of the corridor that I can see, so I have to wheel my
two very heavy cases down the aisle, one in front and
one behind, and then they have to go up on to the rack
above our heads, which doesn't look nearly wide
enough. Thankfully, I am sitting with an enormous
Indian family, and the gracious father helps put the
cases up on the rack - they are so heavy, I apologize
and feel foolish and want to explain that it's only
because I'm away for 6 months, and I had to pack for
2 seasons and 4 different climates….I am happy to
be with this family, cozy in the corner with my 2
chocolate bars and my huge bottle of water -
WAIT!! WHERE'S THE LOO?? Oh, it's just behind
me.
The taxi ride to the station, Gare de Lyons, is totally
hairy, with a mad driver who clips a cyclist on the
hand, or maybe it was just the handlebar - I hope it
was just the handlebar - and then she is racing to
catch up to scream at him, and he is trying to get
away from her, but having to stop at red lights, and
I'm sitting in the back seat just praying that no matter
what I would not miss my train. Cars and motorbikes
are cutting in and honking, and the driver is asking
me things that I don't understand; a true test of
bilingualism: talking to a taxi driver who is clearly
not from Paris himself.
In the station, thank God Marie told me about the
two stations, the old Lyons and the new one -
because the notice board doesn't even announce
the track until 20 minutes before departure, and if
I hadn't known to be in the new Lyons, I would have
been running. Everyone is rushing to get on the
train, and there is a massive group of students who
are blocking the way with their luggage and their
iPhones and their excitement. When I get on the
train, I know that I'm looking for seat number 17.
But the seat numbers begin at 65, and I'm thinking
that maybe I will have to get all the way down to
the other end of the train with my two heavy cases
and two shoulder bags. The numbers jump quickly,
though, and now here I am watching other people
rush for their seats, feeling smug. When the
conductor comes to ask for tickets, the father of
the big family shows him all the separate tickets,
and indicates where everyone is sitting, spread
out over several seats, and the conductor doesn't
even see me - and the mother says to me, You're
part of the family.
Oh! The train has started! Goodbye Paris…
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