Tarantino running to Brussels.

I'm running...

... down a slippery, broken escalator in Gare du St. Lazare, chasing Alex and Gary, trying to find the metro we need to take us to the Gare du Nord station, where our next train leaves in less than 20 minutes. It is unclear whether I am more concerned with not falling, or making the metro train in time regardless of the cost.

All the signs are in French. (As well they should be, this is their country.) Through the train and metro stations I feel I'm running through an Escher piece as the escalator descent seems endless, praying that what I think says it leads to where we need to go actually is where we need to be.

I don't know any French. I can say "thank you" ("Merci") and "such is life" (c'est la vie). Alex doesn't know any French. Nor does the Scouse (Gary from Liverpool) with whom we're racing through the stations. When you don't know the language, you fixate on the one thing that says where you need to be, and you simply tell anyone you ask for help that one phrase. (In our case, "Gare du Nord"). Add the pathetic, "please, for the love of all that is good, help me" face, and you pretty much have a recipe for success in any country. (At least in this one we're less likely to hear anyone say, in a language we can understand, 'you can't miss it.')

Still running. Forget losing weight walking everywhere, how many calories does one burn when at a full-on sprint carrying a 'packed-to-capacity' backpack? This information could come in handy.

This morning started on a ferry, which was all around relaxing. We hopped the ferry last night at 21:30 from Rosslare, Ireland. 18 hours later after sleeping in berth accommodations and enjoying the cool ocean air and view, we land in Cherbourg, France.

Logic would lead one to believe that where the ferry arrives, there will be an easy and obvious connection to the Cherbourg train station. Mental note: From what I've seen thus far, logic won't serve you well in France. No connection to the train station. No bus to take ferry departures to anywhere. What you can do is call for a taxi, and pray to whatever diety you believe in that it arrives with alacrity, because the last train leaving Cherbourg to Paris for the day departs in half an hour.

Looking back, I'd like to think we could have planned this better. But we were destined to have this day from the beginning. The ferry we caught was the only one going at a time we could make it. It arrived into the station only an hour before the last train left for the day to get to Paris. 45 minutes after the train gets into Paris we have to switch train stations, i.e. find our way across town, in order to make the last train of the day leaving for Brussels. So, either sleep in a train station, (Cherbourg or Paris, take your pick), or make the trains. 

By the way, half an hour before departing the ferry, I'm doing the standard 'double-check'.

Passport? Check.

Sandwiches/food we have for the journey? Check.

Pay-as-you-go phone? Check.

Eurail pass you just validated the day before and will need for the next two months to move about the 21 countries you have planned on the to-do list? Uh oh...

Don't ask me where I left it, the last place I remember having it was in the pocket in which I always keep it. Perhaps it fell out. Perhaps it's vanished. Perhaps it was stolen, although I don't know when that might have happened. But regardless of how it happened, the fact of the matter is: My. Eurail. Pass. Is. Gone.

Adventure/inconvenience on the pilgrimage? Check.

The nice thing about the rail pass is that it will get you on most trains for free. The down side to rail passes is when you lose them. "No, we don't insure them, replace them, or provide you with any means of getting in touch with us should you run into an issue."

As you can imagine, I run the gamut of emotions between this realization and the first train from Cherbourg to Paris. Tears, peace/calm, frustration, and finally, as the French would say, "C'est la vie". I purchased a ticket from Cherbourg to Paris, but had the nicest ticket agent woman who only spoke a bit of English helping me, patient and kind as could be. (Which is exactly what I needed in my emotional state at the time). We all made it to the train with only minutes to spare. As I sat down on the three hour train from to Paris, I realized how thankful I was for the simplest of things:

1) The fact that simply being able to say "thank you" in someone's language can go a long way.

2) Being able to sit down.

3) Successfully making a train that almost left without you, and would have, had you been just a minute later.

4) The nice French man helping me with my ticket through to the train as I frantically struggle with the ticket-reading machine and try to pretend tears aren't streaming down my face.

5) The fact that my father is a genius, and a loving genius at that, who set up a local Skype number that counts as a local call from our phones, and we can call them anytime we need.

6) The company/fellowship of our Canadian and Scouse friends who needed to make the same train, and rode the taxi with us.

Life is good, we're on the train, and between my parents and I, a plan is already set in motion on how to provide a solution to my lack of rail pass predicament.

But alas, neither Alex nor I can rest easy, because we still have another train to catch, and we're not approaching the right station.

I'm running...

... down the slippery, broken escalator, chasing Alex and Gary our Scouse friend, hoping to find the metro to Gare du Nord in time. Apparently there are 4 or 5 different metro rails you can take to get there. But the nice ticket lady tell us we just need to take "E", and it will take us directly there. So the signs for "E" we follow. Down 6 escalators, through 2 tunnels, and finally come to a fork in the road. "To the right, 'E 33'; to the left 'E 34'". (Lord, help us.)

I approach a fellow wearing headphones (the universal 'do not disturb' sign). No time to heed his plea for isolation, I have no time, and a train to catch.

Me: "Which (she points) to Gare du Nord?"

Him: "Either. (By the way), 'Magenta' is 'Nord'."

Me: "Merci beaucoup!" (*More on the necessity of the multi-lingual 'thank you' to come in future blogs...)

So we caught the E at platform 33, which had 'Magenta' on the roster of stops. I'm not sure how we were supposed to know that 'Magenta' was 'Nord' had we not asked the nice French fellow. I'm thankful for him as well.

