this was a museum that had an unmistakably Gallic touch. I could not imagine finding a shrine to male vanity in Middle Georgia -- unless “masculine elegance” is elastic enough to encompass loafers, shorts, polo shirts and baseball caps.
That was not the only time I was left agog by the French emphasis on style and aesthetics. I was in France to ride my bike as well as see professionals ride theirs. That meant being able to decipher French road maps, an ordeal that made me yearn for some way to call in a retaliatory strike on French cartographers. The maps were splendid to look at -- they had vivid colors and bold brush strokes. But I couldn't read the damn things to save my life. I often crumpled them up in disgust, but looking back I should have saved at least one. I might have been able to sell it in SoHo for $10,000.
At this time of year, Europe marches to the front of the global sports stage. The Tour of Italy is in its second week, and the Tour de France, the greatest bike race in the world, is not far behind. Today is the Champions League final, which is the Super Bowl of European soccer.
The coverage of these events, especially the bike races, often makes me nostalgic for a trip I made to France four years ago to watch the second half of the Tour de France. It was a thrilling race that gave Lance Armstrong is fifth TdF title by his slimmest margin of victory, and the trip was worth every penny I paid. But it was also a little disorienting, as travel to foreign parts usually is.
I think the first jolt came when I saw the Museum of Shirts and Masculine Elegance listed on a tourist map. For the first few days of my trip, I had seen a globalized France of super-highways (like interstates) and convenience stores that would have been perfectly at home at the Bass Road exit here in Macon. But this was a museum that had an unmistakably Gallic touch. I could not imagine finding a shrine to male vanity in Middle Georgia -- unless “masculine elegance” is elastic enough to encompass loafers, shorts, polo shirts and baseball caps.
That was not the only time I was left agog by the French emphasis on style and aesthetics. I was in France to ride my bike as well as see professionals ride theirs. That meant being able to decipher French road maps, an ordeal that made me yearn for some way to call in a retaliatory strike on French cartographers. The maps were splendid to look at -- they had vivid colors and bold brush strokes. But I couldn't read the damn things to save my life. I often crumpled them up in disgust, but looking back I should have saved at least one. I might have been able to sell it in SoHo for $10,000.
posted by John Parnell at 10:06 AM
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