Better Get a Bucket
If you haven't read Part I, my post on Avignon, please skip over this and follow the story chronologically. Otherwise, the suspense will be lost, and Avignon will feel painfully boring (aside from Presidential Cantidates and French Movie crews)....
We last left our hero (me) arriving at the train station en route to Marseille to meet up with Emily. Kate and all of her French speaking skills had left me hours before, and I had spent my time reading about Vietnam on the shores of the Rhone.
What happened next can only be described as the most awkward, disgusting, painful, jaw-dropping moments of my life. Hyperbole? Possibly. I'll try not to dissapoint.
Most of my feelings can be best encapsulated in the journal entry I wrote in my hard copy journal just hours following, so in an attempt to stay as close to the emotive verisimilatude as possible, here is a word for word retelling of my afternoon:
March 30, 2007 Avignon to Marseille (writing from the hostel, safe in Marseille)
"Hmmm.... If ever a scary episode in my life desrved a Merideth Grey-esque voice over with haunting music and dramatic slow motion camera angles, this would be it.
I said goodbye to Kate, read on the balcony, left the hotel and took a place by the river to finish The Things They Carried before making the trek from the bridge to the train station...
The first sign that things woutldn't go in my favor was the discovery that I, in fact, should have been at the other Avignon train station, a 20 minute bus ride away- My train was the 13:50 leaving from the TGV- however, I found that there was a slow train (Ter) leaving from this station in 4 minutes...
Fortunately (or so I thought at the time) the reservations desk informed me that I could use my ticket for this train and ride to Marseille just fine. Great.
I jumped on board, but found that most of the cars were full. One car, designed in the cabin-seating style was almost full, save for a spot in a car seated across from a very well dressed, be-beret-ed bald black guy, who was fast asleep, strewn about in a very awkward pose across the bench.
I settled in, glad to be onboard, and anxious to meet up with Emily. I started watching The Office (season 3 ) when suddenly....I'm queasy writing about this now.... The man jumped in his seat- he became rigid, his eyes bugging out and staring at me- almost in a way that one might scare another person, like when you wake up in the middle of a dream when you're falling- only the man wasn't waking up...
He launched full force into a seizure. Me. Him. Closed Cabin. Train to Marseille. France. Train full of French speaking foreigners (well, foreign to me at least)-
As he shook violently and slumped to the floor, his head slammed into the floor, and I immediately began to scream for help- SIR! SIR! SIR! I yelled, hoping he was kidding, playing around, anything- but no response.... I flung the door open and ran through the narrow hallway, screaming for help- (even now, I have no idea what the French word for Help is...)
Train workers, an older plump blonde woman in a sweater, a college student and I moved in to help... The old woman was amazingly calm, doing her best to readjust the man, asking questions as I mumbled in English to the college girl who translated for the rest of the crew...
Spectators filled the hallway, peaking their heads out, asking me questions in French as I dumbly gazed back at them in disbelief.
The stench of stomach acid and involuntary bowel evacuation filled my cabin, as I eyed my backpack, new jacket, and ipod, which was strewn over the seat in a haphazard, getmethefuckoutta here fashion.
The man, still on the ground, was leaking saliva as the sweatery woman stradled him and tried to get him to acknowledge her.
At the next stop, 20 minutes later, paramedics flooded the train and (again, queasy now) almost covered his sweaty, bile-drenched body with my new coat. The man rose to his feet, hobbled off the train, and the crowd dispersed.
I picked up my belongings and found a nearby cabin that smelled less like bowels and more like the old Chinese guy that was passed out against the window. I took a seat, and picked up where Michael Scott and the gang left off.... One of the spectators, who had knowingly watched me struggle through the ordeal was a 20 something bald-headed chav-like french guy, who was now sleeping across from me. Suddenly, he jolted awake, and judging by the look on his face afterwards, I must have reacted like hell-
He immediately burst out laughing, a long rope of snot flying out of his nose and landing on his shirt. Embarassed, he swiped it back up, and I laughed as I pretended not to notice. Jackass.
The fun continued when the train finally pulled into Marseille. Emily found me, and tugged on the back of my coat to get my attention. The two of us, unFrenched and clueless, wandered the train station looking for some semblence of hope for weary, confused travelers of our breed.
