After a brief three days in Germany, attempting to learn parts of the language, I was headed off to southern France. It's a country I felt I could communicate much better in while putting my second language to use. A series of train transfers resulted in layovers in towns that quickly became hotter and dryer. I had already gone through the two bottles of water that I had on me so it was now time to put my french to good use and buy a drink.
Browsing the chilled drinks aisle, I felt like something with more fruit in it rather than a pop. I picked up a bottle which appeared to be a smoothie drink with strawberries all over the bottle. At the register I was able to hold as deep of a conversation as one can have with a cashier, and was out the door. It was great, that is being able to express myself again without looking like a fool.
The next train had no air conditioning so I was thankful I had time to get a drink. Immediately after opening the bottle I knew I was regretting it. While there were strawberries and the word cream on the bottle, allowing me to assume it was a yogurt drink, it suddenly became obvious I had purchased a bottle of simply cream. As in the strawberries were simply used to show the advancement of how digitally enhanced strawberry drawings have come, and of course show people what inanimate object in the fridge you can poor cream on. In the sweltering heat, I briefly though of drinking the chilled drink, but had horrifying glimpses into the future of what that would do to me.
Moments later I remembered I had packed and energy drink to combat jet lag. Downing that, my over sensitive body was buzzing and shaking with adrenaline when I arrived at my host's, Paul's place.
My french improved as I stayed in France, although I wasn't completely problem free. After Monaco, I stayed with a host, Christophe, where I spoke nothing but French in his town near Valence. I understood when he told me his shower doesn't drain very fast, but I didn't realize that meant there was serious cause for concern. With my contacts out and what felt like only about an inch of water at my feet, I continued to assume it wasn't that big of a deal. That was until I realized water had leaked all over the bathroom floor... right up to the door.
At this point I was hoping his hillside house was so slanted that it wouldn't be possible for any water to flow up and out into the main room and kitchen. My rainy day fund of luck went dry, meaning to my embarrassment, dry was not the situation as the house was so level that water from my 10 minute shower spread across practically every inch of the house. Cue the apologetic French words.
Finally, on my last day in France, I was literally running through the streets yelling French. To back the story up, I was enjoying a final meal out before my night train to Strasburg. You might have guessed that this meant I wasn't saving much time for dessert. To prevent any delays, I had chosen a restaurant close to the Metro station allowing for a seamless and quick transfer to the train station. Seamless, right?
The possibility of missing most of the trains I take isn't that big of a deal because I didn't have a specific ticket or time to be somewhere. However, this night train I had my seat reserved and needed to be on it if I was going to meet a friend, Thomas, in Cologne for the weekend. Finishing up the last part of my African meal, I made a brisk jog to the station in the event of any delays ahead. What I was about to see threw me into a panic. The stairs to the Metro station were closed. Unexpected to waiting locals, but devastating and shocking for myself.
I had enough time to zip four short stops under the city, but not time for much else. In a matter of seconds I began auctioning myself off with the enthusiasm of a boy selling the morning paper. Everyone became a taxi and nothing prevented me from hailing cars down. The same heat that greeted me into this country accompanied by a pint of cream, was now helping get out of it. Everyone had their windows down and was forced to hear my plea of a 'name your price' trip to the train station.
I figured I had 10 minutes to be in a car if I was going to have any chance of making my train. Everyone heard my offer, but everyone reacted differently. Some ignored me, others clearly had no space, but the answers that somehow proved tough to argue with was when they told me they weren't going to the train station. It was if they were more interested in driving up the auction price than me. 'You don't understand' I said in french, 'I'm going to pay you for you to go out of your way'. Still, they weren't interested in making a quick buck. I suppose it was another period of the day where the French people didn't work.
With each passing opportunity, I panicked more. A car pulled up with two women in the their late 20's. Again, as I expected, they informed me they weren't going to the train station. The red light burned longer, buying me time to use French words to express myself. 'Metro, fermée, aide moi, s'il vous plaît...' I pleaded in what I thought was my very fluent french, despite a thick accent. 'the Metro is closed, I really need your help, how much can I pay you to take me?' my french explained. I somehow convinced them after 30 seconds while they waited at the light. Whether it was my desperate French pleas or the helpless look of a backpacker that tipped their decision, I'll never know.
The time now was 9:57, train departure 10:02, and we were off. I dug around for €10 to show my appreciation but they refused my offer. I figured at the end of the day, someone was either going to want to help me, or not. I don't think money was ever in the equation.
Vite, vite, said the women in the passenger seat, explaining we have a train to catch. I appreciated their enthusiasm, despite two close collisions. It was 10:00 and I still had to climb a grand staircase as though I somehow needed to be punished by the punctual gods for being so lucky with commandeer a ride. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone to realize their car clock was four minutes fast.
