Arras, Vimy (and a stopover in Paris) – Nov. 22-26

Thursday, November 22

I arrived back home from my volleyball games around 11pm and I checked the internet one more time to make sure the SNCF strike was not going to affect the trains I was planning on taking to get to Arras the next morning. I turned down the invitation of some friends on my floor to go to a bar downtown, explaining to them that I needed to shower and pack my bag for the train that I'm taking at 5:30 in the morning.

I took my time.

At 2 in the morning, Rachael and Malissa get back from the bar and come knock on my door. I’m still up, and since I tell them that I was planning on getting up at 4am anyway, they decide I don’t need to sleep and that they’ll keep me awake with stories from the bar until I have to leave for the bus in a few hours.


Friday, November 23

At 4:30 in the morning, I grabbed my bike and headed to the bus station in the dark and in the rain--one of the only rainy days Aix has seen this year. I got to the train station and had to wait outside in the dark, freezing cold, wind, and rain for a seemingly very long ten minutes because the station doesn’t open until 5:10. Once inside, I couldn't buy my ticket either because the machines don’t accept Canadian visa cards. I decided I'd buy it from the man on the train, but knowing it'll be a little more expensive. Rats.

I heaved my bike onto the train and headed to find the controller. “Sorry miss, bikes aren’t allowed on the TGV’s. We’ll have to kick you and the bike, or just the bike, off at the next stop,” he says with a twinkle in his eye. I let out a sigh despairingly, and explained that on all the trains I’ve been in, there has been a room or an area to place bikes so they’re not in the way or a security hazard to passengers. Apparently, that’s not the case for TGVs. He notices my accent, asks me where I’m from and explains to me that bikes should usually be dismantled and put in a special bag before coming on the TGV, but that he won’t fine me the 45€ this time. I love being Canadian. I still hadn't bought my ticket, but he said he’ll let me do that later.

After finding a really awkward between-car seat, and attempting to contort my bike into a position that will not be in the way of the aisle, the controller came back to me with a giant kit of some sort in his hands and proceeded to ask me if I know first aid. It was 5:50am, and with the controller looking over my shoulder, I was cleaning, disinfecting, and steri-stripping a vertical gash on the forehead of a guy about my age who had walked into the train door as it was closing. Brilliant. After he’s all patched up, he invited me to coffee as “the least he can do for helping him”. In the middle of my explanation that I should really stay seated with my bike, the controller chimed in with “oh no, it’s okay, I’ll watch your bike in the mean time.” Fan-freaking-tastic. Small talk and hot chocolate on a train going 300km/h at 6 in the morning. Awkward.

Three hours later, I arrived in Paris and needed to change train stations. Since the strike was going on with the metros even, I decided to hop on my bike, and explore a bit on my way to the other station (while also looking for a bike store to buy one of those bloody bags I supposedly need to hop on another TGV). The one-hour TGV I took from Paris to Arras did indeed have a place at the very end of the train where I could put my bike safely. I made it to Arras, hopped on my bike, and explored the city while waiting for the Vimy guides to get off work so I could meet them at their place. It got dark and cold really fast. Makes me happy that I’m living in the South. I had an awesome night laughing and catching up with friends from the Hill in Ottawa.



Saturday, November 24

Vanessa didn't work today, so we woke up and headed to the massive market they have in the city. They have EVERYTHING—from clothes, to fruits and veggies, to 3-feet wide pans of paella, to live chickens and rabbits.


We went home, ate lunch, and relaxed a bit. Muqing and Laura (the Italian girl who came with her when she stayed with me) showed up with one of their friends. They’re studying in Lille—about half an hour away. They headed to the Vimy site, but I decided to go the next day, on a Sunday, when everything else is closed and all of the guides are working. However, when I discovered that Brie, another guide, and her brother were driving out there with the car he rented, I took advantage of the ride, but only had time for Colleen’s guided tour of the tunnels before the site closed for the day. Really interesting stuff.




After inviting all the guides, even those from the other house, to the crêpe night I was preparing as a thank-you for letting me stay with them, I picked up the supplies on the way back. I got started right away, and by the time I was done the first batch, there were already double the amount of people in the house. After finishing the second batch, more people had showed up, and after the third batch, Jean-Michel helps me make even more. It was delicious, and fun. With all the guides, security, brothers, boyfriends, friends, there were maybe just over twenty people. We had nutella, lemon, sugar, cinnamon crisped apples, cheese, and even peanut butter (which the guides had gotten from some of the veterans who stop by the site, because peanut butter is not something you find in France)!! We were all stuffed full of crêpes by the end of the night, and so playing airplane, games of risk, and seated chatting ensued.