The guy working in the help desk directed us to the metro, where the nightmares continued.
Emily sat down, backpack in tow, and a stop later, was joined by......a creature of sorts.
His greasy red t shirt clung to his every fold... his joints were swollen, and his elbows were exagurrated- bulging and awkward. His hair was molded, carved of oil and dirt, while the smells he carried arrived in waves.
A plastic bag accompanied him- filled with rotting seafood, including two oysters that he played as castonettes- a beautiful duet to accompany his loud and deranged barking, a sound he only ceased with schitzophrenic yelps and angry growls.
He asked/yelled at Emily, correctly guessing that she was English, before moving his attention to the smartly dressed yet unprepared French girl sitting across from him.
She recieved most of the brunt of his assults, but the turning point arrived hwen he decided to show off one by one his unwashed, unenviable, indescribable parts. He slowly adjusted his pant leg, moving it up half-seductively and looking around the car...
He removed his shoe, and almost immediatly I became ill. Like, grab the toilet seat, convulse on the bathroom floor ill-
I glanced at his now-exposed bare foot, an appendage that for all intensive purposes, lacks the necessary requirements of appendages as they are known to the human race. Looking more like an old catcher's mit covered in blue cheese and riddled with what may be described as toe nails, it met what can only be described as a rotting column of kebab meet he called a leg at a junction of mangled scars and twisted skin.
Exit French girl. Exit me. Exit Emily. At this point, he put his foot up on the now vacant chair where French Girl had once sat, trapping Emily in a prison of filth and rotting flesh. No less than 6 people stood up, moved to the rear of the train, and prayed to God (if they believe in God here in France) to stop the train, or let them jump out.
The smell, now an orgy of rotting seafood, moldy flesh, old wine, and bad breath spilled out of the doors as we lunged for the platform.
After a bus ride and a walk to the hostel, all of the crap and filth and torture was rectified, as we stared head strong into the most beautiful sight I have ever seen.
Avignon time Gone
Writing from the saftey of a dirty internet cafe in the belly of Marseille (MAR-SAY), I'm finally given a chance to recover.
Avignon was amazing, and will be hashed out at length, but my journey from the land of 9 Popes (In no way is it ever called that) to Marseille was something that I, and anyone who is around me after a few pints, will ever forget.
To build suspense, Avignon first:
Avignon, at least the part out by the TGV station a short jaunt from the centre of town, is a sunbaked, flat, Mediterranean gem- in our trip from Dijon through Lyon, vinyards and white/tan sand-like earth stretched as far as the bleary eye could see... We emerged from the station to find the air hot and the sun shining. A good omen for the amazing assembly of cultural and out-of-this world happenings that would accompany our days here.
Kate and I found the hotel, right on the strip, within sight of a MASSIVE 18 FOOT GOLDEN VIRGIN MARY that stood over the Notre Dame (keep in mind, there are maybe 8 churches called Notre Dame in every city... there are as many Notre Dames as there are hair stylists, which again outnumber grocery stores 8:1)
We dropped our crap at the Regina Hotel, and found the amazing square, the main space in the town right before the Plais Papas (I have no idea... the old Palace of the Popes, which again, was the other white papal establishment during the 1300s)- It was amazing, the buildings seemed to rise out of the rock - half ancient arcitechture, half nature- it was awe inspiring, the size and detail involved.
We visited the church, and wandered around for more food and toiletries to sustain us on the rest of the trip... The sun was bright, and my now sunburned neck proves it- We made it back to the room, when all of a sudden a loud commotion of people outside drove us to the balcony of our room....
I looked down and saw a huge crowd gathering- there were reporters, paparazzi, common folk, and tourists alike- we grabbed our cameras and made our way to the front of the fray... Kate and I had no knowledge of French pop culture, and so I did what everyone else did- took pictures of the wierd guy with the grey hair who was giving an interview to France 3, a national news organiztion.
Close pics in hand, we went back to the hotel, where the lady at the front desk informed us that it was in fact Francois Beyroux, a Presidential canditate in the election next month.
Score.
I napped, Kate explored, and we chilled for the night. Watched Blood Diamond, passed out.
