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‘Ah yes, Bordeaux…’ the mere mention of France’s most celebrated wine region is enough to send lovers of fine wines the world over reaching for the superlatives. Press them for their thoughts about the city itself, however, and chances are you’ll either draw a blank or their impressions will be hopelessly outdated. Me too. During my last visit I thought I’d got it summarized pretty accurately: ‘broad river, endless façades of dark stonework and complex wrought ironwork, wine sellers, lots of traffic…’. But that was before France’s fifth largest city began transforming itself. So we’ll take another look, then.

Despite being some 98km from the Atlantic, the sea remains a tangible force, both in the air quality and the tidal influences on the river. The site, on a gentle, concave sweep of the left bank of the Garonne was already a trading port in pre-Roman times, making it (after Marseille) the second oldest in France. The wine export trade established by the Romans saw the area developing steadily, although it was during the English rule of Aquitaine (1154-1453) that things really took off. Exports to England soared, generating substantial fortunes for the city’s wine merchants, who prospered still further when the port became the centre for exports to the New World. You can see the results of this remarkable and sustained period of prosperity in the lines of extravagant Classically-inspired residences constructed on the most privileged sites overlooking the river. What you’ll no longer see, though, are the unsightly collection of grey concrete warehouses and other industrial buildings which for many years disfigured the historic quaysides. And now, with through traffic safely consigned to the remoteness of the city’s outer ring-roads, the city has even spirited away the surviving trunk-road signage, leaving the whole waterfront looking cleaner and more dignified than at any time in living memory. Now it’s being landscaped. This is restoration on a truly breathtaking scale, designed to hand the broad riverbanks back to the people. And there’s more to come.
Being here and witnessing the final stages of a renaissance is exhilarating, not least for the residents, who for three years endured daily disruption while a state-of-the-art tramway system was being constructed. For their forbearance they’ve been rewarded with a city centre which is now substantially traffic-free, releasing huge areas to shoppers, cyclists and visitors. The trams themselves are already a great success. Frequent and cheap to use, they’re also air-conditioned, environmentally clean and circulate through the heart of the city in near-silence (with no overhead power cables). The transformation around the Cathédrale Saint-André is particularly striking. After long years of having been marooned amid a turbulent sea of traffic, the vast 11-15th Century Gothic building has recovered its former dignity, and now grabs the focus of attention in the pedestrianised Place Pey-Berland, where the freshly-cleaned twin spires upstaging even the Hôtel de Ville.
< BR> After taking in the dynamic effect over a well-chilled ‘blanche’ from one of the square’s café terraces, I make the gentle climb up the boutique-lined Rue des Remparts to the traffic-meets-trees expanse of the Place Gambetta. Rather than leave the old town’s inner calm, I turn through the tall, 18th Century Porte Dijeaux, gateway to the city’s greatest concentration of shops and shoppers. The buzz here and in the streets beyond is upbeat and infectious, as big-name chain-stores rub shoulders with designer boutiques catering for more individual tastes. In the midst of it all lies the Galerie Bordelaise, whose airy neo-Classical interior dating from 1830-1837 shares the spirit of the countless arcades which seem to be tucked away in all great cities, if you dig deep enough. At the far end is what must be the ultimate model shop, its window displays of cars, aircraft, railway locomotives and much more guaranteed to transport the calmest adult back to their lost youth. All too aware that I can’t have it all, let alone now, I settle for some more attainable fun at la Maison du Vélo, which rents cycles to anyone who feels like discovering the city in pedal-powered independence. I’m in good company, for some three thousand bikes have already been distributed (free of charge, apart from a deposit) to city residents by the Hôtel de Ville, to encourage people to get around without using their cars. It’s a great way to really get to know the place, as I soon discover. I head first for the Place des Quinconces, where Europe’s largest square (covering over 12 hectares) is bustling with final preparations for the annual Bordeaux Wine Festival. Putting it all firmly in context are the famous fountains at the base of the Monument aux Girondins, a bronze statuary tour-de-force created during the 19th Century to honour twenty-two martyrs of the Revolution. The fountains’ presence here is something of a miracle; in 1942 a commission charged with reclaiming non-ferrous metals purchased the sculptures for thirty (old) francs per kilo and a year later had dismantled the whole monument. In October 1944 all thirty-four bronzes were rediscovered intact in Angers and returned to a grateful Bordeaux in July 1945. Finally, in 1982 the celebrated charging horses, symbolising the Republic and Concordia, regained the pools from which they still emerge with their chariots.
< BR> From les Quinconces I make for the neighbouring Quartier des Chartrons, whose glittering Cité Mondial du Vin injects a bold, futuristic statement into its more restrained 18th Century courtyard surroundings. Behind I discover a network of narrow streets, home to antique dealers, interior decoration boutiques and an array of popular eating places. From here it’s just a brief hop across the busy Cours de Verdun and into the lush verdure of the Jardin Public, where families and afternoon strollers are relaxing in the shade of tree-sized magnolia grandiflora laden with pale, exotic blossom. The next hour or so takes me from quartier to quartier, constantly surprised by their village-like individuality despite the near-uniformity of their mostly-18th Century architecture. Here and there I witness pale, often delicately-carved limestone emerging from the near-blackness I still remember from my last visit, as the long programme of restoration progresses. Complementing the effect are the unbelievably ornate heurtoirs (door-knockers) and bleue de Bordeaux paintwork adorning many of the city’s most elegant 18th Century portals. Here and there I pause to peer through an open doorway, occasionally glimpsing monumental escaliers, secret gardens and other unexpected concealed treasures.

When I finally return the bike it seems an appropriate moment to experience to the tramway. The sensation of floating rather than clanking is uncanny, as is the rapid rate of progress. Almost before I know it, we’re across the graceful Pont de Pierre (which is actually constructed mostly from pink bricks) and gliding smoothly to a halt in Place de Stalingrad, where trams switch to overhead cables and the tarmac between the tracks is replaced by neatly-mown grass. It’s a different world here on the Rive Droite, once literally the end of the line and also perceived as terminally unfashionable. During the past few years, however, a quiet revolution has been gathering pace. Spurred on by the tramway, redundant industrial wasteland is being systematically transformed into le Cœur de Bastide, whose new residential developments, services, offices, a school and a university are set between landscaped parkland and botanical gardens, with broad vistas across the Garonne. When the 30 hectare site is completed there’s a further 400 just waiting to be developed. At last, it seems, the river has finally provided the city with a heart, rather than a boundary.

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