The Travel Jinx

  Bergerac, Aquitaine, France
Monday, November 17, 2008

Bek, Josée and I are
lounging on a pair of mattresses on the floor of Bek's parents house in
Bergerac, a beautiful little village in the south of France set amidst
vineyards.  We have had a lovely dinner
followed by cheese and bread and then ice cream, and I got to have a wonderful
warm shower, then there were cups of tea and chatting to be had.  But such a wonderful evening did not come
for free - we most certainly earned it.

Me as I write this entry

Josée and I met up
with Bek at La Rochelle Ville train station, where we had a very nice start to
the journey with Bek buying me a pain au chocolat (yum ^_^). She then suggested
us getting a photo together in the photo booth, which made me remember: I had
bought a "12-26" travel card, which requires an ID photo, and considering that
my train ticket had the discounted price, I felt it would be an extremely good
idea to put my photo on my travel card to make it valid before taking the train
journey.  I tried to feed in my 5€ note
so many times, and the machine kept spitting it back out at me and repeating at
me in French that I had to put my money in. 
Just as I calling in the girls for back up, it finally accepted my note
(it saw that it was outnumbered and decided it had better behave).  I followed the instructions and finally it
was photo time.  An outline of a face
appeared on the screen and I had to make sure my head was in it, with my eyes on
the dotted line.  The little stool was
far too low, so I got my thighs into gear and squatted to lift my head to the
required height.  The first photo was
just funny - I looked so zoned out (because I was concentrating on being the
right height), so I took another.  I
accepted the second, and printed it out, hoping that with the end of the
process, I would receive my 1€ change. 
Out came the photos, but no euro. 
Oh =( Machine ate my money.  And,
looking at the photo - haha!  I am so
pale, and have dark rings under my eyes, am sort of odd looking because I am
working on holding my squat, and one eyebrow has started creeping up my
forehead.  Nice one.

ID Photo.... oh dears...

After this spot of
business was completed, in came the other two girls.  We took three different shots, desperately trying to fit all our
heads in.  We didn't manage it, but after
the third shot, the machine told us it was sick of taking our photos, and would
take no more of our tom-foolery, and ordered us to pick the best one and stop
wasting its time.  So, we picked the
middle photo and out they spat.  So
cute! ^_^ 

 

Photobooth Group Photo

Train time! We had to
find our carriage - number 15.  In the
middle of the platform where we were standing was carriage 9, so we walked
towards the front of the train to carriage 15. 
Why was number 15 at the front? 
Because it's France.  On we got,
and I dragged my oversize, expanded suitcase all the way through the carriage,
searching for somewhere to store it, and I ended up in the little section at
the end of the carriage where a young guy (in his 20s?) was hanging out the
door smoking.  Not tobacco.  I left my suitcase there, though, as I had
little other choice.  I wasn't worried
for my computer or video camera though; I was more worried about the corn chips
and pistachio nuts - of he was smoking what I thought he was smoking, he would
be quite interested in my snacks.  

 

My worry didn't keep
me awake, however.  All I remember of
that 2-hour trip was waking up 3 times, slumped over sideways, my head handing
out into the aisle.  Fair enough, as I
had gone to be rather late the night before, and we had all had a rather early
morning. But still... awkward.

 

Then we arrived at
Bordeaux.  We were to have a two-hour
wait until our connecting train to Bergerac, so we found a tv screen with all
the trains listed and tried to find ours. 
It really wasn't up, which was odd, as our train was to leave at 16:04,
yet there were trains listed until 16:30. 
I wasn't too worried though - there would be a reason, but we sent our
Francophone Canadian Josée to find out what was going on.

 

Back she came, looking
frustrated.  What, what?

"Our train is
cancelled because apparently there wasn't enough people for two trains, so we
can either catch a bus for 3 hours, at 4:50, which gets in at 6:56, or we can
wait for 4 hours and catch the next train at 6:11, which takes about an hour."

"I vote for the
train.  We'll only get in half an hour
later, but we'll only be travelling for 1 hour, not stuck on a bus for 3, which
I don't really want to do because I get travel sick."

 

Thankfully, the other
two agreed, and so, at 2pm on a overcast afternoon, we settled in to pass 4
hours in Bordeaux sitting in the train station restaurant. 

 

Bordeaux

We sat there for a
while actually, with no one paying much attention to us... We were starting to
wonder if we were meant to go to a counter to order, so Josée, ever the brave one
of us three, approached a lady who had just finished answering a question for
another customer. 

"Excusez-moi, est-ce
que on doit-"

"Bonjour."

Perhaps she had just
noticed Josée?  So Josée started her
question again.

"Est-ce que on doit-"

"Bonjour," she cut in
again, pointedly.

"Bonjour," Josée said.
"Est-ce que on doit-"

"Je viens," the woman
said, turning away, decidedly ending the rather unsuccessful communication.

