There and Back Again

When the sun finally rose we got up stiffly from the steps and, of course, went to the MacDonald’s. The MacDonald’s itself was open 24 hours, and we had been tempted to sleep in there, but they definitely kept the music unbearable loud for a reason. I got changed in the bathroom and brushed my teeth, not caring anymore that people would notice. We ate our pain au chocolat and cappuccinos while we figured out where the Eurolines office was. Or so we thought. We walked to the location to find a hotel in its place. So altered our search to see if the office had been moved, which it had. When we found the office, they said they were indeed for tickets, but not for Eurolines, and we would have go to another office behind the train station. Having slept there all night, we weren’t surprised when there was no office now, but after searching around the corner we found a bus station. Inside was the Eurolines office, where we had to wait for the opening hours, plus fifteen minutes since they were late. In desperation, we booked tickets to Nimes, France. It was close to Marseilles, so we weren’t that impressed with having to go there, but were really pleased to finally be getting out of Italy. We hoped that it would be easier to get around from France.

Basilica San Lorenzo in Florence

We found the Basilica of San Lorenzo, a red domed cathedral consecrated in the 1400s. We purchased our meals at a grocery store, then settled against the cathedral’s wall for the rest of the day. Both of us crashed on and off while the other read or people watched. It was nice to do nothing all day, and considering we had our backpacks, quite necessary. We refilled our water bottle at old pumps around the building so that we wouldn’t have to buy water. In the evening we grabbed paninis for dinner, then returned to the bus station where we barged onboard in order to get seats together. Then we started the usual interrupted sleep pattern.

By the time we reached France I realized I was covered in massive mosquito bites. I have never reacted so badly to them. My leg looked horrendous. When we arrived in Nimes it was to find beautiful sunshine and an open Eurolines office. The lady behind the counter only spoke French, and we were once again frustrated because she kept giving us ‘no’s. No, we could not get out of Nimes for two days. Now we were running out of time to get back to Ireland before our pass expired, and we definitely had to forget about meeting up with Sydnee and seeing a bunch of the cities we had hoped for. We found a MacDonald’s to use the wifi and get cleaned up, deciding at last to stay overnight and go straight to Brussels on Sunday. After organizing these tickets, with apologies in French, we found the Tourism Office.

The Coliseum in Nimes

In the Tourism Office we found out why we were having difficulties. It was a holiday weekend. The girl behind the counter immediately started making phones calls to the local hostels and hotels, finding everything booked or over a hundred euros per night. At last someone in the office told her there was a bed and breakfast just outside of town that usually accommodated students during the semester, and that they might be willing to take us. So after a phone call to the Myriam Tamanti, she successfully found us a home for 60 euros a night. We thanked her profusely for being so helpful and getting a cheaper price from the B&B, grabbed some groceries, and then hopped on the bus. Reaching Myriam Tamanti meant walking a ways down a quiet road in the blazing sun. When we reached the blue gate in a white wall, I had to press the call button and ask the name of the B&B since we were pretty sure they only spoke French. A welcoming older man came to the door to let us in, where we were surprised to find a pool in a lavish garden and a low-roofed brown rancher. I explained to our host that we don’t speak French, that we’re from Vancouver and not Quebec, what time we would be coming down for breakfast, and more. The struggle wasn’t as difficult as I thought it would be. He also showed us his bird sanctuary on the other side of the house, and we thought it was amusing that our host family in France had bird-related careers, while our host in Nimes loved birds as well.

The wonderful pool

Our room upstairs was dark wood, with a squashy bed and a desk. We stunk it up embarrassingly with the state of our socks. Almost immediately I went out to the pool and spent the afternoon relaxing, swimming, and reading. Dale stayed indoors where it was cool because he had caught himself a strong cold. When I was in the water the other host came out to greet me, a smiling grey-haired lady who obviously knew I wasn’t French because she immediately started making helpful gestures to accompany her conversation. I assured her that the pool was not cold in the slightest and thanked her for hosting us.

