In central Bordeaux, three bronze orientation maps (or “plans-reliefs” in French) have been positioned at strategic locations. I met up with François Didier, the sculptor behind these popular hands-on works of public art, to talk about the pieces, about a similar project rolled out near Pauillac and about his private sculpture garden at the northern tip of les Landes.  

The plans-reliefs project was initiated around 2007 by Philippe Prévôt, who is in charge of “patrimoine historique” (heritage sites) at Bordeaux Office de Tourisme, as well as being a renowned author of articles and books about the city’s lesser-known stories. Prévôt had been inspired by a 3-D map in Florence, Italy, and thought his friend François Didier would be the right man for the job, as the sculptor had already produced scale models of towns in the past. The idea soon gained the support of the city council who would go on to commission the works in partnership with the Office de Tourisme.

Some time ago I published an item about the Devèze and my attempt to track the now mostly-underground river from Mérignac airport all the way into central Bordeaux. 

I recently went back and this time filmed the adventure, which you can view in this brand new Youtube clip:

Click here if video does not display properly on your device.

One of the focal points of the Right Bank botanic gardens, as featured in the previous blog item, is the bronze bust of Carl Linnaeus (1707-1778). The Swedish botanist, physician and zoologist is regarded as the father of modern taxonomy and one of the initiators of modern ecology.

To get the full story about the bust, I got in touch with Lucie Geffré, the talented Bordeaux-born, Madrid-based artist who was commissioned to produce the piece. Over to you, Lucie!

In the previous Invisible Bordeaux item, we explored the compact botanic gardens which have been located in the grounds of the Jardin Public since the 19th century. This time we are in the Bastide quarter on the Right Bank of the Garonne to visit the bigger, more ambitious and, yes, slightly crazier botanic gardens which were first opened in 2003.

Built to the designs of landscape gardener Catherine Mosbach and architect Françoise-Hélène Jourda, the 4-hectare gardens (that's 9 acres or 6 football pitches) are made up of a succession of distinct zones, taking visitors through a wide variety of scenery, greenery and ambiences.

Today, the city of Bordeaux boasts not one, but two botanic gardens, and the joint endeavours share a history that stretches way back to the 17th century. Today, we are braving the rain to witness the older of the two structures, which lies in the grounds of the Jardin Public.

It is said that the city’s first gardens, initially known as “Jardin des Plantes” were founded in 1629 as a formal collection of indigenous plants cultivated for medicinal, aromatic or culinary purposes. The Jardin enjoyed a number of different locations throughout the city until 1856 when it moved into the Jardin Public, the extensive parc à l’anglaise in central Bordeaux. 

Unbelievable as it may seem today, in the early 1950s the city centre of Bordeaux hosted four Formula 1 Grand Prix races, attracting driving aces including Juan Manuel Fangio, Stirling Moss, Jean Behra and Maurice Trintignant.

Motor racing had grown in popularity throughout the first half of the 20th century, with a number of urban circuits holding Grand Prix events. In Gironde, the earliest races to be organised by Automobile Club du Sud Ouest (ACSO) were held in the Parc Bordelais throughout the 1920s, followed by a one-off Grand Prix in Saint-Médard-en-Jalles in 1932. 

This mosaic interpretation of the city of Bordeaux’s shield of arms can be seen in the Parc Floral and is one of many designs to be spotted throughout the city. But what do its various components represent? Let’s work our way down from the top.

The blazon is topped off by an azure segment comprising the distinctive silhouette of the fleur de lys, the stylised lily which was the symbol of French royalty. As we shall see further down the page, this part of the coat of arms has not always featured!

Loyal readers of the blog will know that before-and-after photos are a recurring feature. Meanwhile, there is currently a growing trend for old and new views to be merged so, with the precious technical help of colleague and friend Anthony Poulachon, Invisible Bordeaux brings you this selection of pictures that mix and match old postcards with modern-day shots.

We start on Cours de l’Intendance and this attempt to bring first- and second-generation trams together! Look out for the charming selection of adverts on the wall over to the right. The moustachioed tram driver seems very focused on his job. Note the horse-drawn carts parked over to the right-hand side.