On the metro, and (praise the Lord), Gare du Nord is the first stop. (Which means, "North Station"). We just might make it to the train we really can't afford to miss. But once in the North Station, it's not exactly an easy time getting to our train, which now leaves in 10 minutes. Fortunately, by knowing the type of train we're taking ("Thalys") and by process of elimination, we follow the signs ("Grandes Lignes", which means "Inter city trains" and had "Thalys" on the same sign) that lead us to our train, minutes from departing the station. (FYI: On the train to Paris, we noticed in the rail pass book a note that said a reservation was required. But we just figured we'd take care of it once we arrived at the train station. We've always managed to get on the trains with the rail pass before.)

However, because this was the day of Murphy's Law, when we arrived at the train, they wouldn't let Alex on. (Keep in mind I had to buy a ticket back in Cherbourg, and therefore had a reservation. But Alex still had his rail pass. Up until this point we thought that meant he was the lucky one today, and I was the unlucky. Apparently not.) We were directed to a man in charge three cars down. We're running down the length of the train, praying we can make it on before they close the doors in 180 seconds. Fortunately, the man in charge speaks English. (Again, praise the Lord).

Me: "We need to get on this train."

Man In Charge: (Looks at my ticket). "Well you can."

Me: "No, we need to make a reservation for my brother here." (Shows Alex's rail pass).

M.I.C: "No, he needs a reservation. ALL HIGH SPEED TRAINS REQUIRE A RESERVATION."

Me: "We realize that now. Please, is there any way we can get him a reservation now?"

M.I.C.: "Ticket office." (Points back from where we came, far away from the train we stand next to.)

Me: "We'll never make this train if we go all the way back to the ticket office. We need to be on the next train."

M.I.C: "There is no next train."

Me: "We know. And we're very sorry we've done this wrong. What do we have to do to get him on this train leaving right now?"

M.I.C.: "98 euro."

Me: "98?! Shouldn't it be cheaper?!"

M.I.C.: "If you bought at the office, yes. But you can get on the train right now, at car 5, for 98 euro."

Me: "Thank you! Will we make it in time?"

M.I.C.: "I close the doors. You'll make it. You're welcome."

We hop on the train at car 5, put our massive and now incredibly heavy bags down, and decompress for a second. Our Scouse Samaritan friend offers to bring us drinks they can purchase from his seating (since he's in first class). We're more than grateful, and just happy to have made the train we need, and to have successfully avoided sleeping in the train station. The Scouse Samaritan returns with what can only be called shot size bottles of Coca Cola. I grin. What a day indeed.

The Flemish man in charge comes by to check tickets. Alex gets ready to pay the man the exorbitant amount, when M.I.C. says, "You know what I'm going to do for you this one time? I'm only going to charge you what it would have cost if you had made reservation at the ticket counter. You, lucky guy." Only 35 euros out of pocket now, Alex and I sit back, enjoy the comfy chairs and the lifted burden of our backpacks, and enjoy the Coca Cola. Our Scouse Samaritan friend visits, bringing us drinks and good conversation, making the 1.5 hour high speed train ride to Brussels peaceful, joyous, and refreshing. At the station in Brussels (Bruxelles Midi) we exchange contact information, and wish him well. Hopefully we'll meet up with him at his home in Amsterdam later in our trip.

We head out to the information station, anxious to meet our hosts in Brussels for the next few days, where they've said they'd meet us. (To add some drama to the day, we haven't yet figured out the ins and outs of making calls over here, especially from country to country. So I could not, for the life of me, figure out how to call our Brussels hosts. I ended up calling Dad, who Skyped them, and he called us back to tell us how to meet them. Again, way to go Dad for being so brilliant, crafty, and proactive in how you love your eldest two children as they trek across unknown territory, brave but naive in their journey across Europe).

I'm drinking a Dr. Pepper.

Alex and I are sitting at a table with Pam and Tim, who are yet another blessing to add to the list we've been given today. I'm drinking a Dr. Pepper, eating hot dogs, enjoying Nacho Cheese Doritoes (these haven't been overseas yet that we've seen), and Chips Ahoy chocolate chip cookies. Life is good.

I am thankful for:

*Fellow English speaking travelers headed in the same direction as we were today. The group all trying to find our way helped lead the others.

*The Liverpool Scouse accent. It will forever remind me of the Good Scouse Samaritan named Gary, who helped us find our way, kept us laughing in the process, and bought us metro tickets and drinks along the high speed train to Brussels.
*My parents, and their fantastic support and help on this journey, not to mention their patience with me as I frantically call them from a ferry trying to figure out what to do now that my rail pass is not turning up.

*The good Flemish conductor kindly helping us make the train, and then very kindly only making Alex pay the ticket reservation price, instead of the full 98 euro it usually would be when you buy at the train.

*Our Belgium hosts, providing us with a bed, a shower, a warm greeting, American food, Dr. Pepper, and an endless supply of kindness.

*The fact that regardless of the circumstances, the Lord not only provides the means, but people and circumstances to bring a lightheartedness to a stressful and tough day or situation.

*The fact that we are still alive, have a place to sleep, food in our stomachs, and are learning to appreciate the simplest of things in life.

Merci, mon Siegneur.

“When you travel, remember that a foreign country is not designed to make you comfortable. It is designed to make its own people comfortable.” –Clifton Fadiman


“Bizarre travel plans are dancing lessons from God.” –Kurt Vonnegut