The Spot

Almost 24 hours of travel, and I'm here.

Le Petit Place, Arras

I left Montreal at about 8 pm, local time. Flew for 6 hours, into the London sunrise.
6 hours of travel
- meals
- take off and landing
= 4 hours of sleep.
Arrived at 7:30, local time.
Bleary-eyed, I staggered off the plane and onto an airport bus. There's something wrong with a building so large it takes 10 minutes to drive from one entrance to another.
It took another 10 minutes of standing in the passport lines for me to realize I was in the wrong place. Sigh.
The customs officer was surprised to hear I was travelling through England to France: it is a bit of a hike, but it saved me at least 100$ CDN.
Met up with the massive Luggage, which soon came to resemble a massive anchor. Found a bank machine which, merciful God!, took my bank card. Withdrew the 50 pounds it would take to leave England.
I navigated the Luggage through the London Underground, from Heathrowe to Waterloo. I arrived an hour before the next Eurostar was leaving for Lille via the Chunnel. I just love that word. Chunnel.
For the record, the Eurostar has the nicest, best, wonderfullest people working for it. While I was negotiating the steps to my coach a kind man in uniform came forward to assist. Remember this man. He is the manager. We get to know him a little better, later.
The train pulls out of the station at 10:30 AM. I started to munch on the humongeous lunch Bonnie and Grandmama had packed for me... was it just the day before? As soon as I had some food in me, I was drifting off to sleep...
Continued:
When the train manager announced we were pulling into Lille I sat up and started wrestling the luggage out of the rack. Then I waited. Patiently. The train had pulled into the station, but the door wasn't opening...
When I heard the tone that announced an iminent departure, I started to panic. I asked the girl next to me: how do I open this door?
Point of Information: the doors on the Eurostar must be opened by the passenger. You have to push a button to 0pen the door. It will not open on its own.
But by the time the concerned girl and I were pushing the button, it was too late. They were starting to close the train.
So I dropped the luggage, dashed to the dining car and explained to the waiters that I was, well, buggered.
They called the train manager, and he rushes in, recognizing me as that daft girl with the enormous luggage. As soon as I explained that Lille was, in fact, my final destination he reached for his radio to stop the train...but we were just starting to pull out.
Ugh.
"Why didn't you get off the train? Were you asleep?"
"No!" I exclaim, "I didn't push the button!"
"What?"
"I'm Canadian" says I, pointing to my CANADA Sloan shirt, "we don't open train doors in Canada! They open all on their own"
He leans against the car walls and sighs heavily. "We're going to have to think of something better than that".
I guess I looked pretty crestfallen, since he started to reassure me. "Don't worry, we'll get you off the next stop. Where are you going?"
"Lille...I mean, Arras"
He tells me to get back to my seat, he'll find me.
Which is where I am, 15 minutes, when he tells me the next stop for the Eurostar is Bruxells.
Brussels! Isn't that in Belgium?! How the hell did I wind up on a train for another, 3rd country?
"Don't worry" he tells me, "the next train will take you to Lille. You'll be in Arras by 4:30, see?"
This is a good 3 hours after my original arrival time. But he's managed to take care of my return ticket, free of charge, so I thank him.
Which is how I wound up in Brussles, trailing the luggage, which has by now begun to feel like a medieval torture device. I'm looking for a bank machine, two blocks away from the train station. I have 3 pounds in my pocket and no Euros. The first bank machine I found is broken. I am cursing the Belgians. Damn Belgians.
But I find a machine, take Euros out and head back to the station. I buy a belgian phone card, which I still have today, but I can't reach Sandra to tell her when I'll be arriving. I worry, but try not to let myself panic too much. It'll be alright. I should enjoy this adventure.
By the time I'm back on the Eurostar my lack of sleep is catching up with me. In Lille it gets even worse: I must buy a student discount card before I buy my train tickets, and I find my supply of Euros is not quite enough. I see more of Lille, looking for another bank machine.
Finally I have a ticket to Arras and a "carte 12-25", the best discount card in the world.
On the train to Arras I doze. I am so tired that I blink and have dreams. I just want to sleep! Turns out Jacqueline was sitting in the same car, laughing a bit at my sorry state.
I get off the train, met by Brendan and Paul [wow. What a combo: the sarcastic hilarity of Paul and the bulk of Brendan, a past QMJHL player. He lifts my luggage with ease].
I check into the "hostile", and start to meet the guides. We have supper, consisting of an enormous salad with warm tuna. I tell them the story of Belgium.

When we get back to the hostile, just before falling into an exhausted sleep, I dig my camera out and start snapping pictures.
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