Outdoor breakfast at the B&B

Walking towards the gardens—large goldfish and tuba-clad bands all around us

The Augustan garden

The next day, after we had rolled in some glorious sleep, we went downstairs for breakfast to find a whole kitchen unit outside by the pool. There was a circular table set up for us with croissant, homemade jams, and a selection of teas. The lady host came out to us and started asking questions such as, “Do you want milk? Would you like it hot or cold?” I answered, and Dale afterwards said, “How do you know so much?” I felt much more comfortable talking to our hosts than anyone else in France, and I found out that I was just lacking confidence before. I dragged Dale into Nimes for some sightseeing. I figured if we were stuck there anyways, we might as well make it worth while. He disagreed, and felt pretty lousy the whole time. Nimes is an incredibly bright city. The main walk from the train station is so white we were blinded. Along one side of the path is a long fountain of running water that people could just walk in instead of on the hot path. At the end of the walk is the Coliseum. I was surprised to find a French town with a Spanish atmosphere, and a still-in-use Roman coliseum. The big event was bull-fighting. There were markets and crowds all around the building, ridiculous hats for sale everywhere, and amusement park rides lining the streets. We continued on to the 18th Century gardens, where there was a restored Augustan mausoleum across the white expanse of ground. Off to the side there was a large pond with steps leading into the forested hills. When we climbed up, we found strategically built sitting spaces behind water falls. When this was done—and it didn’t take long—we returned to the B&B. I made straight for the pool, and Dale made straight for bed.

Inside the ruins of a mausoleum in the gardens

The waterfall cave

We had our lovely breakfast in the same place, then it was time to head into town and eventually catch our bus to Brussels. We spent the greater part of the 34 degree day lounging in the grass and watching families stroll through the ingenious fountain-path. Since everything was closed, we settled on half a foot-long sub for dinner, and the other half for breakfast. We knew we would have to change buses in Lyon, so we when we got to the station we were looking for the Barcelona to Lyon instead of the Nimes to Brussels. We met a young Mongolian guy who was looking for the same bus, so we chatted a bit while we waited. Dale and I had just been talking about how long his laptop has lasted, but how great it will be to go home and not have to share one anymore, when he sat on his backpack. “Do you think this okay for the laptop?” he asked. “No,” I answered. But we didn’t think much of it.

A bus with the right text on it showed up, the drivers swapped, then it shut the doors on us and drove away. Confused, we waited to see if another bus would show up. Our Mongolian friend wandered over to another Eurolines bus, but came back shaking his head. We waited until the bus we were supposed to be on should be departing, and still there was nothing. At last, I snatched the tickets from Dale and ran to the driver of the other Eurolines bus to ask if he was going to Lyon. In my haste, I’m pretty sure I spoke Frenglish to a Spanish man. It turns out that was the bus we needed, it just didn’t say Lyon anywhere on it. I ran back to the other, jerking my thumb over my shoulder so they’d know we had to go immediately.

It was with relief that we finally started our journey back to Dublin. After our bus change and a farewell to our friend, we were stuck with a screaming baby behind us and a fight breaking out between a thick black man and a little balding eastern European guy. Thank goodness the baby slept from 11pm to 6am. We still slept fitfully, and woke to an amazing thunder and lightening storm in Belgium. As I grabbed my backpack so I could run into a gas station and change into jeans, I noticed one of the zippered pockets was open. I knew I would never be so careless, so I checked it to see what was stolen. It was the wallet-belt that used to be Becca’s and that Heather had loaned me. I’m sure the thief thought they had hit the jackpot, but I never used the wallet. Nothing else was missing.

