Il fait beau à Bordeaux

I woke up in France after sleeping a few hours on the floor of the ferry. Throughout the ship, there was a lot of activity, including a band covering classics from Ricky Martin and Whitney Houston. Another American (Jess) and I were grateful for the airtight door that separated us from that scene. We wandered groggily to the train station in Le Havre and I realized that I might have to speak French soon. As it turned out, the TGV clerk did not speak English so it was up to me to find French vocabulary and syntax from the recesses of my brain. Somehow, I managed to communicate that I needed my Eurail pass validated, needed a ticket from Le Havre to Bordeaux via Paris, had a first class ticket and could only pay with a credit card. I was stunned at the sentences that came out of my mouth. Even more amazing was that she understood exactly what I meant.

I arrived in Paris a few hours later, riding the Metro from the first train station (Gare St. Lazare) to another (Gare Montparnasse). Amy and I had been there just three years ago and I wished like mad for her to be there this time.

The Eurail is the only way to see Europe. For once, I have an advantage for being over 26 - my pass is first class for every train. After being shoved against the window next to some weird characters on the bus, this is beyond my comprehension. I sat next to a window where all of Brittany opened up before me. An adorable little girl (maybe 5 or 6) sat next to me with her mother. There is nothing more precious than children speaking French. If I ever have children, I would love to expose them to the language from the start. The little girl smiled at me for hours. It was a different sort of experience for me because I usually know the perfect thing to say to children. Instead, I came up with simple sentences, like ' Your doll is pretty' and 'I like your book.' Such an experience gave me greater empathy for people with communication disorders. My 30-year-old mind had the output of a three-year old.

Nonetheless, I enjoyed speaking my version of French throughout the day. My greatest faux pas was when I asked a man in Bordeaux if he spoke French (meaning English). Otherwise, people eventually understood my messages even when they were indirect. It took two people at the supermarket to understand my request for soy milk ('I would like milk that does not come from animals.' ). Now I know the French word for 'soy'('soja') and I know that people everywhere are tremendously generous.

A few people on the streets approached me for conversation as well. For the most part, I understood what they were talking about. A man of Arabic origin was excited when he found out that I was from the U.S. We 'discussed' politics - I'm pretty sure that I agreed that Arab countries and the U.S. have political problems, but individuals from those countries could be friends. For all I know, however, he could have been telling me what a jerk President Bush was. Sometimes ignorance truly is bliss.

This morning, I leave for San Sebastian, which is near the France-Spain border on the West Coast. Apparently, their version of Spanish is called Basque and it bears little resemblance to the language spoken in the rest of the country. Whatever the case, I will be on the level of a one-year old. Anything to see a beautiful place and to see Radiohead.