Lovely.

So, Josée and I
returned to the table (and to Bek, of course), where we were no longer so eager
to order anything now we knew it would mean having to talk to that woman
again.  Ahh, but the other waiter
decided to see us just in time. He was a bit sketchy. 

Jo and Bek ordered
their quiches, and I ordered a toasté brindisi.  I said it, and he asked if I wanted a "toasté mixé", which was a
different thing on the menu.  I thought
I must have just pronounced it so badly, so I said no, that I didn't want a
toasté mixé, that I wanted on of these - and I pointed to the menu.  He leant over and stared, a frown creeping
on to his face.  What, what?  "Donc, un toasté ...brrrunnndsie." Um,
ok.  So, I don't think that it was me
who couldn't say "brindisi" - I think it was more that he just had no idea what
it was.  The quiches came in minutes.   After Bek had finished hers, he came back to
give me my hot chocolate and say "Ton toasté brindisi (he had learnt to
pronounce it) va arriver, t'inquiete pas."

 

It did arrive,
eventually, but it was not as if we were in a rush anywhere, and it was deliciously
good.  But from then on, every time he
passed our table, he seemed to pause - sometimes for no apparent reason at all,
sometimes he stopped right at our table to read his receipts, other times he
just paused to adjust his pants.  As I
said - sketchy. 

"Maybe he wants us to
pay?" suggested Jo.  But, as we had 3
hours yet, and didn't want to get asked to leave, I ordered another hot
chocolate.   While we were waiting for
that, we all sorted out our money and got 23€10 out on the table, ready to
pay.  Back he came with my 2nd
hot chocolate of the day, and asked how we would like to pay.  We directed his attention to the money on
the table.  He seemed pleased, and
commenced adding up the receipts before announcing that it equalled 25€10.  Um, no. 
So, he counted it again. 
23€10.  Yes; thank you; better.

 

Filling in time at Bordeaux Gare

We sat around for
quite some time, planning Christmas and such. 
As often happens when you leave home at 8:20am, and have had a coffee
and 2 hot chocolates since then, and the time is now 4: 30, I quite fancied the
idea of a toilette.  I had no money
left, so Bek leant me the 50 centime needed to get into the washrooms.  Off I went. 
I'd managed to avoid washrooms with money collectors in them up to this
point, so I was a little uncertain as to what happens.  I hesitated in front of the window where a
man was sitting, waiting for him to ask for my money or something... he didn't
seem all that interested, so I decided I was meant to approach him, and I did,
holding the 50c piece out to him.  He
asked me if I was going to take a shower (which is 3€), which I said no to, so
I he took my 50c and said "à la fin, et tournez droit."  "Merci," I smiled.  And off I went into the stupidly expensive toilets.  Honestly, I thought, if they didn't have him
sitting there collecting my money, they could use what is his salary for the
upkeep of the toilets.  But, I concluded
that making jobs for people wasn't actually a bad thing, so I shouldn't be too
begrudging about parting with Bek's 50c. 


 

Now, chaps, cover your
eyes - this story is about to wander in to girl-stuff for a moment, so, reader:
beware.

 

That's when I
discovered that my period had come.  And
I was in this toilet without any provisions. 
Awkward.  I had supplies in my
suitcase, but... how was I to get them?  I
would have to go out, get them, and then pay another 50c to get back in.  Rip off! 
But, more than the money, I was a bit embarrassed about having to walk
in a second time, and see the guy again to pay him.  If he didn't make a comment he would certainly be thinking: "back
again so soon?" Hmm... my situation wasn't too bad yet... maybe it could wait
another hour until the train...

 

Back I went to the
restaurant, and to Bek, where I laughed and told her my little story.  She got another 50c out of her wallet.  "Just go; you're never going to see him
again." Hmm....hmmm.... but how awkward, really. 
I mean, I know it is somewhat important, but just the embarrassment
factor... "Tie your hair back and put on your sunglasses," she laughed.

"Good idea!"

Bek seemed a little
surprised that I was actually taking that idea seriously, but I really
was.  Back went my hair, on went the
sunnies, and off came my jacket, and on went Bek's.  Add a dash of confidence and I was a completely new person. Off I
went, sort of unable to see because of how dark the already dark day was made
by the addition of a pair of sunnies.  I
walked in, put the coins on the desk, paused only long enough for him to count
them, and walked off as if this place was a usual haunt of mine.

 

I arrived back in the
restaurant feeling quite accomplished. 
We sat at our table for only a little longer before we noticed one of
the waiters setting up the tables for dinner. We asked him if he would like us
to move to the other part of the restaurant, that was more like a café, where
the tables weren't being set up for dinner. 
" Si ce ne vous dérange pas... Vous êtes très
gentilles ".  He repeated this a few times as we gathered
our things (which had gradually assumed possession of the table over the past 3
hours) and wheeled our suitcases around to the other section. 