Sunday, November 25

After sleeping in a bit in the quiet house, I hopped on my bike and rode the 15km (uphill and against the crazy wind) to the site. This time I actually made it to the monument.


It’s pretty impressive—much more so than the postcards or pictures I’ve seen. The explanations were even more interesting, and like most monuments, not a single detail was left out.



“On a clear day, you can see all the way to Belgium.”

After spending quite a bit of time in the freezing wind outside, we headed back to the Welcome Centre (which I was surprised to learn was about a 20-minute walk from the actual monument). Since every one of the guides works on Sundays, there are enough of them to cover when a couple of them go do some ongoing training. This just happened to be one of those ongoing training weekends, and Vanessa even managed to convince their boss to let me tag along. It was fantastic. Being on bike doesn’t get you too far when you’re in the middle of nowhere! We went to Mont St-Eloi to see the ruins of a cathedral, a church, and the cemetery from which the Unknown Soldier at the War Memorial in Ottawa was taken.




We returned to Vimy, and I took off on my bike to dry to beat the dark back to the guide house. The 15 km went much smoother on the downhill. The evening was spent eating pizza, fries, and flan, and watching a good hour of movie previews before deciding to watch an actual movie then head to bed. It’s only been three months since I’ve been here, but I didn’t recognize a single movie that was coming out in North America! I also haven’t watched TV since then, so it’s understandable.


Monday, November 26

‘Twas another day full of trains and chaos! I woke up, having said most of my goodbyes and thank yous the night before, but I said goodbye to Vanessa who had the day off, and left to grab my bike from in front of the house and head to the train station. When I saw my bike, it was still attached three times to the pole (I have the two locks that came with the bike, and my lock that I brought with me), but something didn't seem right. It looked more and more suspicious as I got closer, and then I realized that something was very wrong. There were spokes that were loose, some even kicked in, the piece that enables the front light to work had been completely contorted and bent beyond belief. The front brakes were messed up and the back brake wheel had been severely dented. The splash-guard was deformed so that it rubs against the wheel and makes a weird friction noise, and plastic around some of the wires was cut and the one thing that most affected the usefulness of the bike was the speed changer attached to the back wheel had been absolutely destroyed. Therefore, no matter how hard I pedal, there’s no resistance (unless I’m going up a huge hill) and I don’t move very far very fast. That’s kind of the purpose of having a bike.

I had a train to catch, so I didn't have time to deal with the bike problems then, but I know that now, on top of the convincing I’ll have to do to get my bike on the TGV’s back to Aix, I’ll still need to fix this bike. I almost cried, the damage was so bad. The whole day and even now, I wonder what on earth inspires people to see a bike and absolutely kick the crap out of it?! That is not a normal reaction. It’s not a very nice reaction. You have to be one stupid idiot to see a bike and think, “gee, that’s not mine, but I think I’m going to kick, punch, bend and distort everything I possibly can.”

I got in trouble again on the second TGV from Paris to Aix for having the bike with me. I played stupid again (well, the first time I didn’t PLAY stupid, I actually was—I didn’t know!). When the controller asked me if it was my bike, asked to speak with me outside the car, and then asked where I was from, he said to just sit down for now, and he’d come back to deal with it. I had a feeling he wouldn’t be back… and he wasn’t. I guess I could consider that part of my day “luck”--even though my bike looks like it was in a demolition derby. I was so thankful. Other than the hassles with the bike (I really wish I had just left it at home… but oh well, I know now for the next time), it was an awesome trip. I had a lot of fun catching up with fellow Canadians and seeing the Vimy site, and the city of Arras. I even got to see Notre Dame all done up for Christmas on the way back!

Madrid (November 8 – 11th)

This weekend was an interesting and eventful one. I went to Madrid, and it was pretty good. I ate a ton of good food and explored the city a bit. My Spanish was pretty rusty, but it slowly comes back to you… especially when you’re forced to get yourself out of a sticky situation! What sticky situation, you ask? Well, in a nutshell: We missed our flight back. We shelled out big bucks to fly back the day after.

For the more detailed version, read on…

Thursday, November 8th

This trip was planned with Ben, the hardcore Quebecer. We checked in at the airport and even got priority boarding (to not have to play the fight-for-the-best-seat game on the plane) because we only had a backpack each. On the plane, we met a guy our age from Marseille, Olivier, who was on his way to visit his girlfriend in Madrid. They met while on exchange. When we arrived in Madrid, we took the metro downtown and Olivier showed us this great little place to get these mini-sandwiches with absolutely ANYTHING in them, and so the three of us sat to eat a while before Olivier needed to leave to meet his girlfriend. Smoked salmon + Spanish cheese = delicious! White chocolate + cranberry jam = most AMAZING thing that will ever happen to your taste buds!!!

