A missed train.
February 2, 2014 ~ I arrived in Bourg-en-Bresse /borkuhnmbress/ train station thinking I was going to take the three o'clock train, just in time for my Covoiturage* reservation in Lyon at 4:00 P.M. First thing I did when I woke up in the morning, I checked the Bourg-en-Bresse train website and the schedule was correct. Although Covoiturage was half the price, if only I was able to get a reply from my reservation request, the train ticket was not bad at 12 euros (PhP 740.743) for an hour trip. En effet, I went to the station only to find out there was no scheduled train for Lyon at 3:00 P.M. Nada, rien, nothing, niets."C'est bizarre, c'est trop bizarre! Ce (n'est) pas possible (It's strange, it's so strange! It's not possible)." I muttered repeatedly under my breath, practicing my French accent in real situations. I tilted my head up to stare at the static train schedule board. I gave it a solid minute hoping to see a flash of miracle but the act only disproved my telekinetic powers. The schedule didn't move.
I made a big sigh by bursting an exhale from my larynx forcing my flatly sealed lips to open from the release of air pressure, the French way of expressing frustration. Considering my efforts (albeit last minute, oops!), I was stunned that I got it all mixed up, while taking mental note to make quadruple checks obligatory, as well as being more expansive and careful about website translations. C'est vraiment necessaire. (It is truly necessary).
Understand that in France, everything (as in everything) is in French, even yes (oui /wee/) and no (non /noh/). In short, imagine yourself talking to and living among aliens (who make the best of wines and cheese).
"Ce (n'est) pas grave," elle me dit. (It's not so bad, she said to me.) Coupled with a smile and a brisque stance out of the Bourg station, my fairy godparents, Chantal and Daniel, took me to my next destination by car. On va aller à Lyon (One is going to Lyon). I deposited myself heavily at the backseat, fell into a nap and was only awaken by Daniel's remark halfway through: il fait beau (It's a beautiful day).
A few encounters.
My second ride from Lyon to Les Allues was with a young French woman named Alizé. She was a year younger than me. She had long, brown hair styled in a messy half-bun. Her sunglasses pushed back to the middle of her head somewhat serving as a headband. A few strands of hair sway through the visible side of her face as she swivels her head to my direction as we talk, and then back to the road as she drives. I was seated at the back, another middle-aged French guy from Lille was seated in front. Both cheered me on having mentioned early on it was going to be my first ever experience to do ski."Where are you from?" Alizé asked. "Philippines." I said. I saw her face lit up. She has not been to the Philippines but her friends have had and she was told nice things about the country. So good were the stories it made her regret not stopping by when she traveled the world for five years in a boat. First two years with her parents, the next three years with her friends. She's determined to still visit someday. I am positively drawn to her beach-island girl vibe, I concluded.
During a stopover, the French guy offered us chocolate bars with grated coconut. J'aime bien la noix de coco, he said. I politely refused. Où est-ce que tu habites? (Where do you live?) I asked instead. Lille, he said. C'est loin! (It's far!) I said, recognizing an old neighbouring city. J'habite à Gand (I live in Ghent), I said. I meant to say I lived in Ghent but has not arrived at my French past tense lessons yet. C'est une grande ville (It's a big city), I said, running out of French words to describe my impression of Lille during a visit. I meant to be polite, too, just that my brain was not in vous mode. The guy hardly spoke English, I was struggling with my French, he chatted with Alizé, I went on to read my overpriced American business magazine, only sporadically joining in their conversation, in between naps and reading.
After three hours, the French guy got off, I transferred to the front seat and was able to speak to Alizé without taking her eyes too long off the road. We had a good exchange in English, and Alizé is that type who makes it so easy for people to talk to her. She's polite, I find most French people are, friendly and engaging. I asked her about her experiences traveling by boat. She does know how to drive a boat. When I asked how they did parking from one country to another, she said they had to report to the country's navy office with their and the boat's papers and pay the fees. Lots of follow-up questions and detailed answers followed, making the rest of the drive immensely enjoyable.
Some realizations.
Alizé dropped me off at a bus station, I stood outside a small chalet while waiting for Bus D to come. A girl went inside the chalet and I was close enough to hear her talking in English over the phone. I stepped inside hoping to refuel my still chatty mood. "Are you going to Mottaret, too?" I said as soon as her glance met mine after she puts down her phone. "Yes," she said. The non-committal reply ejected me out of the dim-lit chalet. Snow is out of ice yet some people do manage to be colder. But it could just be fatigue since it was getting quite late, I argued to myself.It was around 8:00 P.M. and tall street lamps lighted up the roads in a non-aggressive, cosy manner. Except for the main roads, everything was covered in snow but the distant views were almost pitch black. Along the pedestrian, my head was bent down looking at my feet alternately kicking off snow as I took a stroll. I stopped by the lamplight and rested my arms unto a low wall, still waiting for Bus D. I couldn't wait for tomorrow morning's view, I kept thinking.
My thoughts went from anticipation to that of wonder when I saw silver dusts in the air. They readily reminded me of our art subject in gradeschool when we would use refined silver foil for our DIY Christmas card projects. Who could be doing crafts at this very hour, I thought to myself, for I must warn her that her stash of silver dusts are flying in the air! I traced the dusts and found nobody, personne, doing crafts. It was snow! The white, fine snow falling from the sky was getting light reflection from the lamp providing a silverdust-like appearance. It was a brief magical moment of being inside a snowball. So this is how a white Christmas feels, I told myself. Bus D arrived, I hopped in and said bonsoir to the driver with a smile.
A first time.
Everyone was up at 8 in the morning, by 9:00 A.M. I was out and told to slide through the mountain of snow to get to the Tourist office. I was petrified! "But where are the stairs, Julien?" "There are no stairs. You have to walk, it's okay." Remotely embarrassed by my inability to walk down a mountainous snow, I told Julien my legs are too stiff and too scared to move. Still, I managed not to cry.While everyone flew me by in their skis and snowboards, I was focused on my breathing and followed Julien's suit. Reading capital F-E-A-R on my face, he gave me constant reassurance I won't fall. I needed every bit of that reassurance. Slowly, I made it down without a scratch and earned 0.5 of self-trust to physically handle myself on ice. Next stop, ski lessons. From the tourist office, to the ski equipment rental, to the kiddie slope, my heart was a big thug. I don't recall being that shit scared my entire life.
*Covoiturage is a carpooling service (I primarily use when I travel) in France (Belgium & The Netherlands).
I took this photo from the balcony of the chalet where seven Strasbourg guys were staying. Watch out for the second part of the story coming soon! 
