Sometimes growth happens really slowly. Sometimes you have a growth spurt. And sometimes you look back over a period of time and realize you've grown. For me, travelling is usually a really nice time to reflect. Since I have done the majority of my travels alone, I find that buses, trains, planes, and airports provide a type of stillness I do not have in my quiet bedroom surrounded by clothes to put away, letters to write, and lessons to plan. During Holy Week, I made a sort of pilgrimage to Taizé, France. Ever since reading "Taizé Service" in the newsletter that came with the church bulletin in high school and then since Dr. J-C gave us extra credit in the exam for going to the Taizé service at American Reformed Church, I have been intrigued by this community in France that writes beautiful, repetitive songs in various languages which are sung all over the world. (Run-on!!)
The week Lent started, I had an emotional breakdown. It was then I decided that if one's savings account isn't for buying an expensive ticket to Paris, what is it for? (Don't answer that. I know there are more adult answers, but they are way less fun.)
And thus, I found myself waking up three hours after going to sleep on Palm Sunday to go the Jerez airport to go to the Madrid airport to go to Orly Airport in Paris to take a train to Taizé, which I hoped was close to Paris. It wasn't. Don't be fooled. It was when I was in the Paris metro station Gare de Lyon with my backpack and rolly suitcase, holding my metro plan, my hastily scribbled directions "Orly, Gare de Lyon, Macon-Loché, bus to Taizé" that I realized that this was, without a doubt, the worst planned trip I have ever taken. People were streaming around me, all with their places to go and much higher levels of French. I tried a ticket machine. It said my ticket would be more than 100€. Impossible, I thought. I was standing in line for the woman who had a banner scrolling above her head "I SPEAK ENGLISH" when another woman, two windows over waved me down. I went, suitcase wheeling behind me like a little puppy yipping at my heels.
"Parlez-vous anglais?" I started.
"Non," said the cassiére very sweetly.
I smiled sheepishly and pulled out my scribblings. After much broken French and much patience on her part, I took my very expensive train tickets for the TGV high speed train that would leave in 2 hours. I headed for the sliding doors to Paris, suitcase behind, in search of a chocolate croissant. Yeah dinner in Paris! Two hours later, I returned to Gare de Lyon after booking a hotel for my return on Saturday and having spent the better part of the two hours completely lost and utterly overjoyed to be lost in Paris. "This is my life," I thought. "I never have any idea where I am, but it sure is beautiful and I'm happy here."
To be continued...
3 comments:
love Paris :) I'm impressed friend because I could not bring myself to travel alone while over there! esp in the Paris train station! we got stuck there overnight and it was intimidating! Sounds like a good time so far!
I can't believe you were lost in Paris and loved it. You know me, I hate being lost, most of the time.
Missing you like crazy.
In the words of Audrey, "Paris is never a bad idea." :) My first thought when I read "Gare de Lyon" was, "Oh! Yellow 1!!" that's how I memorized my métro lines while living there. Saint Paul or Bastille were frequently my stops when I wanted a little walk on my way home. Can't wait to hear the rest of your adventures!
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