My Journey Here

I know it's been two weeks now that I've been here. I'd like to explain it all and wish I could, but there's just too much to say. So below is the story of my journey here. It's much longer than I thought it would be, but considering all that I went through, I thought the detail was needed. I do plan on posting every day about my experience and discoveries, so please continue to follow me and for now enjoy what I have to say.

My first day in Europe was last Monday, January 3^rd. I arrived to Paris at about 8am after which I waited around 30 minutes until both my bags appeared on the conveyer belt. I had originally planned on only checking one of the bags, however upon my departure from Phoenix, Arizona they asked if anyone wanted to check their carry-on luggage for free since the flight was full and there was not much room in the over-head compartments. Seeing as my backpacking-backpack weighed in close to 40 pounds (which was obvious by its size), I chose to check this one in as well. Thankfully I had taken my computer, money, and cell phone (the essentials) out of it, because I did not see this bag again until Paris! So when both of them were again in my possession, I was relieved, even though I now had the burden of carrying (essentially) my life with me all the way to Strasbourg.

*The above may not seem like a big deal to those who travel, but I’d like to make a side note here that is very important. The only other student from my university NAU who is doing this same program at the same school as me had flight delays which resulted in his luggage being lost, literally. It had caused him quite a bit of frustration and heartache, and I feel for him because he arrived with only one pair of clothes, and not even a converter with which to charge his computer. Tanner, my heart goes out to you.

After arriving at the main part of the Paris CDG (Charles de Gaulle) Airport, I eventually made my way down to the area where one can take trains and the like to the main parts of Paris or other parts of Europe. Thanks to a very helpful clerk, he instructed me to take the RER (local Paris trams) to the Gare du Nord, transfer to Gare d’Est, and from there hop on the TGV (Really Fast Train) to Strasbourg. After all the restless hours spent in the air this seemed like another strenuous journey of its own. But he assured me this would be easier than waiting at the airport until much later that afternoon when a TGV could take me directly from the airport to Strasbourg. Cautiously accepting and (for the first time) running my bank cards in France, I paid the 135-some Euro, took my tickets, and headed in the direction he directed me with the map he had given me.

It was the Monday after the holidays, so everyone seemed to be busy starting their weekly ritual with little room for manners as we all tried to get where we were going without running into each other too much. That said, I probably stepped on a lot of toes (literally), or at least ran tem over with the wheels on my luggage. My train for Strasbourg was scheduled to leave Gare d’Est (the East train station) at 11:24, and from what I remember I got there just after 11am. I had to sit for a moment as when I came out from the underground trams, all the train lines appeared in front of me, and (of course) there were no large signs to direct me in any particular direction. After taking it all in for a second (this train station had many restaurants as well as clothing boutiques) a helpful woman behind an information counter told me that platform 6 was where I should go.

I remember the helpful clerk had told me I’d be in first class which was a nice surprise, and when I got to the right platform I saw that my ticket said I’d be in (train) car 11. 

The first car I saw was numbered something under 10, so I kept walking and lugging my luggage as well as carrying it on my back. At some point I got to car number 2, and wondered where car 11 could be. I was only halfway down the train (or so I thought), and I hadn’t passed it; this was weird, I thought, for those in first class. After romping back and forth for a bit with luggage in tow, I finally gave up and asked the man at an information kiosk on the platform. He instructed me it was further down; that I had not reach it yet. Again, this did not make sense as I’m used to things being in numerical order, but I started again and hoped that the muscles in my arm would not seize up as I pulled my belongings behind me hurriedly. After I passed car two this time I noticed the next car was 17.

What the hell?! I thought and continued walking quickly. At this point it was almost 11:20 on the platform clocks and I realized that I might actually watch this train leave without me! So, while trying to handle the extreme fatigue I faced from the flights, the winter illness I had procured from New Year’s in Flagstaff, and the 80+ pounds of luggage in my possession, I continued along the platform, checking the number on each train car as I passed it. I realized as I was about ¾ of the way there, car 11 was actually the VERY LAST car on this train, even though other cars were numbered 16 and 17. And by very last I mean very first because the conductor’s car was just beyond that, but still, it was a huge pain. I managed to throw myself and my stuff on there, and find my seat before the train took off. Again, the seats were not in numerical order, and at this point I didn’t even try to figure out what order they thought it was. Thankfully a very nice young man helped me to get my luggage into the compartment above my seat, and to my relief he also spoke English. I very soon found out he was also an American studying at l’Ecole de Management in Strasbourg, though he came from Washington D.C. He was one of the first students from his school to do this program; therefore he would be the guinea pig for others at Howard University. Sean and I made good conversation for a little bit, in which time I was surprised to find out he did not speak nor had studied any French what-so-ever. How he got this far I was quite amazed as my 5 years of French had proven pathetic on this trip so far, at least by my standards.

When we arrived in Strasbourg he helped me get my things down, and I told him someone from the university should be at the station to help us from there. We paired up and looked for someone, a sign, anything, though there was nothing to our (sarcastic) surprise. We made our way to the information area at the Train Station, who essentially directed us to the Tourist Center (Ha!). They helped us get to the tram and bus we each needed to take to our respective dorm residences. After tooling around the station a bit we said our goodbyes, and I bought a sandwich to break some bills, paid for a tram pass with the coins I had left, and hopped tram C to my residence Gallia without even realizing I hadn’t validated my tram ticket, nor did I know how to or really care to at this point. When I got there, I went to the wrong place, of course. The building was labeled Gallia, so I just went in the first door because it was a place for students. My residence turned out to be the next door down, and by this time I couldn’t really care what I had to sign so that I could just get to a bed and pass out. I took the packet, paid the money that was demanded, and took my key and all my stuff up to room 327.

Another important note to Americans here is that in most of Europe, the first floor does not count as one, it’s really more like 0, or ground floor. So I thought I’d be on the 4^th floor, but after getting to the 2^nd floor I realized I was wrong again. There were a few kind gentlemen who asked to help but I refused stupidly, not knowing the eternally long ascent that lay ahead of me. So, with a huge backpack and suitcase on wheels in tow, I dragged myself and all this stuff up to what Americans would consider the fifth floor; awesome. Oh yeah, I had asked about an elevator in the fatigued, under-practiced French that I knew, and it turns out there is an elevator, but not for students. So, to this day, I climb and descend the stairs that seem to go on forever. I don’t even want to know the fight that handicapped students have to put up in order to get an elevator key…

And I don’t mind the stairs because I’m young and can use the exercise, but jeez, with all the luggage you’d think they’d have some mercy. 

So finding my room was yet another adventure, because again, French people have a weird sense for numerical ordering. I was hoping for a window with a nice view of the street or river, but no. My room turned out to be down one of the many random turn-offs from the main hallway, so that you could wonder around all night looking for your bed if you were drunk enough. Thankfully, the toilet, shower, and kitchen are right across and next to the room, so it makes up for a pathetic view of other people’s windows. Needless to say, once I got into the room, took some photos of everything with my camera phone, and made the bed with the blankets provided in the armoire, I passed out like I hadn’t passed out in a long time. And I slept from 4:30pm to 2am. And then I woke up and couldn’t go back to sleep. Of course.