Food and how you eat it will tell you a huge amount about a culture. The fact that we all ordered separately, but all our food came on the same plate surrounding a pile of “patatas fritas”, shows you how close everyone is and how much of a communal thing eating actually is in Spain!

We wandered a little on our way to find out hostel and dropped off our bags. MADhostel (in the picture) is a nice place: very clean, rooms of four, sheets, towels, massive individual lockers that are activated by this watch-like bracelet that you wear that also gives you access to the hostel and the common room (tv, pool table, sofas and a bar).

There was a girl from Alberta in our room and a guy from New Zealand. The girl had been travelling for 3 months already, and I guess it had caught up to her because she was sicker than a dog. Couldn’t even sit up without getting nauseous. My thoughts at the time: Poor girl. She better not be contagious. (I don't remember in which order they came to me.)

We headed to el Parque del Bueno Retiro, a 162-acre park that features botanical gardens, many rollerbladers, many couples, and even a place where couples, friends, and fathers and daughters could rent small rowboats to paddle about on the enormous pond bordered by a massive monument. It was quite charming.



As it was already dark when we finished wandering around, we headed to eat a “snack" since people in Spain don’t eat dinner until around 10 or 11pm. We went to what appeared to be a Spanish chain restaurant called “El Museo del jamón”: The Ham Museum! It was great though, because it was a very non-touristy place and no one spoke a lick of English. All the locals were standing around the bar, there were some chest-height tables on one side, so everyone ate while standing. We ordered some jamón (obviously) and some calamari. Ben’s glass of beer cost him €0.80 (MORE expensive than a glass of water)!

Back at the hostel, we had a nap before heading out to eat at 11pm. We wandered in search of a good tapas place (preferably another place with no tourists). It was delicious. Croquettas are mouth-watering fried balls of goodness filled with cheese and ham! The sangria was also nice.


Friday, November 9th

Ben, being the art history major, insisted on visiting the Prado. Since I had heard that it gives the Louvre a run for its money, I had no objections to going.

I’m going to be truthful: I’m writing this after the fact, and what happens on the day following this one totally overshadows this day. Therefore, all the details of this particular Friday, November 9th in Madrid aren’t quite clear in my mind. I do remember the size of the museum, the amount of time we spent in it, and the lunch we had eating the best paella I’ve ever had, with an assortment of treats for dessert. We walked into the Madrid train station that has a jungle growing inside. We wandered downtown past an enormous church and the royal palace. I’m banking on the fact that what we ate for dinner was also good--that seems to be the trend with Spanish food.




Saturday, November 10th

Since we had done the Prado the day before and didn’t have time for the more contemporary Reina Sofia museum, we decided to start the day out with the Reina Sofia when it opened at 10am and stay ‘til noon (and no later), hop on the metro, and head to the airport. Ben was fully aware of the plan.

The morning at the hostel started out as planned. I even got up at 8am, packed up my stuff, and headed down early for the provided breakfast and so I could use the internet. Ben met me downstairs later when he woke up. We checked out and headed to the Reina Sofia. We explored on our own. (Fantastic, by the way. I liked it better than the Prado, though that was really good, too.) At noon, I went to find Ben, who had only just finished the first floor (there were two floors and two temporary exhibitions). He begged for an extra 30 minutes so he could quickly do the next floor and go to the boutique. I said okay, and that it might be pushing it, but we would just have to boot it afterwards.

With a story like “we missed our plane”, those of you who know my tendencies to be tardy might naturally assume that it was MY fault. But no, I take things like flights seriously! So I took the extra half an hour to visit the temporary photography exhibit (I think it was my favourite part) and glance at the over-priced boutique. Ben came in, bought out the boutique, and then we left and headed quickly to the metro station. On the way there, Ben said he was hungry and that he hadn't had his traditional kebab yet (he gets a kebab in every city he visits), so not only did he start looking for a place to grab a quick bite, he actually started frantically searching for a kebab store (we’d seen dozens, but of course, when we're looking for one specifically, there weren't any in sight). He didn't find one, and because I was checking my watch every 20 seconds, he settled for a hot dog place. He ordered a whole meal--fries, drink, and all--and then we headed to the metro station.