"Let's get a dessert,"
Bek suggested. I wasn't particularly hungry, but neither was I a
spoilsport.  While trying to decide what
to get, we saw the most delicious-looking dessert of all time being delivered
to another table.  We all looked at each
other and knew that that was what we were going to have.  Josée then commenced trying to get the
attention of a waiter.  Sketchy-man was
still on duty, and every time he walked past Josée would say "Monsieur?" and
every time he would walk straight past. 
This happened a number of times, to the point where it was starting to
seem deliberate. 

 

Finally, finally,
finally, Jo managed to get his attention. 
"What was the dessert that they ordered at that table over there?" Jo asked.  He told us the name and promptly walked
off.  Umm... ok.  The next time he walked past, Jo tried the "Monsieur" tact again,
but he was back to ignoring us.  So, Jo
stood up, and decided that the next waiter to walk past she would walk right up
to if necessary.  It was a different guy
(who must have just come on shift), and he responded immediately, and took our
order.  Good man. 

 

It didn't take too
long, but while we were waiting, the Sketchy waiter walked past again, but now
his eyes were red.  "Has he been
crying?" asked Jo. "Smoking a dooby?" suggested Bek. Poor teary-eyed waiter. =(

 

But our dessert, oh my
word, took all our attention.  It was
amazing.  The chocolatiest chocolate ice
cream with chocolate chips, with pretty little whipped cream shots all over the
top.

 

Ice Cream at Bordeaux

No more Ice Cream at Bordeaux

By the time we had
finished that, it was TRAIN TIME!  So,
off we went for our train.  There it
was, 11 minutes before departure time, packed. 
We climbed up the stairs, Bek and Jo having to step over people and bags
at the door, and me, with my giant suitcase full of bedding, including
ginormous bedspread (because Bek's parents' house isn't set up yet) had to
throw my suitcase on to people and bags and roll over people to get in.  The carriage was already full, so we stood
in the little entrance section, with a bunch of other people, some of whom were
amusing themselves saying "listen, listen!" and giggling.  Yes, we are speaking English.  Congratulations for noticing.  We can also understand you, and we know you
are talking about us.  

 

Bags were floating
around the carriage, as they were laying across the floor, and when people with
suitcases had to get passed and everyone tried to move there bags, but there
were unclaimed bags left over, we just picked them up and moved them elsewhere.  And then, stops later, the bags were still
being passed around, old ones finally being claimed, and new lost luggage
beginning to circulate.  At the
following stops, more people got on, some of whom were incredibly vague.
"Excusez-moi," said one teenage girl, expecting everyone to move out of the way
so she could get through.  Yeah - we
couldn't actually move.  So, in this
tiny little space, she started laughing and talking away and out flew her gum,
which hit the hit of the girl in front of her and landed on the suitcase of the
guy beside her. And she just keep laughing and talking, until the guy was all
"err-herm" and pointed at it lying pathetically on his suitcase.  She picked it up and threw it out the train door.  Class. 


 

I over heard a
conversation, and the girls were asking a woman where she came from and whether
she spoke French - Canada, pas bien. 

 

"Josée... Josée...she's
Canadian," I mouthed. 

Josée ended up talking
to her, and they had a great little conversation about Canada.  When the woman got off the train, Josée got
all nostalgic and had a Canada moment, as that woman was the first Canadian she
had met since being in France.  A fair
few people had left at that stop, so our little section was significantly less
crowded now, and there were two fold down chairs, which Josée and I sat down on
(Bek was by now sitting on her suitcase). 
At the next stop, someone with a suitcase had to get off, and my
suitcase was sticking out just a bit too far, so I leant forward to pull mine
back towards the wall a bit and went to sit back down and...thud.  I was on the floor.  The chair had flipped back up.  And while the little carriage entrance was
less crowded, it was by no mean empty. 
Awkward.  Josée captured my mad
laugher on her camera. 

 

Mad Laughter

The train was coming
to a stop and we all started picking up our bags - yeah, Bergerac! We've made
it!  And then a guy said to us "the next
stop is ____; Bergerac is after that." Ah. 
Thanks.  So, lucky for that, hey?
Josée then asked him whether he knew why the first train was cancelled.  Grève. 
Strikes.  So, when they said our
train was cancelled because there wasn't enough people, perhaps they meant enough
train drivers?  Or maybe it just has to
be REALLY in demand to run during a strike. 
So, now I feel as if I have really experienced France - I have been
affected by a strike. 

 

But Bergerac did
arrive, and off we did get.  The
platform was crowded, and I ran over two people with my suitcase - I did
apologise, but I couldn't really help it. 
Bek's dad met us and took us to the car.  The car park was a bit of a nightmare too, but we got out and
drove out along country roads, apparently surrounded by vineyards by day (and I
assume by night as well), shrouded in fog. 
And then we arrived at the house...

 

Oh. My. Word.