Don't get me wrong, it wasn't the most difficult thing ever, but as I decided to take advantage of the non-existent weight limits on the Eurostar I travelled with one large, very heavy suitcase, and one small, heavy suitcase as well as an ordinary bag (complete with my brick of a laptop in it)... Yeah. My arms and shoulders are definitely killing me today.
The plan was destroyed the moment I walked into Wolverhampton train station. I was half an hour early because I knew I'd packed a lot of stuff and didn't want to risk missing my train because of it. I needn't have worried. My train was showing as fifty minutes late. Normally that train starts in Wolverhampton so I was a little confused as to how it could already be late, but it turned out that today it started in Scotland, and because of the flooding in the North of England, it was severely delayed. Not helpful. After waiting ages to find this out and that they weren't able to put on a train starting in Wolverhampton because of a lack of staff, my dad (helping me with my cases) and I powerwalked for a train to Birmingham, desperately calling anybody who might be at a laptop to look up trains from Birmingham for me (damn my phone contract's limitations, and thank you, Louise). Great start.
The trains just generally seemed to be failing yesterday, just my luck. On arrival at Birmingham, they were changing platforms left, right and centre. The one I now wanted had no escalator. With no time to find the lifts, I began my struggle, but thankfully a nice woman helped me out. I made it on to the Euston train, and became that irritating passenger with all the stuff that blocks the whole train. I did try to get on an empty carriage but everyone followed me. More fool them. Regardless, that train was on time, an comfortable despite being packed, and thankfully Virgin Trains must have been having enough problems than to fight with me about buying a new ticket. My next annoyance came in the form of London tourists. No, I'm not a Londoner, and yes I was pulling two suitcases myself, but I know it well enough to not be a tourist in London, so I do get justifiably annoyed when they stop dead in front of you when you're on the move. Just trying to walk to St. Pancras here, guys. It was also at this point that I discovered it was possible to get bruises on your legs from walking with suitcases...
Thankfully, after a miscommunication led the Boots checkout guy to think I was going for a week with all this stuff, the Eurostar was a great leg of the journey. I relaxed into my seat and watched outside for a bit, and then put some TV on my laptop for the rest of Britain and the tunnel. I'm enjoying my Life on Mars fad at the moment. I spent time looking out of the window and listening to music when I got into France, reassuring myself that it wasn't so different. It is, after all, just a couple of hundred miles away from home. You can drive that far in Britain and still be in Britain.
Even in France I had people help me with my cases. I know we stereotype but I'm sure we are more polite about it in Britain. It's a culture thing though I know, I'm pretty sure it isn't deliberate. But I have to admit I was glad to not be staying in Paris when I got there. On arriving at the Gare du Nord, everything was fine. I managed to get some tickets (I bought un carnet of ten metro tickets for the next time I go to Paris, although I did use the English just to check I was buying the right thing) and then attempted the métro (the underground). It took two other foreigners - I think Italian although they didn't say anything - and myself to work the ticket barriers and get my case through. I'd given up on any attempts to blend in by this point as it wasn't working anyway. I only had one stop, and the stations are pretty different from London. They're much bigger down on the platforms than the good old London Underground tunnels (at least in the two I used) and the train itself was two-storey. A two-storey underground train! I'd have been more amazed if I weren't sweaty and disgusting and really ready to sit down somewhere.
Even in France I had people help me with my cases. I know we stereotype but I'm sure we are more polite about it in Britain. It's a culture thing though I know, I'm pretty sure it isn't deliberate. But I have to admit I was glad to not be staying in Paris when I got there. On arriving at the Gare du Nord, everything was fine. I managed to get some tickets (I bought un carnet of ten metro tickets for the next time I go to Paris, although I did use the English just to check I was buying the right thing) and then attempted the métro (the underground). It took two other foreigners - I think Italian although they didn't say anything - and myself to work the ticket barriers and get my case through. I'd given up on any attempts to blend in by this point as it wasn't working anyway. I only had one stop, and the stations are pretty different from London. They're much bigger down on the platforms than the good old London Underground tunnels (at least in the two I used) and the train itself was two-storey. A two-storey underground train! I'd have been more amazed if I weren't sweaty and disgusting and really ready to sit down somewhere.