(On a side note, as we were getting onto the metro, we felt a huge push coming from behind. As I’m wrapped my arms around my backpack that I was wearing on my front, I heard Ben behind me saying to some guy “Hey! Gimme back my wallet!” Ben got pick-pocketed, and this sleazy guy and his friend were totally playing innocent. I didn’t know what had happened because I was in front of them, but Ben was convinced that this was the guy who had taken his wallet and kept asking him for it. The dude was stupid, but finally gave in and gave him back his wallet. Then he stood there beside us for they whole way until getting off at the next station. Now yes, Ben is a smart guy and he’s wise enough to be conscious of the tricks that pickpockets use, but after the dude taking his wallet out of his kangaroo pocket, Ben slipped it into his front jeans pocket. And right before the sleazy guys left the metro, the sleazy friend snatched the wallet back out of Ben’s front pocket. I hesitate to say “lucky” for Ben’s three-pound wallet because it’s easy to feel when it’s being taken out. Ben caught the second guy and grabbed it back out of his hand in mid-steal. The whole situation terrified me [and Ben, I would imagine] and just disgusted me, to tell you the truth. Having a money belt under my clothes is definitely the way to go. I feel safer that way.)

Back to the flight-missing story… so Ben ordered his food, hopped on the metro, nearly got pick-pocketed--twice!--and then lost his appetite because of what had just happened. The metro took us a while. The airport was huge, and we had to get to the furthest end of it. AND in the heat of our sprinting, we passed the 300’s and ran all the way to the 100’s only to realize that the RyanAir check-ins were in the 300’s. We ran all the way back. It was 1:33 and the flight was scheduled to leave at 2:00. The RyanAir people told us check-in shuts down 40 minutes before the flight. I knew that. Ben knew that. These people weren’t going to make an exception for us. I was choked. Really, really, freaking choked.

The next two hours spent in the airport are sort of fuzzy. We checked into other flights to Marseille for the day. We checked into flights to Toulouse--a 5-hours train ride from Marseille. We met another couple who were in the same situation as us, and together, we looked into taking the overnight train. We even researched renting a car and driving to France. It was a weird couple of hours. When Ben asked me “Are you mad at me?”, I was still in shocked-at-missing-a-flight and now-working-on-finding-every-next-option mode. I replied that I was frustrated with the situation. It hadn’t even clicked to appoint blame and that the blame should be on him, so yes, I was steaming mad at him. Oh well, it would have been stupid and useless to the situation for me to say that. Factoring in gas, toll fees, food, and hotel, believe it or not, paying 75€ for a flight the next day and staying for one more night in a hotel or hostel, was actually the “cheapest” option. I was not pleased.

Ben and I, and the other couple and their baby boy (it was a black couple, in their thirties, from Martinique, a French country in the Caribbean), went to go hunt for a hostel/hotel, and after several unsuccessful attempts, we luckily found one after my nothing of Spanish getting us through to this one-star hotel-owner who was the nicest lady in the world. She didn’t speak a lick or French or English, but she was so patient and really was trying her best to help us. She didn’t have any rooms for the night (the common theme of the night, seeing as it’s a long weekend in Madrid, so Spanish people from all over the country are here for some random holiday or something) but she actually went upstairs a few floors with us to another hotel and asked the lady there. The couple and their baby were in one room and Ben and I were in another room. Two rooms. 35€ for each of them. Two beds in each room. It was even slightly cheaper than the hostel.

Now, one of the rooms was only accessible after 8pm, so we all left our stuff in one room, and then we went out with the couple for dinner (after wandering around with a stroller and baby for over an hour because Ben thought he knew where he was going) and then we did groceries for breakfast in the morning, and went back to the hotel. Ben read. I went out for a walk at 11:30pm. I came back at 1am. (The city was still buzzing. Apparently people don’t go to bed until about 6am.) I needed some time alone for myself to de-stress a bit.


Extra costs to this trip:
- Plane: 10€ original flight + 75€ for tomorrow’s flight
- Metro ticket: 2€
- Hotel: 17.50€
- Dinner: 9€
- Breakfast tomorrow: 3€
- Zanda’s de-stressing chocolate fix: 3€ (and it was even a Spanish specialty--churreros!)
- Metro ticket back to airport tomorrow: 2€
- Total: a fortune!! None of this mastercard “priceless” crap. With what I spent on the original trip and food, it came out to be quite a lot.)

I mean, sure, I missed the flight too, so I guess I have to take some of the blame for missing the flight. I could have left Ben and just headed to the airport, but that would have been a really catty thing to do, so I didn’t seriously contemplate that idea. (Although on the second attempt at catching the flight, I wouldn’t have even blinked an eye to leaving on my own early to get checked in and through security early. I learn quickly.) The next morning, after eating the stuff we had breakfast in our hotel room, we left with the other couple and arrived HOURS early for the flight, and as it turns out, the check-in and security lines took us about an hour and a half! With very limited and tense conversation between myself and Ben, we made it back to Marseille and then back to the comfort of our own rooms in Aix.

Anyhow, it’s a funny story, eh? Hah. Hah. I wasn’t laughing at the time, but I suppose it gives me a good story.