In
truth, the words sounded far lovelier than I have written them, but they were
meaningless to my American ears. I would
have had trouble understanding them even if I had been able to comprehend
French. All words are more difficult to
understand over a train intercom.
As
beautiful as the train intercom French sounded, the other passengers’ groans
and grumbles told me the actual message was less than romantic. It probably explained why the train had
stopped. It probably explained why we
were just sitting there, only kilometers from the ferry terminal at Le Havre
with less than an hour before the ferry –my ferry! –was due to leave for
Ireland. It probably explained why I was
in danger of being stranded with little pocket change in a place where I did not speak
the language and had no one I could turn to for help.
The
year was 1994. Back in the 20th Century,
I was younger and full of the hubris that being younger brings. We had been given a short break from studies
at University College Dublin, where I was ostensibly attending a semester’s
worth of courses, although in truth I think I spent more time in the pub and at
parties than in class. What does one do
when in Europe with nothing to do and no sense of what anything costs because they use different currencies (plural in the pre-Euro era)? Why,
travel, of course!
My
friend Barbara had come over from the States to join me and my new friend, David,
on a continental jaunt. We all flew from
Dublin to Paris together (how grand!) to meet up with a fellow resident of Dublin
student housing, Marie, who picked us up at the airport. We spent some days in Paris sightseeing
before taking the TGV to Lyon, where a couple of French classmates of David’s met
us. From there, Barbara and I continued
onto Geneva, where she had family friends who gave us a place to stay. Venice. Munich. In those places, Barbara
and I stayed in hostels and we traveled by train. It was all very Before Sunrise. In Germany,
Barbara and I split up –her to fly home, and me to work my way back to Ireland
via ferry. In order to work my way back
to Ireland by ferry, I had to take a series of trains that led me toward Le
Havre.
It
was on that last train –just kilometers away from the ferry –that disaster
struck. Many people have experienced
worse disasters during their travels. I
did not know this at the time. All I
knew was that I was extremely confused and a little concerned. Concern turned to panic when another mysterious
pronouncement came over the loudspeaker.
The words themselves were not frightening –they didn’t mean anything to
me. No, the scary
part was when the grumbling French-speaking passengers walked off the
train. Wait! Don’t leave! What would I do if I missed that ferry? I had no money to pay for a place to stay. I had no money to pay for anything --only centimes! I reluctantly followed the crowd off of the
train because what else could I do?
We were herded toward a parking lot. I hyperventilated as we stopped there –and
stayed stopped there for what felt like hours. No one moved from that spot. They
just stood there and spoke French to one another. “Why did I study German and Spanish?” I
thought to myself in English.
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