The small town of Saint-Savin, 50 kilometres to the north of Bordeaux, formed the backdrop to one of the shortest and strangest chapters in the history of the FIFA football World Cup: the attempted kidnap of France’s team coach Michel Hidalgo.

The year is 1978 and, for the first time since 1966, France’s national squad have qualified for the World Cup finals. The tournament is to be held in Argentina which two years previously suffered a military coup, when Isabel Perón’s government was toppled. Argentine army senior commander Jorge Rafael Videla has since installed a merciless dictatorial regime.

Ahead of the finals kicking off on June 1st, there is much debate among qualified nations as to whether or not they should boycott the tournament. In the end, no teams pull out although there are notable individual cases such as that of Dutch star Johan Cruyff, whose absence is widely believed to be politically motivated. (But it is much later revealed that his non-appearance is because he is reluctant to leave his family alone after a kidnap attempt during which he and his family were threatened with a rifle.)

Hidalgo in 1978, source: INA.

It was therefore in this uneasy context that, on Tuesday May 23rd, Michel Hidalgo left his home in Saint-Savin, heading for Bordeaux where he was to catch a train to Paris. From there the 22-man French squad and its entourage were to board an Air France Concorde bound for Buenos Aires with a stopover in Dakar, Senegal. Michel Hidalgo, accompanied by his wife, Monique, had just set off and the couple were driving along a quiet stretch of country road south of Saint-Savin (contemporary reports mention it was in the "Les Coureaux" district of Cézac) when a car pulled up and forced them to stop. Out jumped two strangers, who threatened the Hidalgos with a weapon and ordered Michel to get out of the car.

In a TV news report broadcast that night, Hidalgo recounted: “[One of the two strangers] pointed a gun at me and ordered me to go with him into the small wood 50 metres away. Meanwhile the other person took my place in the driver’s seat of my car next to my wife. But I made a move once we had walked 15 or 20 metres, because I could feel the barrel of the gun in my back and I sensed I didn’t have long to live. My reflex was to turn and grab the barrel of the revolver, which fell to the ground. I managed to grab it first, at which point he ran away. The two strangers got back into their car and fled.” Only a few words had been exchanged throughout the ordeal: Hidalgo had asked what they wanted of him and the only response had been “On va faire un tour dans le bois” (“I’m taking you for a walk in the woods”).

INA archive video - TF1 news report including interview with Michel Hidalgo:

Click here if video does not display properly on your device.
Hidalgo headed straight to the nearest police station and lodged an official complaint. The police examined the gun and noted it wasn’t loaded. The football coach was understandably shaken though and considered throwing in the towel: “In these circumstances you wonder what sport has got to do with it all. I especially thought about my family and decided there was no point in going [to Argentina].” However, he quickly overcame this initial reaction and “sport won out. I’ll soon be back with the players and we need to pursue our pacifistic actions that bring people together rather than driving them apart”.

The kind of scene where the attempted kidnap took place, on the D18 road out of Saint-Savin, although information uncovered since my visit would suggest the attempted kidnap took place further south in the Les Coureaux districe of Cézac, so in all likelihood on the D737 road.

A few hours after the attempted kidnap, an anonymous caller claimed the operation was aimed at “drawing attention to the hypocritical complicity of France, which supplies Argentina with military equipment” (“pour attirer l’attention sur l’hypocrite complicité de la France qui fournit du matériel militaire à l’Argentine”). If that was indeed the objective, then the objective had arguably been reached, as the incident was front-page news throughout the country.

It is unclear whether charges were ever pressed against anyone. It rather looks as if the case was dropped with on-the-pitch action taking precedence. But France’s World Cup campaign was short-lived: they were knocked out at the group stage after defeats to Italy and eventual winners Argentina. France went out on a minor high though, beating Hungary 3-1 in a match best-remembered for the unusual green and white stripes the French wore – there had been a mix-up and both teams had turned up at the stadium with white shirts. France had to requisition a local team’s strip!

France's promising 1978 squad (source: Vintage Football Club) and the team's infamous green and white striped shirts versus Hungary! (source: Poteaux Carrés).

