So this weekend I decided to pop over to Normandy and impose
myself on my lovely friend Imogen. Despite public transport's best
efforts, I made it to Bolbec (her town) after five hours and twenty minutes on
coaches, trains, the metro and a bus.
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| Gare St Lazare. Don't be deceived by its size - it hides a multitude of platforms and hidden passageways. A bit like Platform 9 and 3/4 combined with Hogwarts. |
Let’s just say to cut an incredibly
long and arduous Suzie story (of five hours and twenty minutes, to be precise) back to the basics, if I had been five seconds
later at Gare St Lazare, I would have missed the train to Bréauté and that
would have caused all manner of exclamations (comme putain, merde et conards,
par exemple) and problems (i.e. having to take another train, if there even was another to a rural part of
Normandy).
After nearly being hit by a car in my rush (my transfer time between trains left something to be desired), I arrived at the wrong end of Gare St Lazare in Paris (unwittingly - I was deceived by the billboards). I had two minutes before my train was due to leave and could not see anything telling me my train's platform. After accosting two ladies who told me they reckoned my train was leaving from the other end of the station (merci, mesdames) I had to sprint – like an absolute
lunatic, not doing much for Anglo-Franco relations – almost the full length of
the station. To give you an idea of the length of the Gare, there are over 20 platforms.
By some act of divine intervention I happened to look up as I tried to beat Usain Bolt's 100m Olympic record, and, lo
and behold, on the screen of the platform to my left was written ‘Bréauté-Beuzeville'’:
my stop. I skidded to a halt and if my trainers could have left burning rubber
marks on the polished floor they would have. Yes, this was the train I was
meant to be taking. I fumbled for the correct train ticket and jammed it into
the compostage machine. Once more I looked up at the screen showing the train’s
destinations, which instantly flicked to 'ACCES INTERDIT' (access to the
platform is forbidden).
I grabbed my stuff
and sprinted to the closest door to the train. I made it. Almost immediately
the train started chugging away from the station.
Relieved, full of
adrenaline, dazed and, most of all, sweaty, I suddenly realised that I should
probably try and find a seat. I ended up spending my journey next to a very
nice French man from Toulouse, who looked at the grey skies outside with evident
disgust and commented on the fact that he certainly wouldn’t be here if he wasn't visiting his children.
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| How Bolbec would have looked if it hadn't been grey and raining. En français, you'd say it was like 'une vache qui pisse' = a pissing cow |
Bolbec itself is about the same size as Romo, and I had a quick mooch
round/tour of the main high street by Imogen. The most noticeable shop was the
fishmongers, if only for its pungent aroma. I spent a very enjoyable evening
with Imogen, and four other girls who are assistants
d’anglais, eating pizza, bemoaning French élèves and comparing Australian and British culture on youtube
(Michael McIntyre vs. Summer Heights High).
Saturday brought with it a breakfast of croissants and a bus ride
to Le Havre where we met with more assistants who gave us a brief tour before
we went to a restaurant for lunch. A personal highlight was the placemat which
was a piece of paper with horoscopes in French (apparently someone is going to help me ‘to
accomplish my mission’ - 1Pl, DEFEAT. Sorry, I just couldn't help myself) and a wordsearch (a ‘mots mélangés’ – a crossword is a ‘mots
croisés’ for any vocab keenos out there… why the silence?).
I chose the ‘assiete
de terroir’ which means literally ‘plate of the earth/soil’. C’est-à-dire a
plate of local meats and cheeses (plus chips and the compulsory slices of
baguette). I admit it, I do not like cheese but I think I deserve credit for at
least trying to appear un peu française despite my outrageous French accent! (Quotation from…? Answers on the back of
a postcard addressed to ‘The Only English Girl in Romorantin, France’. I’m sure
they’ll find me…)
| Macaroons (Eng) / Macarons (Fr) |
After having a thoroughly French more-than-an-hour-maybe-two
lunch, we moved on to a patisserie we had spotted earlier for a casual peruse.
It was here that I engaged in a momentous occasion: I bought my first
macaroons. Yes I admit they were un peu chers (0€90 each <-- note how
the French write prices) but I did enjoy my chocolate ganache, praline and
passion fruit / raspberry macaroons. If you haven't had one, they're a bit like tiny meringues with a paste in the middle.
In an effort to then merge into the crowds by feigning Frenchness, we
took the tourist ‘scenic view train’ – I love French translations – around Le
Havre which also provided us with a very useful booklet in English about the sights we
were seeing. Le Havre was seriously bombed during WWII (by the British, ahem, let's quickly skid over that), and in its
rebuilding more attention seems to have been paid to creating shelter quickly
as opposed to in an aesthetically pleasing fashion. Let’s just say that the
architect (Auguste Perret) considered reinforced concrete to be ‘the most noble’* of materials…
* = my tourist booklet
Sunday was a wet
day of little interest. I made it back to Romo safely and without missing any trains,
despite my best efforts: I forgot to composter my tickets. If you don’t, you
get a fine. The reason you must composter them in the first place is that
certain tickets can be exchanged /refunded if not composté. We were given a
reminder from the train driver with two minutes before departure, so I sprinted
back along the platform – bloody typical that I was in the front carriage,
furthest from the compostage machine – and then had to walk the entire length
of the train back to my place…
Six hours after leaving Bolbec I arrived back in my room, ready to
create a lesson plan for the following morning for my troisième classes! Ah, the
joys of being an assistant. Je plaisante (I jest). The real joy was receiving
my Erasmus grant today – HELL YEAH BABY!!! Can help to pay off over 11 hours of
train tickets…
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