And One for New Friends
Will and I have figured out our jobs. Between us, we can do pretty much anything we need. I do navigation in cities, Will takes care of the country. I learn to speak/read the language of wherever we are, and Will keeps me from getting myself killed by being stupid (a full-time job, according to him). I’ve figured out that by the end of the journey, I’ll have to try and get around using something like nine different languages. I’ve been doing okay in French, but it’s a LOT easier for me when people speak English or Spanish.
We woke up super early today to try and get to the catacombs, because I really wanted to see them. We went to the big train station, Gare du Nord, and put our bags in a locker. On the subway to the catacombs, I asked Will if we were leaving from Gare du Nord. He said that he assumed so. I asked if we should check, and he said, “Probably.” I checked. We were not leaving from there. In fact, we were leaving from the Western side of the city, from Paris St. Lazare. We were not going to see the catacombs. We went back up to Gare du Nord to get our bags.
While walking through the train station, I heard an American voice call out my name. I stopped in my tracks. To my surprise, I saw my friend Lizzie standing there. Lizzie and I had been pretty close freshman year, and I hadn’t seen her in ages. My sophomore year, she went abroad for a year, then she was basically abroad at Trinity when she came back (she was a total hermit). Lizzie and I hugged and caught up for a while. She then took us to St. Lazare and found us a French bakery so that we could get delicious pan au chocolat. I still can’t believe that I hadn’t seen her in years, then BAM! We see each other in Gare du Nord, Paris – talk about a small world!
Will and I took a train out of St. Lazare and transferred trains in Caen. Eventually, we found ourselves in Pontorson, a town in Brittany (I think). We couldn’t figure out how to get to our hostel because we had been led to believe that there was a bus from the Gare to the hostel (the bus runs once a day, and the train station lady spoke no English so we couldn’t figure out what was going on). Eventually, we found the tourism office, and the nice man there looked up our hostel and called them for us. The hostel was run by a super friendly British couple, Steve and Liz. Steve drove down to the Gare and picked us up. While we were waiting for him, we grabbed a beer at a Pontorson bar. We ordered one that we couldn’t pronounce called Grimbergen (it’s French, so it doesn’t sound like it’s supposed to). It was actually pretty damn good. Blonde ale or something, perhaps a hefeweisen?
Once we settled into our room, we went to go find a recommended restaurant called the Oystercatcher. We walked right past it because the sign wasn’t very clear, and we ended up about 1 kM up the road at a random creperie. We walked back down, and we found the place this time. The Oystercatcher was AMAZING. They were super cheap, and the food was delicious (or as Jaan would say, “Brilliant!”). Will had delicious chicken curry that exploded his head with tastiness, and I had a similarly delicious omelette. I ordered a second one. We drank Pelforth beer. We also played darts with some French guy and hung out there until 2100 or something.
Finally, we went down to a wifi bar across the street from the hostel and had our first internet for about half a week. It was great. Then bedtime.
Will’s Corner
Ex-pat Brits make damn good food.
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Dear Joe,
Did you ever know that we’re your heroes? Answer: Yes.
Love,
Will and Andy
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