Carcassonne, France

It’s hard to believe that two weeks have already passed. I’m going to try hard to make my last week count, and, although I’ve been a bit bored at times for want of more people to engage with, I’ve resisted the urge to do things alone, for better or for worse.

In my class there are only girls and one guy, who is younger than me and quite infatuated with a little love interest. Considering the fact that I live alone with an older French woman, I’ve been a bit exhausted always exercising my sensibilities in accordance with the female psyche. I wanted to go to Paris this past weekend, but there’s no one there I know, and I refuse to tour Paris by myself, no matter how wonderful everyone says it is. So I decided to go on an excursion to Carcassonne, France on arrangement with my school. Their bus-trip signup was full, however, so myself and a classmate who also missed the signup went to the train station to buy train tickets to go by ourselves. I was not thrilled with the idea of going with only one other person, but the alternative was to mope around Montpellier all day. So we took an 8:21 a.m. train because it was cheaper. I found an International Herald Tribune at the train station and evaluated the world’s crazyness from my comfortable seat on the (quite) impressive French train system. It was a short ride, only about 90 minutes from Montpellier. We switched trains at Narbonne, and exited, whereupon I realized that a friend from Montpellier that I hung out with last week was exiting the train, too! It’s strange: I know so few people here, but the town is small and I find myself constantly recognizing the same people when walking around, at the beach, etc. Anyway, my friend, Gabby, was with four other friends, and they were going to Carcassonne, too! I was absolutely ecstatic to have other people around, and my whole outlook on the day began to change rapidly. We got off at Carcassonne and made introductions, and it was such a fascinating crowd. I was the only American. One girl was born in Hong Kong, speaks Cantonese and English, and is now British. My friend Gabby’s mother is Russian, her father is Mexican, and she attends the University of South Florida (she speaks Spanish, Russian, and English fluently, and French). Then there was my classmate from Iceland, and two Canadians—one a native from B.C. who now lives in Montreal, and the other an Iranian Muslim whose family emigrated to Canada a while ago. It was absolutely wonderful, and our lunchtime conversation bustled with cultural comparisons, speaking in fake British accents to taunt the Brit, making fun of Canada (of course), and me doing exaggerated, stereotypical American things (“What do you mean American isn’t number one?”). Everyone was so nice, and we had a smashing time.

Carcassonne, by the way, is an ancient, medieval fortress that was once critical for defending the French border at Spain. It is enormous, and my weeny photos do it no justice—particularly from the outside. It is very exquisitely restored and maintained, although I’m sure many places are still quite original. The inside of the city is filled with overpriced touristy stores and boutiques, and, amazingly, around 120 people still live inside the city today. The streets are very narrow, and it was nearly absurd to see how pedestrians had to squeeze against the walls to let a resident in a car pass through. A lot of stuff flies in France that would be strictly off-limits in the states. La cité is still quite interesting, though, and the castle (a fortress within a fortress) is open for touring. Since it was so touristy, it was best to use the imagination to make the magic happen. To think of the battles that occurred, the archers that got taken down right where I stood, and the hot oil that oozed over this wall during battle, made it a viable, new experience. Then to look toward the south—toward Spain—and to think of the impending terror a watchman must have felt when he saw dust rising from amidst the forest, and to signal an impending attack: magnificent. And, of course, nothing this old exists in the states, and it’s incredibly interesting for Americans. A few French people I talked to, though, couldn’t believe we liked it so much, and quite literally sniffed at it. I found that rather amusing.

Our lunch took a while, and we had a wonderful time, as I mentioned. The service here can be spotty, but that’s the minor downside to not having to tip. I love not having to tip, although every time I don’t I nearly have a crisis of conscience. I was told by one French person you should tip maybe 10 per cent for dinner, other people say nothing—ever, and other people say leave the coins from your change, but don’t bother otherwise. It’s so stressful with so many options that I often leave something rather than nothing. Ah, oui. I found it interesting that one friend’s glass of Chardonnay cost 2 € and my Diet Coke cost 2.90 €! If I’d only known…

We toured a bit more before getting quite tired, then settled down at a café in near the train station for a few drinks, relaxing from the heat before getting back onto the train. We wound up changing our train tickets to leave earlier, and barely made it onto a train straight back to Montpellier. The train pulled in while we were still at the counter, but the woman assured us we still had four minutes before it left. It took barely over an hour to get back, I think. A few went home, and the rest of us went out to dinner.

I forgot to call my hostess earlier to tell her I wouldn’t be home for dinner. I didn’t have her number with me, anyway, and thought she would assume I’d be gone all day. When I returned to the apartment later, around 10 p.m., she had just put a lovely fish dinner in the fridge that she’d made me and was very irritated with me for not calling. I felt terrible, and apologized profusely, and, in fact, still feel terrible. I had eaten fish for dinner at the restaurant, which seemed to drive the stake even deeper when she found that out. She had not had a good day, anyway, because the shutter on her bedroom window had broken and fallen down, and her room is now completely dark. Oh, well. What can you do?

For lunch I think I’ll venture out and buy some bread and pâté again. It’s a very cheap lunch, and quite tasty. Then tomorrow it’s back to class. I will be with my new friends again this week from time to time and we want to visit another city about 20 minutes away. It will be a great way to end my time here. My hostess offered to take me on a vineyard tour on Friday, and I’m extremely excited about that. I was flabbergasted when she made the offer, and could barely express my excitement in French. It didn’t help that there is no direct French translation for “I’m very excited” that doesn’t resound with innuendo. So I just beamed vibrantly, and I think she got the message.

Until later.