In which I nearly blow the whole damn thing...

The ticket to Nice said that the train was to arrive at 852AM. So when, after sleeping like a corpse, I awoke at 935 I thought I had screwed the dog. Not the dog in the four man berth I was in, no no, not that one; the one that peed in our compartment.

Having just awakened to apparently awful news, I leapt up and asked my 1 night room mates if we had passed Nice. Pronounced neece.

"Nice?" The pushy rich guy asked.

"Yes. Nice... did... we... already...pass...Nice." I motioned with my thumb in the opposite direction of where we were headed. For the train had stopped again and I was trying to ascertain if it was the right move to get off.

"Nice." The man nodded. "Nice."

"Nice" Agreed the dog lady, who had also coughed so badly in the night I had an H1N1 dream.

This was, obviously, most unhelpful. I quickly gathered my things and left the train at Toloun. Which I was pretty sure was Tolouse. Knowing fuckall about French geography, I wasn't sure the proximity to Nice. I decided I could grab some breakfast, and figure it all out. I left the station and headed to a cafe across the street, to regroup, to study my timetables. I bought a beer, and a water, I went to the bathroom to rinse my face and to blessedly relieve myself. Outside, to my surprise that there were palm trees, in the square in front of the station (Gare = French for Station) is a fountain surrounded by well manicured grass, the statues appear to be drunken sailors holding eachother up. Once again, the sky was blue for all eternity in all directions, and it is hotter here in the south. So I changed into a light button down shirt, I went back to my table, chugged the beer, and looked in my laptop bag slot where I keep eurail stuff.

Not there.

My heart rate spiked, but I remained calm. I searched every compartment in my two bags. 6 in all. I checked them twice. And then three times. Pouring sweat I realized that I had left my pass, my tickets, and my insurance policy in a single beaten white envelope. I had left it in Couche 12 berth 81. That is the lower left hand bunk of the 12th cab. I was pretty sure I was fucked. So I did what anyone would have to do thousands of miles from anyone who loves them, in a place where you are only 80% sure you know where you are, having just lost a 2000 dollar slip of paper. I laughed hysterically. I laughed all the way back into the station where I started the long process of piecing together two languages enough for people to understand what it was I was saying my problem is.

I made that last sentence awkward. It being words in orders starting to have to adjust to am I.

Not that these people were not helpful. They were trying. We all understood the grave consequences. For even with my insurance on my pass. It just assures I will be reimbursed for the unused time on the pass. I'd have to order a fresh one. It'd take a week. The most helpful man decided that the next stop for the train, it had only been twenty minutes or so, was Carcassonne. He said that the train would arrive there in half an hour. So I went across the street again, breakfast this time, one of those tiny cups of coffee, a croissant, fresh air to massage my lungs to maybe soothe my nervous heart. I was still greatly amused, and feeling as though it would work out. I wasn't really scared or overly nervous after the initial injection of adrenaline. The following are the notes I took in my book over breakfast:

9/29

I'm pretty sure I am in Tolouse. The sign said Toloun, and the books say its called Villa de Rose for the pink townhouses. I am sitting on the patio of Brasserie Climatise. It is in front of a big pink townhouse...selah.

I was supposed to be in Nice but missed my stop. When I hastily got out of the train in Toloun I left behind my rail pass and tickets. I am sitting here waiting word they found them at the next station. I was stressed for 10 seconds, now, having chugged a morning beer, coffee, croissant, I am currently fine.

At the table across from me is a burly mulatto (I have just realized as I copy this, someone told me not long ago Mulatto is offensive, which I did not know. I am leaving it for purity's sake.) woman, she is having coffee, juice, bread, jam, lots of butter, croissants, water, and Marlboro reds for breakfast. She is spastically gesturing and bursting into loud laughter. This is where I am.

I am also laughing.

A woman of about 85 just walked by, her skin is spotted, it was discoloured from dying pigment. She walks with a hunched back, cane, and smile. She has a traveller's backpack, and a camera slung across her neck. A real hero. I told her she looked beautiful. She laughed and didn't say anything. Made her way.

The writing took my mind off things. I went back to the welcome station in Toloun, to find my helpful man was no longer there. I had to explain my position again, and the woman said 10 more minutes. I wandered into the lounge and made eyes at some pretty dark featured girl. It has been ten days since I shaved, which means today is the day my stubble is perfect and manly, and awesome. It also means I will need to shave in two days max, lest I look homeless.
Which, now that I read this, might be the way to go anyhow.

After ten minutes I returned, to find, once again, a new person at the station. I once again explained what happened..this time to Nadia; whom I shall always remember. She is the one that figured out that the train never went to Carcassonne at all. It terimated in Nice. I didn't miss my stop. I got off before we got there. This was all completely unnecesary.

Nice.

"Nice. Yes. Nice." people from my cabin said. I got off before my stop. The trip took four hours longer than my ticket said it would.

