Qu'est-ce que c'est ce bordel!
Bon. I now find myself on the other side of the world both from where I was last week and where I was 2 months ago. As I made the trek yesterday from London to France, I was reminded again why I like to travel: it's never boring. Case in point--it just took me almost 3 minutes to figure out how to type "@" on this French key board. I'm sure the people around me were wondering why the girl in the monkey shirt was just staring blankly at the keyboard. And while French keyboards probably deserve an entry to themselves, today I'm going to focus on the last 36 hours of my life as proof of the adventure that is international travel.
10:30 am, Tuesday: After saying goodbye to my English friend, I made my way through the gates at the train station to board the Eurostar (Chunnel). It was 15 minutes before the train's departure, but I should have realized that boarding an international train in Britain would take longer than usual. The biggest hold-up in the boarding process was the guy working the luggage x-ray machine who tried to convince me that I would have to take off my shirt in order to be able to board the train. After telling me that my jacket would have to be x-rayed, he contiued saying "And you're T-shirt too miss. You'll have to take off your shirt." Remember that he's British, and therefore very capable when it comes to deadpan delivery. I was confused, and definitely not in the mood to joke. "You're joking, right? I'm not taking off my shirt," I said, hoping that would be he end of it. "No, I'm sorry, but we're going to have to x-ray your shirt." I was jet-lagged, in a hurry, and definitely not in the mood to be messed with. "What, this?" I said, pulling at my shirt, "but there's nothing underneath it." "Yes, please put it in a basket to be x-rayed." I said no one last time, honestly at a loss for what to do. At last he smiled and waved me through. "I'm tired and not in the mood to be messed with," I said curtly as I walked through.
11:00 am - 1:20 pm, Tuesday: My seat on the train was next to an old man. I didn't really pay much attention to him until he offered me "a sweet," as in "Here Deary, would you like a sweet?" I guess he decided to treat me like his granddaugter for the journey, because he spent it telling me stories about his life before and after the war (as in THE war). I would come to find out that he was German, kept as a POW in Britain; that his brother was a world-class cyclist before the war; that he walks his dog 3 times day; which of his relatives had died recently; and several stories of irony and near-death during the war.
1:30 pm - 12:00 am, Tuesday: A teacher met me at the station. She took me to her house in the northern French countryside. After feeding me, she let me have the run of her house, so I chose to watch tv. Let me say that there's nothing more bizzare than watching South Park in French. Did you know that "Christmas poo" in French is "le caca de Noël?"
10:00 am, Wednesday: I moved into my temporary home, the dorm. Definitely temporary. I would describe the overall look of my room as "monastery chic." There's a bed, a desk, and a tile floor. The bathrooms are down the hall, and they are unisex. In addition, there are no seats on the toilets. I thought I left my toilet woes behind when I left Japan.
3:00 pm, Wednesday: I almost cried in the supermarket. Having failed to pack certain essentials, such as toothpaste, I had no choice but to try to find a store. This proved harder than expected, and the pain of the excursion was exacerbated by the fact that my knees hurt so bad from carrying my luggage that I could barely walk. As I walked through the store, I thoughtlessly grabbed some fruit to snack on later. I was standing in line, when the old lady informed me that I was in the wrong line. I was standing in a line for carts when I had a basket. At first I thought she was just trying to cut in line, but then I realized that all the basket people were in fact in one line. I waited in line, only to learn that I had failed to weigh and label my fruit. The cashier sighed as she pointed to my un-labelled fruit. "I'm sorry," I said, "Can you tell me where the machine is?" She sighed again and said "Next to the fruits and vegetables." Thanks for your help, Madame, et va te faire foutre.
Which brings me more or less to the present, where it's nearly midnight on Wednesday. I must now say "Bonne nuit," and head back down to the monatery. A la prochaine.
10:30 am, Tuesday: After saying goodbye to my English friend, I made my way through the gates at the train station to board the Eurostar (Chunnel). It was 15 minutes before the train's departure, but I should have realized that boarding an international train in Britain would take longer than usual. The biggest hold-up in the boarding process was the guy working the luggage x-ray machine who tried to convince me that I would have to take off my shirt in order to be able to board the train. After telling me that my jacket would have to be x-rayed, he contiued saying "And you're T-shirt too miss. You'll have to take off your shirt." Remember that he's British, and therefore very capable when it comes to deadpan delivery. I was confused, and definitely not in the mood to joke. "You're joking, right? I'm not taking off my shirt," I said, hoping that would be he end of it. "No, I'm sorry, but we're going to have to x-ray your shirt." I was jet-lagged, in a hurry, and definitely not in the mood to be messed with. "What, this?" I said, pulling at my shirt, "but there's nothing underneath it." "Yes, please put it in a basket to be x-rayed." I said no one last time, honestly at a loss for what to do. At last he smiled and waved me through. "I'm tired and not in the mood to be messed with," I said curtly as I walked through.
11:00 am - 1:20 pm, Tuesday: My seat on the train was next to an old man. I didn't really pay much attention to him until he offered me "a sweet," as in "Here Deary, would you like a sweet?" I guess he decided to treat me like his granddaugter for the journey, because he spent it telling me stories about his life before and after the war (as in THE war). I would come to find out that he was German, kept as a POW in Britain; that his brother was a world-class cyclist before the war; that he walks his dog 3 times day; which of his relatives had died recently; and several stories of irony and near-death during the war.
1:30 pm - 12:00 am, Tuesday: A teacher met me at the station. She took me to her house in the northern French countryside. After feeding me, she let me have the run of her house, so I chose to watch tv. Let me say that there's nothing more bizzare than watching South Park in French. Did you know that "Christmas poo" in French is "le caca de Noël?"
10:00 am, Wednesday: I moved into my temporary home, the dorm. Definitely temporary. I would describe the overall look of my room as "monastery chic." There's a bed, a desk, and a tile floor. The bathrooms are down the hall, and they are unisex. In addition, there are no seats on the toilets. I thought I left my toilet woes behind when I left Japan.
3:00 pm, Wednesday: I almost cried in the supermarket. Having failed to pack certain essentials, such as toothpaste, I had no choice but to try to find a store. This proved harder than expected, and the pain of the excursion was exacerbated by the fact that my knees hurt so bad from carrying my luggage that I could barely walk. As I walked through the store, I thoughtlessly grabbed some fruit to snack on later. I was standing in line, when the old lady informed me that I was in the wrong line. I was standing in a line for carts when I had a basket. At first I thought she was just trying to cut in line, but then I realized that all the basket people were in fact in one line. I waited in line, only to learn that I had failed to weigh and label my fruit. The cashier sighed as she pointed to my un-labelled fruit. "I'm sorry," I said, "Can you tell me where the machine is?" She sighed again and said "Next to the fruits and vegetables." Thanks for your help, Madame, et va te faire foutre.
Which brings me more or less to the present, where it's nearly midnight on Wednesday. I must now say "Bonne nuit," and head back down to the monatery. A la prochaine.
posted by MatchaMonkey at
9/28/2006 05:04:00 AM
3 Comments