The next day, we visited museum after museum, while stopping into bakeries to rate pasteries and eat gellato on the side... We visited an ancient bridge that streches across the River Rhone, that was built by a mildly insane now Saint in around 1100. (the night pics were from our last night in Avignon)
Our first museum, of papal art, contained the fattest Christ I have ever seen. If I see another 'Virgin and Infant" again, i'll puke.
We packed a lunch, and basked in the glory of the French sun, while Italian school children on vacation played football in the square. Some kids even had Italian flags, and the rowdy girls started World Cup-like chants... all in the shadow of one of the most incredible sites in history...
From there, we visited the actual palace, a tour that contained only 20 of the hundreds of rooms- This picture is from what I call 'the House on Pope Corner' thank you, Kenny Loggins, for furthering my heracy...
From the top of the palace, we glanced into the square and saw the makings of a movie set. Kid you not. Actors milling about, cars and motorcycles ready for stunts, and tons of young go getters doing grunt work. Not being the kind of people that just let a movie set go by, Kate and I sat nearby and soaked up the glory that is French movie making.
Turns out it's just a made-for-tv movie called something like 'Prophecie au Avignon' or something... I'll still imdb.com it later....
We got out of the sun, grabbed some gelato, hit the hotel, napped, ate some Vietnamese food, blogged, and walked along the river. Tres atmospheric.
Kate left early in the morning, and I read until making my way to the train station.
end of Part I. Part II includes medical emergencies, vomit, uncontrolled bowels, beautiful sunsets, and gout. or something.
Nantes Pics (No time for a creative title)
Pics from Nantes- Only the best and brightest (and the ones that I didn't need to rotate...)
The lovebirds, Zach rocking the Nantes jersey, Megs displaying her face of tolerance that we know all too well...
A pint at the Irish Pub in town... Goes down smooth...unlike boxed red wine.
There are few words that translate directly from French to English- a few? Restuarant, Hotel, and Sex Shop.... Bar is one too....
Fondue....so French right now.....
He's crying because he knows he will cause us pain. Paul and his permanent marker - like a old timey witch doctor and a divining rod....
I do not remember this. Paul makes the blog. I think I told Megan I liked her hair....
Riding bikes in Nantes- Sound of Music meets Carnival
Megs and the host 'rents....and the puppy
Carnival snakes its way past Paul's appt. BEST VIEW EVER. see also: future uploaded vids
Austin Powers: INTERNATIONAL man of mystery...
Yes those are our feet. Yes I thought I was going to die. Yes it was the coolest thing ever.
A Honey of a Time...in Dijon. Get it?
CITY TWO: DIJON
Sooo.... where to begin? Leaving friends in Nantes was difficult. Emotions, love, etc, yeah yeah... What really made life difficult was this strange obsession with the French people and....speaking French. Call it crazy, but being an ex-Espanoler living in France for the past week has made me slightly mental. I start talking in strange Spanish accents, pronouncing the last consonant, and wondering where these people get off on spelling words like Avignon as they do. Nantes has an és' at the end why?
Long story short, I left Zach and Megs at 9ish only to be whisked from Nantes for a quick jaunt through the Metro of Paris before heading off on a High Speed TGV train to Dijon.
How do you know you've become a well-traveled, jaded, prick of a study abroad student? When you're riding the metro in Paris en route to another French city, see the bell towers of Notre Dame and wonder...."Can't this train go any f-ing faster?" i'm an a-hole.
I arrived in Dijon at around 130 to discover that, despite my acute hostel-booking techniques, the hostel was (according to the map) located somewhere between Belgium and Turkey... I needed to find the #4 bus and ride it to an undetermined stop far far away, but 'Near IKEA'claimed the perky directions.
I wandered the town, removing many many articles of clothing in the near 80 degree (sorry, 20ish C ) degree heat, before finding the stop. It was at this point in my journey, nay, my life that I realized how stranded I was/could have been. I was lost in a foreign city, with no language skills whatsoever- the tourist office was closed, I had no idea which direction north was (yes, i looked for moss and the shadows of the sun, eagle scouts...it was noon, so shove it) and I needed to meet up with Kate at some point. There was no giving up. I HAD to find a way out....or, home, or somewhere...