Meanwhile, Hidalgo was slowly laying the foundations of a fine team which went on to be semi-finalists at the 1982 World Cup in Spain ahead of winning the European Championship on home soil two years later.

A later shot of Hidalgo
(source: France Soir).

After that 1984 triumph, Hidalgo left his position with the French team, taking on managerial duties at Olympique Marseille and then becoming a radio pundit and after-dinner speaker. He also simultaneously left his home in Saint-Savin; it reportedly took a number of years to find a buyer for the centrally-located luxurious house which came complete with swimming pool and tennis court! Until his death in 2020 aged 87, Hidalgo went on to lead the quiet life of an illustrious retiree in Marseille…

> Find it on the Invisible Bordeaux map: Saint-Savin and the Hidalgo kidnap plot 
> The definitive account of this incident can be found on the ever-excellent So Foot, here.

In the Saint-Genès district of Bordeaux stands a mansion house with Victorian traits which wouldn’t look out of place in the UK. Today it is the regional head office of a trade union but the building is still known to many as Hôtel Exshaw, in reference to the man who commissioned its construction: the original owner Frédérick Exshaw. And the mansion has a virtual twin in the Médoc!

The Exshaw family were wealthy traders in cognacs and “eaux de vie” spirits who had permanently relocated from their native Ireland to Bordeaux in 1805. Frédérick was born in 1826 and, around the early 1880s, he commissioned architect Louis Michel Garros (best-known in Bordeaux as the man behind the 1865 fountain on Place du Parlement) to design a mansion inspired by the houses that were all the rage in Britain during this Victorian era.

People who go googling for “free walking tours of Bordeaux” can rejoice: the four walking tours conceived by Invisible Bordeaux are now available as free PDF downloads.

The tours, which were previously available as applications for iPhones and iPads, aim to provide visitors (and locals!) with interesting itineraries through the city that take in a host of sights of architectural, historical and cultural significance.

Let's rewind 100 years to 1914 and Place Jean-Jaurès in central Bordeaux (known at the time as Place Richelieu), where the lens of the postcard photographer has been pointed at the focal point of the square, the bronze statue of late president Sadi Carnot.

The statue was inaugurated in September 1896, two short years after President Carnot’s death. It was the result of the combined work of the sculptor Louis Ernest Barrias, the architect Jean-Louis Pascal and the Barbedienne foundry. The project was funded by public donations and by grants allocated by the city council and the State ministry for “Instruction Publique et des Beaux-Arts”. In all, the bill came to some 42,567 francs.

The subject of the statue had been the fourth president of the Third French Republic from 1887 until his assassination in 1894, aged 57. Marie François Sadi Carnot, nephew of the prominent physicist Nicolas Léonard Sadi Carnot, led a distinguished political career as prefect of Seine-Inférieure then as member of the French National Assembly for the Côte-d’Or department. He subsequently graduated to the ministry of Finance before assuming the country’s highest office, his tenure coinciding with the 1889 centenary of the French Revolution, the opening that same year of the Exposition Universelle in Paris and the 1892 Panama corruption scandals. He died in Lyon in June 1894, stabbed by an Italian anarchist. The assassination aroused much shock and horror and Carnot was honoured with a funeral at the Panthéon in Paris on July 1st 1894.

Place Richelieu as it was then, and Place Jean-Jaurès as it is now.

Two of Sadi Carnot’s main appearances in Bordeaux have already featured on the blog: on April 27th 1888 he inaugurated the (original) replica of the Statue of Liberty on Place Picard, during a ceremony which lasted all of five minutes. Also in 1888, he officially opened the Parc Bordelais, the creation of which had been made possible by the legacy of philanthropist Camille Godard.

The statue as it looked in 1914 and the view from the same vantage point 100 years later. Where have all the shutters gone?

A short speech made by Carnot during a banquet held in Bordeaux, once more in 1888 (it is unclear whether all these events took place on the same day!), included the following declaration, saluting the Republican values of la Gironde: “Je suis ici sur la terre classique de la Liberté et le cœur de la population girondine proteste contre tout ce qui pourrait servir les intérêts ou encourager les espérances des ennemis de la République.” (I find myself in the land of Liberty and the heart of the Girondin people seeks to protest against anything which might serve the interests or encourage the aspirations of enemies of the Republic.)

