An American Girl in Avignon

5/7/09
It all started Thursday afternoon. Zoey didn’t know if she was able to go to Barcelona, since she wasn’t able to buy her ticket until after Marie, Elisse, and I had already bought ours. Unfortunately, this meant that there was no room left on the bus we would be taking, but we decided to try and switch one of our tickets, so no one would have to ride home on the bus all alone (my bus got in at 4:30 in the morning on Monday before class…let’s just say I drank practically a liter of coffee beforehand, and Zoey’s was scheduled to get back Sunday morning around 8:00).

Zoey enlightened me on her theory on the way to the gare: she is convinced that we are all on a reality tv show. Meaning that the people and events we come across on a daily basis are placed to test us and keep the audience asking, “what would they do if…?” After all that has happened here (which of course, can’t all be mentioned in a blog), and my weekend, I am beginning to believe the theory too (not seriously, but man, I tell you what….it would get good ratings!)!

So who would have thought that finding a bus station would have been more difficult that pulling teeth? We asked around five different people, who all told us different things, and once we finally found the gare, we realized that we had walked past it three or four times. This was the start of my most bizarre yet wonderful weekend yet. After standing in line for around thirty minutes trying to get Zoey’s ticket changed (all while explaining this in our elementary French, of course), the woman behind the desk told us that a switch would not be possible after all. Zoey would have ride back on the late night bus alone.

Tired from walking around Avignon in search of the mysteriously camouflaged gare, I went back to my house to pack (which I waited to the last minute to do). As soon as I got up to my room, Kristina informed me that we would have to tell our host mom that we would be moving out the following week. Great. This was going to be awkward. “So, thanks for dinner. Oh, by the way, we are moving out. See you Monday, because I’m peacing-out for Barcelona tonight.” How bad does that look? But it was necessary that we tell them that night. The sooner, the better. We had to give them close to a week’s notice under contract anyway, so if we wanted to get out of there, we would just have to suck it up and say it. I prayed the whole way down the stairs after the usual “À table” was yelled.

Dinner was eerily silent. Kristina and I shot glances at each other from across the table and ate in complete silence, knowing what we had to do. The hardest part was starting the conversation. We both told her we wanted to talk with her for a few minutes after we put our dishes away, but began beating around the bush as to what we really wanted to talk about. Finally, someone had to spit it out. Thankfully, it was Kristina. Brave soul. Surprisingly, Madame M was cooler with it than we thought she was going to be. She said, “Well, if that’s how you feel, I respect it, and you can leave.” I think she was secretly happy to see us leave. The feeling is mutual. Of course after telling them this, the most ear-piercing silence started, so I started talking, and talking. I was trying to make the situation better by showing that we weren’t rude, spoiled Americans and were thankful for some of the things they had done for us. My nervousness caused me to keep talking. I didn’t know how exactly to end a conversation after I had just told them I would be leaving. Is there any appropriate way to do that? My experience there wasn’t all bad there, but after living with Martine for the past few days, I know that I am now experiencing what a host family is supposed to be: she does the job perfectly. I am so thankful to have the chance to live with her, even if there is only a month remaining in the program.

Running with my bag in hand, butterflies still in my stomach after speaking with the family, I ran to catch the bus at 11:30. Our tickets said to “check in” at 11, but when we reached the station, we all went into panic-mode, because it was closed. Thinking and praying that we weren’t out 60-some euros for our tickets, we decided to try a bus stop along the ride of the road. Bingo. It was the right spot. We weren’t late at all. In fact, the bus was an hour and a half late! That meant that we would be arriving in Barcey around 6 in the morning. Oh, this was going to be interesting. Knowing that I probably wouldn’t sleep, I mentally prepared myself for the long day ahead. Little did I know what weirdness was waiting for me in the second row…

Marie, Zoey, Elisse, and I were the last ones to board, so the only seats left were up front. I sat next to a Hispanic-looking man in his late fifties; Elisse sat across from me and next to a woman who snored like a bear the whole ride; Zoey sat right behind the driver, and Marie was in the back next to a bunch of loud students who played cards throughout the whole 5 or 6 (I really don’t know) hour-long bus ride to Spain.

About halfway through the uncomfortable journey, the man next to me started moaning, groaning, and flinging his arms around like a mummy. This was the WEIRDEST moment of my life so far! I wish someone would have had a camera with them, because we would have won some sort of odd-ness condoning award. He was having a night terror – right next to me at like 3 in the morning on a crowded, dark bus. Oh, my life…this would happen to me! It was so scary yet cry-worthy, roll-on-the floor laughable at the same time. He performed his moaning spells two times and began to go into seizure-mode before grabbing my leg in his dream-like state. I leapt out of my seat like a gazelle (probably jumped like 3 feet off the ground) - shocked that he had grabbed me - and yelled, “Excuse me!!!” Of course, he wouldn’t understand this – he didn’t speak English. His arms reached out for my back as Elisse pulled me into her lap (where I stayed for a good ten minutes until he calmed down). The man, who was sitting behind us, shook the moaning man to wake him up and ask if he was okay. Nodding his head and jerking-back as if suddenly startled, he began to regain consciousness, having no idea what he had just done. I felt bad for him, and I am sure that he was embarrassed. But it was really scary. Needless to say, there was NO WAY I was sleeping after that. I sat literally on the edge of my seat for the rest of the ride, legs in the aisle, back to the man, just in case he started to have another night terror. I ran off the bus when we pulled into the station, wanting to kiss the ground and thank God I had made it to Spain in one piece. What a way to start my weekend! I think I am starting to believe that reality tv theory now…(just kidding :))