I had four minutes to spare and catch my breath while arriving at my platform. The blur of the departure was in the midst of stretch of seven days spending each night in a different place. As much as I needed to slow down, I needed time to sit and relax. Perhaps doing so waiting for my next train won't be that bad of an idea.
Browsing the chilled drinks aisle, I felt like something with more fruit in it rather than a pop. I picked up a bottle which appeared to be a smoothie drink with strawberries all over the bottle. At the register I was able to hold as deep of a conversation as one can have with a cashier, and was out the door. It was great, that is being able to express myself again without looking like a fool.
The next train had no air conditioning so I was thankful I had time to get a drink. Immediately after opening the bottle I knew I was regretting it. While there were strawberries and the word cream on the bottle, allowing me to assume it was a yogurt drink, it suddenly became obvious I had purchased a bottle of simply cream. As in the strawberries were simply used to show the advancement of how digitally enhanced strawberry drawings have come, and of course show people what inanimate object in the fridge you can poor cream on. In the sweltering heat, I briefly though of drinking the chilled drink, but had horrifying glimpses into the future of what that would do to me.
Moments later I remembered I had packed and energy drink to combat jet lag. Downing that, my over sensitive body was buzzing and shaking with adrenaline when I arrived at my host's, Paul's place.
My french improved as I stayed in France, although I wasn't completely problem free. After Monaco, I stayed with a host, Christophe, where I spoke nothing but French in his town near Valence. I understood when he told me his shower doesn't drain very fast, but I didn't realize that meant there was serious cause for concern. With my contacts out and what felt like only about an inch of water at my feet, I continued to assume it wasn't that big of a deal. That was until I realized water had leaked all over the bathroom floor... right up to the door.
At this point I was hoping his hillside house was so slanted that it wouldn't be possible for any water to flow up and out into the main room and kitchen. My rainy day fund of luck went dry, meaning to my embarrassment, dry was not the situation as the house was so level that water from my 10 minute shower spread across practically every inch of the house. Cue the apologetic French words.
Finally, on my last day in France, I was literally running through the streets yelling French. To back the story up, I was enjoying a final meal out before my night train to Strasburg. You might have guessed that this meant I wasn't saving much time for dessert. To prevent any delays, I had chosen a restaurant close to the Metro station allowing for a seamless and quick transfer to the train station. Seamless, right?
The possibility of missing most of the trains I take isn't that big of a deal because I didn't have a specific ticket or time to be somewhere. However, this night train I had my seat reserved and needed to be on it if I was going to meet a friend, Thomas, in Cologne for the weekend. Finishing up the last part of my African meal, I made a brisk jog to the station in the event of any delays ahead. What I was about to see threw me into a panic. The stairs to the Metro station were closed. Unexpected to waiting locals, but devastating and shocking for myself.
I had enough time to zip four short stops under the city, but not time for much else. In a matter of seconds I began auctioning myself off with the enthusiasm of a boy selling the morning paper. Everyone became a taxi and nothing prevented me from hailing cars down. The same heat that greeted me into this country accompanied by a pint of cream, was now helping get out of it. Everyone had their windows down and was forced to hear my plea of a 'name your price' trip to the train station.
I figured I had 10 minutes to be in a car if I was going to have any chance of making my train. Everyone heard my offer, but everyone reacted differently. Some ignored me, others clearly had no space, but the answers that somehow proved tough to argue with was when they told me they weren't going to the train station. It was if they were more interested in driving up the auction price than me. 'You don't understand' I said in french, 'I'm going to pay you for you to go out of your way'. Still, they weren't interested in making a quick buck. I suppose it was another period of the day where the French people didn't work.
With each passing opportunity, I panicked more. A car pulled up with two women in the their late 20's. Again, as I expected, they informed me they weren't going to the train station. The red light burned longer, buying me time to use French words to express myself. 'Metro, fermée, aide moi, s'il vous plaît...' I pleaded in what I thought was my very fluent french, despite a thick accent. 'the Metro is closed, I really need your help, how much can I pay you to take me?' my french explained. I somehow convinced them after 30 seconds while they waited at the light. Whether it was my desperate French pleas or the helpless look of a backpacker that tipped their decision, I'll never know.
The time now was 9:57, train departure 10:02, and we were off. I dug around for €10 to show my appreciation but they refused my offer. I figured at the end of the day, someone was either going to want to help me, or not. I don't think money was ever in the equation.
Vite, vite, said the women in the passenger seat, explaining we have a train to catch. I appreciated their enthusiasm, despite two close collisions. It was 10:00 and I still had to climb a grand staircase as though I somehow needed to be punished by the punctual gods for being so lucky with commandeer a ride. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone to realize their car clock was four minutes fast.
I had four minutes to spare and catch my breath while arriving at my platform. The blur of the departure was in the midst of stretch of seven days spending each night in a different place. As much as I needed to slow down, I needed time to sit and relax. Perhaps doing so waiting for my next train won't be that bad of an idea.