As I was talking to Nadia she told me the train had arrived, give her ten more minutes. So I went and talked with Vinissa (no idea...prolly Vanessa with her accent). She was headed to Paris. When I returned to Nadia, she was on the phone and gave me a thumbs up. I laughed again, and blew her a kiss. The envelope would be waiting for me in Nice. The ticket there was 25E because I did not have my pass... oh well.

The ride was two hours and the cabin was initially empty in 2nd class. I took pictures but they do not justify the beauty of watching southern France zoom by you. There are these sun drenched red mountains, surrounded by evergreen forests. There are vineyards everyplace and they touch against junk yards. The buildings are all shades of yellow as if you are in Italy or Santa Fe. All them have balconies, and from all of those balconies hang clothes like flags that announce who lives here, a woman's loose cotton shirt, a man's worn work pants stained with dirt and sweat. I went through St. Raphael, Albrites, and Cannes. When we came to Cannes, I stopped staring out of my window long enough to look across the aisle and realized that the ocean had snuck up behind me.

I have never ever seen the ocean and been surprised. It was wonderful.

Nice is near Cannes. I was eager to get my pass and I jumped out of my seat to be out in front of the big group of Asian folks who got on at Cannes. I quickly made my way, was sent from the welcome station to the lost and found. Had to wait fifteen minutes at the lost and found and just as I was about to speak with the man, I was paged on the intercom. To go to the welcome station where I had been sent from towards the lost and found. I didn't care. My relief was great and my heart was full of validation and joy for the faith I had all day that it would work out. The woman at the station was shocked that I had heard her and listened, she seemed most pleased. After examining my passport she returned my precious envelope.

As I walked away from the station. I realized my awesome black and white pinstriped sportcoat was not with me...

I left it on the train...

Fuck me running.

- - -

I woke at 6am France time on the train to Bordeaux. I was alone in the cabin, which is rare and awesome. I stole all the pillows and free bottles of water from each bunk. Despite the small accomodations, and the ever present lurching of the train, I sleep exceedingly well on them.
I opened the window, I was the only sign of life on the train, and stuck my head out of the window like a dog and breathed in the whipped cool air.

Been humming to myself a great deal. I think it is because as the language barrier becomes more solid, I grow a little more isolated. Aside from the girl at the train station, chances for conversations have been a little thin on the ground. People are still kind and friendly, but for me especially it is difficult to get by without words, words are my friends. I do not want for anything that I attempt to get, but the social dynamics are different. It is hard to get people's stories, and share my own. I need to learn French. I like the way they speak, the language is very musical and graceful. Plus, its personally annoying when you can't make clear to people just how damned clever and awesome you are.

Rolled into Bordeaux on time. The neighborhood around St. Jean station is an especially seedy red light district. One side of the street full of peep shows, porn theaters, showgirl revues, none of them look like they have a lot of talent there. The other side of the street is filled with ATMs. When you are in France you find that that ATMs are sometimes hard to come by, certainly not as handy as in the US, but apparently the key is to find porno shops (another hint, don't get a headache on Sunday, nothing with pan reliever is open). I walked with my turtle shell (ie: all my shit) for about 4 miles, zigzagging through industrail BDX, as they call it. The buildings are old, and not without charm, but there is a certain Oliver Twist, meets bad block New Orleans, meets modern litter and filth sort of ambience. It certainly didn't strike me as a place that was as know for something so uppity as wine making. However, the further from the station I got, the lighter the buildings, the smells went from sulphur and urine to baked goods. I passed a gyspsy flea market, and made sure to put my wallet in my front pocket. And then I was in the divide between seedy Gare district, and the historic district which has been renewed and revitalized very recently. That's where I found my hotel, 39E, clean, private bathroom, best place I have been so far. Hotel de Lyon on Rue de Ramperts.

Old Bordeaux is stunning. It is open, and fresh, the buildings are so old and yet in such good repair. The entire 7 block historic district is pedestrian only. Near the Monument aux Girondins, which is this incredible fountain, they were tearing down an apparent carnival that I just missed... drat.
A monorail creeps along the streets, connecting everywhere, in fact the monorail is how I finally found old BDX without a map, figuring the monorail isn't headed to where they sell crack. The streets have roads for cars, bike tracks, and sidewalks, and in between is grass over which the monorail floats. It's all very orderly and interesting. The avenues are very wide.

Actually I could have just taken the monorail from Gare St. Jean for 1.30E, but I think its important to make the walk. I saw two moldering Cathedrals, and the gypsies. My Hotel is 100 feet from St. Andre's which they are currently restoring, half of the building is black from the grime of 800 years. After I had checked in I sat in front of it for an hour, nursing a diet coke, watching kids ride bikes back and forth doing wheelies. There are 100s of Vineyards nearby, and tours are easy to arrange, 90E for a full day, 3 vineyards, lunch and dinner. Not bad. I should have given myself more time, but as Oktoberfest is one of the only deadlines I have here, I will move on before I can do such a thing. I know a lot of people who would like this trip though, Burgundy, and Champagne are also nearby and I might just return later in the month. Either way, it would not be very expensive to go and see all 3 regions, and be happily, rosily, wined up the whole time.