I accidentally found the stop, after being distracted by H&M, and found the hostel. Needing food, a good shave, and entertainment, I fumbled my way through experience after experience (Pharmacie lady, IKEA, giant store not unlike Sams Club that later turned out to be a restaurant wholesaler... the workers were too kind to tell me otherwise...)- I came back to the room empty handed, and collapsed before being awoken by a very distressed Kate at 9pm that night...
Not to lose out on the good weather, we wandered the streets past hair salon after hair salon before passing two kebab shops and an irish pub. I bought a razor at a dirty conveince shop, and after passing up on the Kebab place with grass on the floor, had an amazing meal of greasy unidentifyable meats and fries served by a sweaty man in a Dolce and Gabana long sleeved shirt who was more engrossed in his crappy USA TV drama on the flatscreen than my lack of French ability...
We walked further into the town, so far that we actually made it to the city centre- passing enormous church after beautifully constructed building... the arcitechture here is stunning- it's hard to describe the authenticity..... so many buildings in the states have been built to replicate it- hotels, most of New Orleans French Quarter- that seeing it in person has an unreal aura about it...
The real deal.... Dijon from Dijon
We crashed after a few episodes of Greys, and woke up late the next morning before visiting more beautiful buildings in the daylight. After a long day of walking, taking pictures, and walking some more, we took a well deserved nap (it's becoming a theme i fear) and returned to our kebab shop where, low and behold, the same two workers were decked out in the Exact Same Thing they had been wearing 27 hours before.
gross.
The food was good though.
One more night of Greys and kebabs, and we were off for Avignon in the morning. Avignon was the site of the second papal establishment after the schism within the Catholic church in the 1300s... there was a line of 9 popes here who reined until the reunificaiton years later-
After two nights here, it's time to move on- a blog entry and pics will surely follow....
So, tomorrow I'll leave Kate to join up with Emily tomorrow in Marseille all before meeting up with the rest of the group in Nice on the 2nd- so far the weather has been amazing, the experiences more than I ever could have expected, and my French is drastically improving.
Adios.
We're Nantes in Kansas anymore...
This blog title brought to you in part by the letter Z.
This break has, so far, been an amazing experience. Culturally, emotionally, physically.... I've been tested, I've been drained, and now, sitting in a bus station in Dijon mid day as the sun beats outside, I'm doing my best to remain calm and composed whilst I crack off an entry to satisfy readers while - apologetically announcing that no USB port exists on this crappy computer, rendering all hopes for photos useless *see Megseggsbegs blog for photos...
I left the flat early and unprepared on Thursday, no itinerary, no directions to hostels for flatmates, and no clue if Zach or Megs were going to meet me at the airport.... Thankfully, a long Ryanair flight later (crazy how Ryanair is so close to a palindrome....so close Ryanayr) I met up with them quasi- The Graduate/Love Actually style, face pressed against the glass, giddy as a kid could be- considering I hadn't seen Zach for 10 months or Megs for 7...
I've noticed it with John's visit, seeing Eda and Katie, and now Megs and Zach, how no matter how long it's been, things just come back ... friendship is like....riding a bicycle. A bicycle you get drunk with and make fun of and plan house names with, a bicyle you eat kebabs with and ride through parades on a bicycle with.... It was indescribible how nice it was to get a touch of Luther after being gone so long.
Nantes is a beautiful town. Megs is studying there for the semester, and Zach made a long spring break of it to visit her... Studying in a country with another language would blow my mind... slang in the UK is hard enough, but Megs is a French Genius. Don't let her tell you different. That's an editorial comment, but not up for debate. Even in my few experiences in which i wasn't with a French speaking buddy, it's been crazy.... body language and pointing, grunting even, can only go so far..
We made our way back to the hotel, taking pictures of cars with MEGANEs name on them, before taking a quick walking tour of the city and Megs' school. I'm in awe at, no matter how many of us study abroad or experience life overseas, each one is so dramatically different.... buying own food, living in a 3rd world country, waking up and seeing a lake outside your window.... crazy...
Our first night was a bit of a dud, but still fun- we met her friends Amanda and Katie, ate the best Pizza Hut i've ever had, drank some cider (2% alc...wtf) and Sangria before getting absorbed in talks about Sororities and passing out from tiredness... Going out never really happened...
