Last night in Dole was fantastic. I went back into town to scrounge for food and found a woman selling homemade lentils with, cilantro, carrots, mustard, and vinegar. YES PLEASE.
After dinner, I biked around a bit and heard English between some passing cyclists. I crossed paths with them at a grocery store and introduced myself. Turns out they are with Rob Greenfield, an environmental activist I’ve heard a bit about. They call themselves the Green Riders and they do bike tours on which they volunteer along the way.
Some of the Green Riders joined me at the campsite where they cooked their food and we shared wine and dessert.
Back at camp, I met a jovial Frenchman named Maac on the plot next to mine. Lo and behold, Maac is following the same route as me! We communicated using hand gestures, Google Translate, and the English he knows.
Maac and I decided to ride together today. He’s headed to meet a friend outside of Montbeliard and I’m stopping short in Besancon. There’s a lot of rain today and a chance for lighting. Plus Besançon is supposed to be France’s Greenest city and Victor Hugo’s birthplace, I can’t pass that up!
I didn’t pack a raincoat because I figured, summer, no rain. Big mistake. By lunchtime, I was drenched and cold. Maac just laughed at me. He also treated me to a nice meal: cheese sandwich, local red wine, and a coffee for me; tartine, a beer, and coffee for Maac. This was the first time I felt not just inconvenienced but sad for being monolingual. Had I spoke French, Maac and I would have been long-time friends. He was full of positive energy and had a great sense of humor, laughing at himself and others, which I certainly appreciate.
Maac and I hugged goodbye in Besançon. On he rode for an ungodly distance to Montbeliard. I ate a quick second lunch with some Green Riders at a Vegan restaurant called Gloria then got settled and dry in my Airbnb. $23 for a huge centrally located room.
I recommend Gloria Restaurant 
Besançon has the most important collection of French art outside of the Louvre in its Musee de Beaux Artes, or so I’m told. By the time I got to my Airbnb, it was nearly four o’clock and the museum closed at 6 pm. I rushed to get showered, dressed, and ran to the museum, which was a 14-minute walk from my room.
The museum lady let me in for free and off I went. The museum is a temple. Its interior is lined with recent modern cement walls on which the art hangs, much like the Johnson Museum at Cornell. The building’s traditional exterior belies what’s afoot inside.
Besancon is full of trees. They built the city before cars existed so it’s pleasant to wander through too.
I’m writing this entry on an outdoor patio that faces out to a little park where families are playing, young couples are flirting, and this woman next to me is chucking ice cubes from her glass at what appears to be her husband. Is there anything more French than that? Yes, there is. I’m also drinking a petite panaché, which is a French summer drink made of pilsner and 7up soda.
I finished my drink then continued milling about the city. I checked out this side street, looked at that restaurant’s menu, told myself I don’t need another pan aux chocolate, and so on until I found a little place with lots of veg options called La Citronnade.
It’s a funky-in-the-best-way restaurant that asked me to take off my shoes. I obliged then stretched out along their comfy cushions and devoured my eggplant flatbread.
Then it was up to the citadel. Besançon has a history of being attacked by outsiders. Some French people a long time ago got sick of this and built a massive citadel overlooking the city. I walked up a bunch of stairs from the restaurant and found myself witness to some spectacular views of the city and the river below.
Afterward, I headed to a hipster bar near the college with an eye toward meeting some new people. I met a friendly bartender and a language teacher. Good conversation was had.