The message was considered significant enough to feature on the statue itself, engraved on the tablet on which rested the left hand of the female figure, who symbolised history.  Her right arm held aloft a golden palm leaf, reaching up towards Carnot. Also at the foot of the monument was a child holding a bunch of everlastings (immortelles in French, i.e. Helichrysum).

Close-up views of the figures at the base of the monument.

The statue remained in place until 1941 and the wartime requisition of non-ferrous metals, which were to be melted down and transformed into weaponry. At the time, Bordeaux's chief city architect noted that the monument “peut disparaître sans regret” (could be removed and would not be missed). Hence the current incarnation of Place Jean-Jaurès, and the open space where the statue previously stood for 45 years…

With my friend Anthony Poulachon, we photoshopped the monument back into the modern-day environment!

 > Find it (well, you won't find the statue there anymore) on the Invisible Bordeaux map: Former site of Sadi Carnot monument, Place Jean-Jaurès, Bordeaux.

> Much of this story has been pieced together from the information available on this e-monumen.net page.  
> Ce dossier est également disponible en français !

Cours Gallieni was historically one of the main arteries into and out of Bordeaux, forming the main road to Pessac and the primary escape route to Arcachon. As such it was no doubt a highly strategic spot in terms of advertising potential and many vintage wall-painted signs and ads can still be seen today. Let me take you down because we’re going to... Cours Gallieni to view its ghost signs galore! 

Meet Jérôme Mabon, creator of the États Critiques movie review blog and occasional contributor to Bordeaux cultural webzine Happe:n. Jérôme also happens to be physically disabled and kindly agreed to provide me with a personal guided tour of Bordeaux as viewed through the eyes of a wheelchair user.

We arranged to meet up at one of Jérôme’s favourite (and accessible) bars, the legendary Chez Auguste on Place de la Victoire, where we discussed Bordeaux’s ranking in the annual “Baromètre de l’Accessibilité” as drawn up by the Association des Paralysés de France. The city currently lies 13th in the table which is topped by Grenoble, Nantes and Caen: “Bordeaux has its shortcomings and there is definite room for improvement, but I do think that position is a bit harsh. On the whole, I’m satisfied by what has been done in the city.”

The scene is Arcachon, in the latter years of the nineteenth century, and local baker Sylvain Dornon (pictured left) has taken it upon himself to popularise the bygone Landaise tradition of walking on stilts. To do this he organises demonstrations and performances, then opts to stilt-walk up the Eiffel Tower, before venturing from Paris to Moscow. But let’s go back to the start…

The use of stilts, or “échasses”, was widespread throughout the Landes from the 18th century onwards. The wooden implements (and their leather foot-straps) were primarily employed by shepherds as both an easy way of manoeuvring through marshy land and as a means of extending their field of vision when watching over their flock of sheep. Other stilt users in the Landes were messengers and postmen, keen on time-saving and maintaining a steady step. But as the wetlands became drier, due to the work of Nicolas Brémontier and previous blog subject Jules Chambrelent, so the use of stilts began to die out. 

The weather was hot on Sunday July 17th 1853 as the first train from Paris pulled into Gare d’Orléans (later also known as Gare Bordeaux-Bastide), some thirteen hours and seven minutes after leaving France’s capital city. The journey may have been long but it was far shorter than the only other option available at the time: a 44-hour ride in a horse-drawn stagecoach.

The travellers were understandably tired but undoubtedly happy to have arrived at their south-western destination… although they would still have to cross the bridge to reach Bordeaux proper; at the time the right-bank Bastide quarter was technically part of Cenon. The Bastide district had already made giant leaps forward with the opening of the Pont de Pierre in 1822, and now the new station would help it blossom further.

We are in a residential quarter in the suburb of Eysines, barely 300 metres from the town’s parish church. The unusual thing about the quiet neighbourhood is that it was the location of a camp which operated throughout the Second World War. 

The history of the camp is poorly documented. By far the most complete account I was able to find was on the previous version of the Porte du Médoc website, where a chronological overview was coupled with some eye-witness testimonials. Sifting through the information available there and elsewhere, here are the basic facts. 

