Transport

It was hectic.

It was last-minute.

But man, was it worth it. 

First things first. Was I sure about it?

This was our free weekend to travel, and most of the girls in the program were headed off to London. As you all know, it was sort of hard to catch up with everything on the first week when I arrived late. That being said, I found out the weekend we went to Versailles the girls already booked their hostel for London, and it was full.

So, what to do?

Well...

I have family in London. My cousin lives there, but I don't know how complicated it would have been to stay with him and keep up with the rest of the group. 

And honestly, London was never my first choice.

I would love to go there one day, but I was only in Europe for four weeks, and I only had one free weekend left to go abroad.

I wanted to do something a little more foreign. I wanted to stay out of my English-speaking comfort zone. I was thinking Spain, the Netherlands, maybe Italy. 

And voilà. It was like fate.

Natalie invited me to stay with her in Italy (she goes to John Cabot University in Rome). We go way back. Like, fifth grade. 

Suddenly, I had to hectically decide the cheapest way to get there.

Looks like it was the plane for me.

Next, I had to figure out how to get to Paris Beauvais airport. 

Pshh. Paris Beauvais was hardly in Paris. 

I couldn't take the metro there.

The girls were taking a train to London, and it looked like I would have to take a train to the airport.

So sometime before Friday, me, JD, Molissa and the girls going to London all headed to one of the train stations. The girls were just sort of verifying what they would do, but I was figuring out how to get to Paris Beauvais.

JD started talking to these guys at some info station about it, and they referred us to one of the lines (JD's Haitian, so his French is on point).

There, he started translating for me as the guy at the counter laid out my options.

It's funny. I guess we see "Oh la la" as the stereotypical French expression (which I hadn't heard at all). I quickly found out what the French see as the stereotypical American expression.

While JD and I were talking about my options with the train, I happened to say "Oh my gosh."

And like clockwork, I heard the French man at the counter behind me mimic me by saying "Oh my God" in a thick French accent. 

I'm not gonna lie. It was funny, if not embarassing. 

But the point of this is that I bought a train ticket despite the hell I knew I was getting my self into.

You see, that train would not go straight to the airport, so my Friday morning would look a little like this:

metro—train—bus—airport

Not to mention I'd be waking up at the crack of dawn to take whatever the first metro was.
 5:30? 6? 

And that's the time of the metro I'd take, not the time I would wake up. 

I knew it'd be horrible, but hey, if it gets me to Rome, it's worth it. 

But just like that, my host mom came in for the win. 

And you know what? I told you guys I would get to her. So let's do that now.

She's an architect who works at Centre Georges Pompidou, and she's also a sculptor.

In fact, she has a little studio in the back of her house. She loves flowers and planting, which you could quickly deduce after seeing the front of her house. It's beautiful.

She has two black cats, Suzanne and Tapette (not sure if the spelling is right). One of them is always afraid (I think it's Tapette), and the other is the exact opposite. 

I remember Alice (my host mom's daughter) told me they like to go in my room because it's "forbidden" to them. 

But back to my host mom. She lived in the U.S (New York, I believe) for 10 years, so her English is phenomenal.

But she knows I'm here to work on my French, so she'll usually only speak to me in French. 

One of the few exceptions was right before I left for Italy. 

She was looking online and found a closer bus. I wouldn't have to take the train.

Success.

She explained this to me in English to make sure I got everything.

Apparently it was the same bus my sister saw earlier, but Janelle thought I might miss it and be late for my flight if I took it.

But I was gonna go for it.

Suddenly my ride was a bit more simple. 

metro—bus—airport.

But I already bought the train ticket.

No prob. I headed down to Montparnasse to get a refund. I went to the wrong counter, but the lady at the counter was nice and told me in French that the place I was looking for was closed.

Unfortunately, it was Thursday night. I was heading to Italy the next morning. Then she looked at my ticket and showed me the expiration date at the top. I had time to get my refund later.

That night, I wish I could tell ya I got some sleep. I drifted off for a couple of hours but around 5ish I shot up.

Time for Rome.

It was pretty simple. I took the metro to Porte Maillot.

From there, I went into fast walk mode trying to follow the confusing signs to the bus. It was supposed to come soon. I walked all the way to a dead end where I saw another man also looking for the bus. Soon he was running.

Merde.

I followed him to find the bus. I went outside of the metro, walked a bit, crossed the street and voilà.

The bus.

With a long-behind line for tickets.

I nervously looked over and saw the bus for Paris Beauvais.

It would definitely leave before I got my ticket. I waited in line, nervously looking over at the bus. In hindsight, the line doesn't seem as long, but when a line of people is between you and a flight to Rome it seems endless.

The bus was leaving, so I wasn't even going to try to push my way to the front. Someone almost went in front of me, and I guess the person he was traveling with told him I was there first. At least the people in line were nice.

The guy at the counter was not. I went to get my ticket and started to ask him (in French) when the next bus would come, and he cut me off in English (with sort of an African accent) telling me basically not to ask him.

Connard.

I had no idea. Was it hours? Was I going to miss my flight?

Soon I realized the next bus was leaving just minutes after I bought my ticket.

It looks like the buses come periodically. Not just at the time I saw online.

Relief.

So I got on, and eventually I was at Paris Beauvais.

There, I walked in and went to one of the lines for Ryanair, the super cheap European airline I'd be taking.

The lady at the counter was nice. And I pride myself on this moment because it's one of the few times a French person spoke to me and I got every word she said.

I showed her my ticket.

"Ce n'est pas ici."

And then she told me it's at terminal "deux."

So then I followed the signs outside to make my way over to terminal 2.

The lady up at baggage claim was also nice to me. Earlier, I saw her in a heated exchange with a man whose suitcase was over by one kilo (I think).

Soon I was at security, where all my stuff got freaking thrown away.

Not really.

I was running short on Ziploc bags, and the two I brought were about to rip open, so the airport security lady replaced them for me. Gee, thanks.

However, apparently the face wash I brought was "too big," (this was in French so "trop grand"). I watched the lady throw the thing away like Bon Qui Qui herself said it "needs to go."

The result: My face "literally" attacked itself.  *Chris Traeger voice*

Anyways, in no time I was boarding the plane. I looked at my ticket: no seat number.

That's kinda a thing with Ryanair. I tried asking the lady behind me, only to find out her English was very limited (I think she was Indian, so I wasn't even going to try French). She didn't know where to sit either, so she said to ask the flight attendant.

The flight attendant was sort of like you can sit here for example and just started pointing at random rows.

Needless to say, it was a pretty ghetto airline.

I took a seat, only for a flight attendant to ask me to move later so a lady and her 3,000 (more like three) kids traveling with her could all sit together.

Ryanair does not play. To get any food on the flight, you have to buy it (not that I'd want airplane food anyway). No wonder it's so cheap to fly with them.

As if I wasn't already convinced it was the most ghetto airline in existence, when the wheels hit the runway I heard the blare of a tacky trumpet tune, followed by an automated voice celebrating Ryanair having another on-time flight.


But I was finally there.

Italia.

Bonjourno.

It just so happens that was the only thing I knew how to say in Italian before my arrival.



























P.S.

The front of the house! My host mom's ballin' gardening skillz, yo 

My room! Where Suzanne and Tapette like to chill.

P.S.S.

No, I did not bring a huge stuffed bear with me across the Atlantic Ocean—it was already there.