On exiting the system, I decided not to use the ordinary turnstiles and go through somewhere more suited to my suitcases. It was like this giant plastic box where you enter, put in your ticket, wait for help, take your ticket and leave. Weird. I definitely got the "stupid foreigner" label. Even more so when I tried to follow signs to the main train station... and then they disappeared. And, direct appeal, apologies if you're reading this and actually French or Parisien, but please will you pick one side of the corridor to walk on? I tried the right, and got it wrong, and then tried the left, turned a corner straight into an oncoming stream of people. Yes, I totally gave up on looking cool. With many "désolée"s, I just got in the way of maybe just about everyone, but I like to think they got in the way of me... I can dream. They were probably even more exasperated/amused when I nearly fell down the escalator (my case got stuck on two steps and I overbalanced). I wish I were exaggerating but I genuinely momentarily feared for my life.
I finally made it into Gare Saint Lazare (think Bank for want of a comparison of walking distances), and collapsed in a heap on the floor. I bought a newspaper and a magazine about American Presidents in French but then all I really wanted to do was talk to somebody. I actually was desperate enough to pay for wifi. Twice. It didn't work either time. So that was €6 well spent. You live and learn. Eventually I made it onto the train and someone kind enough came and helped me with my case. Again. I ceased all manner of "I'm fine, I'll manage" quite early on in this trip. After stowing them away as best as I could in front of about ten intrigued French people, I went in search for a seat. I kid you not, the layout of the second class seats on French trains tipped me over the edge - it was four opposite four in these compartments - and I went back to sit on my suitcase, crying. Yes, I was the crying girl on French public transport. It had to be done, didn't it? But only for about five minutes, when I pulled myself together and put some English music on. Thank you, David Bowie, you will never know the support you gave me. I think the surrounding French people understood a little better when I had to show my passport with my train ticket. Ah, so she is the crying FOREIGN girl on French public transport. Awesome.
Safe to say that, at the moment, it is not "Paris, je t'aime", but "Londres, je t'aime et tu me manques".
Regardless, I got to my final station ok, even if fifteen minutes late, where I was met by one of the teachers I will be working with here. Thankfully, she is lovely, and has completely dispelled my fears of stuffy French English teachers. My flat has a problem with hot water, so for now I'm staying at the teacher's house with her husband and two young children until further notice, but everyone is very friendly. In typical me-style, I felt bad for them having made me food for when I arrived and I feel a little bit guilty that I've turfed the little boy out of his bedroom so I can sleep somewhere, but he seems bright enough today. They're both very energetic - I'd forgotten how children are - and I try to keep up with their French but it's hard! Nevertheless, their daughter likes my teddy bear and therefore I've been introduced to hers and all of her toys. They're very sweet, even though it's difficult to understand them - I have trouble with British children anyway... They've had fun trying to pronounce my name properly. It's not one the French seem to know (neither did the Germans when I visited Berlin), and apparently the students have already been discussing it in their class, trying to get it right.
But so far, so good. I slept late, had some food, and there has been a lot of talk. And, rather brilliantly, my teacher loves Harry Potter. This is excellent news. I'm still very tired and my arms and shoulders are aching from the suitcases (honestly, if only I had a picture! Use your imaginations to think how much of a wreck I might have been.) My French isn't as good out loud as it is in my head, and I definitely don't understand it all, but I'm trying (except for when I speak English, at her request, with my teacher) and I've already added to my vocabulary list. I've already started to adapt from I must know everything on my first attempt to it's ok to question things that I don't understand or remember, but I'm a little apprehensive about talking to people who have no back-up English. That will go in time. This afternoon I go to the bank to tackle bureaucracy problem number one. Then it is onto the French mobile number, and the French internet problem, and anything else that needs tackling. Soon I will explore the town and meet up with other teaching assistants, and it will hit me that I'm staying for longer than a week... I didn't enjoy my French exchange five years ago, but I'm hoping this will go a lot better.
Until the next time...
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