Parlez vous aiglais? Anyone?

Woke up early to catch my morning train to Marseilles. Unfortunately, there aren't too many options so my 8:30 am departure was not a result of choice. Kent was sweet enough to see me off and since we arrived a bit early we were able to enjoy a breakfast of croissants and fresh squeezed orange juice. Delish.

I boarded my train minutes before it left and took a seat next to Brandon, who was traveling with four friends. They were all super nice chatty kids from Seattle and I was glad to have their company for the 4 hour ride to Montpellier (where I would catch my next train). About 10 minutes before the train pulled into the station, a man sitting across from me and one row back began talking to himself. I had noticed him getting up a few times during our trip, and I was about to find out where he had been going. He suddenly started yelling towards me, asking in spanish where I was from. The more I ignored him, the louder he got. Finally I answered him with a meek "America". "Ah, American" he bellowed. "From where?". I hesitated before telling him California. He laughed and immediately went into his own rendition of "Hotel California". It was a pretty fascinating performance. My new friends and I uncomfortably enjoyed this drunken display which eventually gave way to what we thought was possibly a prideful cheer for Barcelona's soccer team. Ah... thank goodness for the bar car.

After about an hour in Montpellier, where I enjoyed a cheese sandwich and an apple lunch, I boarded my connecting train to Marseilles. The ride was much shorter than the last one, less than 2 hours. As soon as I got off, I headed straight to the Metro. When I went to buy my ticket I noticed the display was entirely in french. This was expected (I was in France), but when I looked for the language option, there was nothing! No english flag for me to click. Everywhere I'd been so far always had a little english flag waiting for me. Leave it to the french to make things difficult. I bought what I hoped was a one way ticket to my station. It worked. I easily found my hotel and was delighted to find my room had a small kitchenette (as if I would actually be cooking anything) and a deep tub (yay for baths!). Dreamy. I soon set off in search of an internet cafe. When I asked the frenchman at reception about where to go, he answers, "I think I know what you like" (not nearly as creepy as it sounds). He directs me to the Notre Dame du Mont Metro stop, only two stations away, and vaguely describes and area for music and art. "I may have you wrong" he adds, "but I think you like this place." He also promises an internet cafe that charges only €2 an hour. Sweet!

Frenchy was right. This place was pretty awesome. When I walked out of the station I was greeted by an incredibly large square, crowded with people and covered in wall to wall grafitti murals. As I walk around I notice people assembling little stages, and shops blasting tunes from their doorways. Seems I stumbled upon a little music festival. I wandered around, past guitar shops and through a cute cafe with colorful tables topped with daisies, occasionally asking people if they know of an internet cafe nearby. No one seems to understand what I want. And the few who do shrug and then carry on in french. My five word french vocabulary does not help me out one bit. I give up. I walk around a bit more, find a market and pick up some food for the next few days. I try one last time to locate an internet cafe by asking the clerk at the market. Again I get a long winded explanation entirely incomprehensible to "moi", to which I politely respond "merci". Wish I knew how to say "don't bother answering unless you can speak american". I wanted so badly to stay for the festival, but being by myself makes me a little uncomfortable at nighttime. So instead, I headed home, took a relaxing bath and fell asleep to the only english station I had, BBC World News- which made for some interesting dreams...