The construction of the 21-barrack camp was initiated by the French State in 1939. The plans had been triggered by the outbreak of war and the camp was originally designed to house civilians who had been drafted in to work at the gunpowder factory in Saint-Médard-en-Jalles, a short train journey away. This explains the location of the camp, close to Eysines railway station (and therefore the Bordeaux-Lacanau railway line, which is now a popular cycle path that has already been featured on the blog).

What used to be Eysines railway station, now a private home.

When the June 1940 armistice was signed, the camp was still not complete and the Germans took over the project, hooking it up to the electrical grid and bringing in running water (nearby homes also benefited from the work). Meanwhile, the camp’s raison d’être shifted from gunpowder factory-workers (none of whom were ever based there) to other categories of tenants, the first of whom arrived during the late summer months of 1940.

They were, in all likelihood, Spanish refugees followed closely by families who had been deported by the Germans from the Alsace-Lorraine region, and were now awaiting repatriation. They were free to come and go as they pleased and were protected by a small number of armed German soldiers. It is unclear what became of these refugees from the following winter onwards. Around that time, on the night of December 8th 1940, a number of Allied bombs fell nearby. It is thought that the camp may have been among the targets that night, along with Mérignac air base and the Port of Bordeaux.

The entrance to the camp was around this spot on Rue Déès. Note the spire of Eysines church in the distance.

Security at the camp then moved up a gear with the introduction of barbed wire fences and manned watchtowers ahead of the arrival of Senegalese troops, held within the camp and employed to build Atlantikwall bunkers and install telephone cables around Bordeaux, Blanquefort and Le Taillan. Details from then on are distinctly sketchy but around 1943, subsequent to Italy’s armistice with the Allies, most of the Italian marines based in Bordeaux switched their allegiance to Germany. Those who didn’t were held as prisoners of war and detained here in Eysines…

Source: Porte du Médoc,
full-size version here.

The following year marked the “libération” of France and the Eysines camp was used to hold German and Italian prisoners of war… before becoming a “camp de femmes”. The former Résistants had gained control and were intent on tracking down compatriots who had collaborated with the enemy. Women who had developed ties with Germans had their heads shaved and were paraded in front of crowds of onlookers, before being held prisoner at Eysines. This state of affairs was as short-lived as the previous episodes: by October 1945, just two female prisoners remained.

Finally, the camp was taken over by the Ministère des Colonies and became home to Indochinese (Vietnamese) workers who had initially been brought over to mainland France to provide extra manpower. Of France’s 27,000 wartime Indochinese immigrants, it is thought that 2,000 worked at the Saint-Médard gunpowder factory! Repatriation measures were long and drawn out and, from 1945 to 1946 and possibly 1947, many were lodged at the Eysines camp, receiving rations from the French State which caused much envy among the locals.  

The Indochinese were the camp’s final residents and over the ensuing years the area developed into the residential quarter we can see today. It is said that nothing remains of the camp other than a small stretch of wall in a private garden! The main entrance to the camp on Rue du Déès is now someone’s driveway… 

A reminder that the cycle path is not far away.

There is therefore little evidence to be uncovered of the wartime camp, which now appears to be little more than a footnote in the wartime history of the area; but for many individuals it surely formed the backdrop to what must have been a pivotal chapter in their lives.

> Find it on the Invisible Bordeaux map: the main entrance was near 4 Rue du Déès and the camp extended between Rues de Marne, du Vignan and Aladin Miqueau, Eysines; former Eysines railway station.

> Read the eye-witness testimonials on the Porte du Médoc website here. 

During my time documenting the Bordeaux area, I’ve done my best to uncover some of the city’s best-kept secrets, and Parc Rivière is one such example of the lesser-known jewels in the Bordeaux crown.

This ten-acre landscaped park (that’s four hectares) lies between the bourgeois houses of the Tivoli quarter and the high-rise blocks of the Grand-Parc district. It is, in effect, land which has been reclaimed from a bourgeois mansion built in the 19th century, the ruins of which form the centrepiece of the park.