The day started out like any other on this vacation. We woke up at the butt crack of dawn in Séte, a fishing village in France, and had a quick breakfast before disembarking and heading to the train station. I wanted to see Carcassone, a beautiful medieval village in the south of France. It is the second most visited sight in France next to the Eiffel Tower... SUPPOSEDLY. However, since multiple French people I have encountered on this trip as well as those I have met in NYC had never heard of it, I’m beginning to wonder if that wasn’t just propaganda to get a silly tourist like me hyped up to see it. Truthfully, I love castles, so it wasn’t a hard sell. Our ship was doing an excursion to Carcassone, but at $200 a pop, we got cocky (and by “we” I mean “me”) and figured it was okay to go rogue and venture out on our own.
I am usually a planner when it comes to anything that involves travel and a tight time schedule (Carcassone is about an hour and a half by train), but today we decided to wing it. And that’s where the trouble started. Our return train was sold out, or in the ticket lady’s words “Full.” What does that even mean? In NYC, if you can cram yourself through the doorway of the subway car, then it isn't really FULL. In any case, we decided to book a later train, but if anything went wrong, we were going to be seriously SCREWED and all we’d be able to do is say, “Bon voyage,” as our ship sailed off for Spain with our passports and all our valuables on board.
But hey, might as well enjoy the day and think positive, right? And it truly was lovely seeing Carcassone. My poor mother had to use her rescue inhaler once or twice just to make it up the cobblestone path that led to the castle, but I think it was worth it. (You’ll have to ask her if she agrees, but I think she does, now that she is comfortably laying on a deck chair on our balcony.) Gazing at the castle made me want to break into the entire cast album from “Beauty and the Beast”. (The story takes place in France, doesn’t it?) Oh Belle, to be a prisoner in this castle wouldn’t be so bad, would it? My mom kept commenting to people as we walked around, most of whom had no idea what the hell she was saying. But they smiled and nodded politely at her, so I couldn’t help but think mom was super cute (and hopefully they thought so too).
Dogs were welcome in the castle (there was even a sign indicating such), which made me happy since dogs are always welcome everywhere in MY world. And maybe it’s me, but I feel like I’m seeing way more dogs here than in the U.S. But that could just be that I notice them even more here, because I know there will be no language barrier. Dogs speak “Dina” no matter where I am located. Or maybe I just speak the universal language of “Dog”.
Speaking of which, it’s an interesting/awkward thing when you don’t know the native language of the country you are in other than a few catch phrases like “Merci” or “Bon Jour”. I found myself trying to speak English with my faux French accent as if that would somehow make a difference in their ability to understand me. And I never want to disrespect anyone by expecting them to speak my language. One should never assume English is a universal language. When two different people asked me, “Hablas Español?”, it was music to my ears. Normally I’m timid with Spanish, but in France, my confidence level shot right up and I was firing off sentences as if it was my native tongue. Desperation, people, makes braver than you ever thought possible. (Kind of like liquid courage.)
And how did we get back to the ship, you ask? We snuck onto the earlier i.e. “full” train, that’s how! Yes, we were rebels WITH a cause. A barista in a cafe told us to just get on the sold out train and if a conductor questioned us, to start speaking in English and act confused (aka “American”). After being confused all day, we knew there would be no acting involved. As we boarded the train, I imagined us as criminals on the run, ducking into different cars to avoid the “evil” conductor. When my mom wanted to sit in an empty seat on this supposed full train, I felt so guilty. I kept looking around, waiting for someone to aggressively oust me from my seat while yelling obscenities at me in French. As it turned out, there were empty seats the entire ride back to port. We sat next to a very sweet mother with her toddler child who seemed to love my mom and me, and we never even SAW the conductor. He was nowhere to be found. I almost did a happy dance when we exited the train in Séte, but I figured that might be pushing it a bit. Better to save my dancing for the disco on the ship. The funniest thing was how blasé my mom was about the whole thing. She was convinced we’d get back to the ship somehow. Once again, a mother always knows.
Now we are about to sail out into the harbor and I am truly grateful to be on my deck (I’ve decided it’s too big to be a balcony and hence call it a deck) and not lost somewhere in France.
Bonsoir, France. Aqui vamos, España! (Let’s hope my Spanish speaking skills will fare as well when I arrive in port tomorrow morning.) Hasta la vista, baby.
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