Megs did a great job of planning our time in Nantes- the next day we shopped for food at Monoprix while Meg was at school- foreign supermarkets are why I get up in the morning. Shopping was too much for us to handle, so after Facebooking at IES and eating another lunch of bread, cheese, yogurt, carrot, and oj, we napped until Fondue. Zach's mom provided the monetary supplement necessary to get us nice and full on cheese and bread, and aside from creepy looks from a passing elderly French woman (epitome of pure evil), we had a thoroughly cultural experience.
At Monoprix, we picked up some boxed red wine (so not French) and met up with Paul, buddy o Megs from school, who gave us LOST and a place to hang out for the night, high above the city of Nantes in a kickass appartment.
I'll save the gory details, but I made it as far as Z and Megs hotel that night, and will never again eat fondue and drink boxed red wine. Maybe the sad, crying face that Paul drew on the box should have served as an omen for the terrible 36 hours of pain ahead.
The next day was spent recovering.... walk to the castle, nice lunch, hit Zach in the head with a frisbee, felt like an asshole, visited some parks while Zach recharged, and I stopped in to buy a patch - the first of many embarassing and stupid moments to come... I was enthralled at so many choices of patches... it's become a tradition to buy a patch from each city, and Nantes was no exception. I labored for minutes trying to fumble through hand motions to get the shopowner to understand me, and finally chose one with a weasel wearing a cape. I was proud of the wierd patch and Megs was interested to see it... thankfully she asked, because otherwise I would have bought a shitty patchy with the name Vennes on it....... these places have patches of so many other towns, that he had (knowingly?) fooled me into buying a patch that had nothing to do with Nantes. Megs thought it was funny. whatever.
Later we walked through one of the most disgusting, Chav-like pile of crap markets that I've ever seen. It was like a flea market meets trailer park. Plus Eurotrash. Again, an awesome cultural experience...
Yet another nap later, we got up at 10 for kebabs (the daylight savings thing here is so wild... it gets dark at 9, so i'm not hungry until closer to 10)... The kebabs changed my life for the better, and afterwards picked up American Psycho (starring Chrisitan Bale) and took it back to the hotel- The movie? Could have been better. My night? Spent again with creepy French Mexican in the hostel.
On sunday, I awoke to the best weather I've seen in a long time- Sunny, brilliant, warm, crisp- unfortunately, I woke a little earlier than my Luther friends, and ended up on a journey to buy bread while they got ready. Another bad ordering expeirence at the patisserie, and we had sandwiches.
Carnival. France. Bikes. Sillystring. Charlie Chaplain. Austin Powers. Confused? Sunday also provided the most culturally rediculous experience of my life. We started biking as part of a rental service to parks around the town, having a pretty great time, meeting Meg's family, some of her friends, when after riding along the river for a while, this snotty French girl starts throwing confetti on us- soon we saw more and more kids with costumes- spiderman, princesses, cowboys- and the streets were packed with people. In the distance, we heard drums, and finally saw floats upon floats upon floats....still on bikes, we made our way to the circle where Paul lived, and actually ran into him taking pictures with his megacamera. We wanted a better view, and locked our bikes in the stairwell before heading upstairs and leaning out of the windows on the roof.
The view was incredible, like a giant snake moving through the streets at a snail's pace, the parade seemed to last forever. Austin Powers floats, bagpipers, drumlines, a pack of Charlie Chaplins, confetti and streamers filling the air, so much glitter that afterwards, you could scoop it up from the gutter by the handfull- the music was loud, the air was smoky and filled with colored paper- Perhaps what made it so good was its unexpected arrival- It was a once in a lifetime thing that I'm lucky to have seen-
We had Thai food for dinner, a delicious 4 course meal- talked about life as usual, the future, etc. Later, I got a chance to see Zach's Zanzibar pics (coincidentally, the next day in Dijon we almost stopped at a place called Le Zanzi Bar, a trashy club)... It was another wakeup call to how different each person's experiences abroad have been-
I realized how lucky I was to have amazing friends back home, and how lucky we were that the timing worked out the way it did- I still miss the crap out of friends back home, but thanks to periodical visits and amazing videos of their sexy selves saying nice things, it feels like nothing has changed. Except now Lucas is an AllAmerican or something....
More pics to come, more on Dijon as soon as I end up in Avignon tomorrow...