Colourful windmills in Brussels

We were almost drenched just getting off the bus in Brussels. We booked our tickets to London with no problems, and both breathed a sigh of relief. Then, to my delight, the rain subsided and the sun came out. We went for a small walk through what looked like a boring business district. Our days in Ireland had given me the habit of carrying around a collapsible umbrellas, so when the rain came on and off, we were prepared. Since there really wasn’t much to see within walking distance, we spent much of the day at the train station, but were happy to be sitting outside for the majority of that time. At one point we stopped in the station’s Starbucks to double check our plans only to find that the whole middle of the laptop screen is blank and broken. We didn’t even breakdown. So much had gone wrong by this point that we just rolled our eyes. It’s quite unpleasant to have to write a blog on a few inches at the side of the screen, but it could have been worse. We desperately needed the laptop to sort our issues in the earlier days. So Dale sipped his beverage, marked with the name, “Toe,” instead of “Dale,” and we laughed that his name was spelt “Bratbrook” on his bus ticket.

"Toe Bratbrook" in the sunny rain

Our overnight bus to London was full of interruptions. We had to get on the ferry, where we found cushioned leather benches to stretch out on, but I was freezing cold. Then the ferry was thirty minutes late in arriving at Dover. When we got back on the bus, border security wanted to check all of our belongings, so we had to get off again. Two hours behind schedule, we finally got on the road, passing the white cliffs of Dover along the way. We were very tired, but it was hard to get back to sleep after all that. Dale was just happy to have the border staff speaking in English. I was happy that they were so friendly. One of them asked Dale why he had chosen Ireland for his Visa, and while it was about two in the morning, Dale’s response, “My girlfriend,” got a laugh out of the guy.

London was another relief. We arrived almost directly at Buckingham Palace, so we booked our tickets to Ireland—it was the last day before our pass expired—and went to sit on the statue out front. It was so early in the morning that we were able to view the palace without any other tourists around. I tried to surreptitiously get changed right there, knowing full well that cameras were bound to be on me, but I ended up stuck with an arm out the neck of my shirt and feeling like a read idiot. I counted 105 windows on the palace front, and then we went for a long walk through St. James’ Park. We found a mercifully free to toilet in the park, where I enjoyed the absence of other women and managed to sort myself out as best I could. Dale kept saying, “Ah, London.” I think he loved it as much as last time, but more so because of the luxuries than because of the sights.

Buckingham Palace in the early morning

We grabbed lunch in a Tesco under Westminster Abbey, spending more sparingly than ever because we were down to our last twenty. We had lunch in the same park, watching the squirrels come right up to people’s hands. Then we hung out in Trafalgar Square, wandered a little in the National Art Gallery, and returned to the bus station. On the walk past the palace we noticed women in fancy queen-type clothing and stupid hats, and men wearing gold chains across the backs of their tuxes. I could have sworn one of them looked me up and down and said, “Iceland,“ to his friend. I must have been dressed too warmly, but I find it strange to make that remark when you’re wearing a suit. The line of fancy people extended all the way around along the side wall. Dale looked it up eventually and it sound like it was a duke’s birthday. It turns out we were also running on time that was still an hour ahead, so we ended waiting forever for our bus to Dublin. When it arrived and Dale saw that it read “Bus Eireann” on the front, he grinned with nostalgia. We were almost home.

Naps with a view in St. James' Park

The bus itself was almost deserted. Happily, we settled into our napping on and off. The ferry had much larger green leather benches this time, so Dale and I curled up side-by-side for better warmth than last time, and actually managed to sleep for a few hours. We had put some money on the credit card to cover breakfast, but knew at this point that my mom was giving me an early birthday present to keep up going. When we arrived in Dublin, which was sunny and deserted at that time of day, we were happy. We made it. We began the long trek to Heather’s, eating breakfast on the steps of a hotel where an incredibly friendly newspaper guy spotted Dale’s Red Hot Chilli Peppers sweater and exclaimed over it. We also paused for banana bread and coffee at an Insomnia shop. Then I called Heather at her front door and we practically fell inside when that lovely familiar face welcomed us back for our last four days.