I walked into the Pharmacy with Tian in tow because learning to communicate a yeast infection to a pharmacist in a language you don't really speak is an important life skill. However, Tian was so disgusted by the thought of watching her mother communicate said thought that she flew from the shop before I could start pantomiming "itchy crotch".
TMI? I think not, for it was the yeast infection that should have stood as a warning for the rest of the day--a day for which Mastercard is made, if you can find a place that will accept a Mastercard that is not EuroMastercard.
But I am not complaining.
We took the tram to Parc Fleur de la Source, exiting at the end of the line instead of at that stop that said "Parc Fleur". Two hours of towing our luggage around behind us later, we found the park.
No complaints. It was cold and the roads were not built for rolly bags but the clouds eventually passed and the park, once we got there, was grassy, with a train and water features everywhere. And there were free toilets that didn't smell too yucky. Yup. No whining here.
We caught the tram back into the city in the evening and found a Korean restaurant where the kimchee chigae was made with sugar and the pho (in a Korean restaurant?) lacked the mandatory basil leaves as well as the jalapenos.
But I am not whinging. It was food and it was hot, and I didn't have to clean up after us.
We got to the train station at 10:30 p.m., ready to board our overnight train to Toulouse at 11:55 p.m. I took Tehva to the station toilet where she managed to catch the door as another passenger exited. But the minute Tehva closed the door the room went dark and the floor erupted in a geyser. That sign that said, "Toilet cleaned after every customer" was totally true.
But no complaints. Our ankles were very clean and Tehva catching that door saved us 30 cents.
As I exited the toilet, I saw a scrolling message. In effect, it translated as, "There are no trains tonight because of the French strike. Thank you for your understanding, suckers." That explained the fact that we could not find our train on the marquis when we walked in.
But I am so not bitching about this. I booked the tickets in April, talked up the whole sleeper car thing for weeks, and suddenly found myself stuck in Orleans, France. But of course I was not alone in this endeavor--all of France knew not to be there, but Tony was there. And so were the three children who proceeded in the next hour to get wobbly lower lips and then confess all their troubles to a random Londoner in the Ibis Hotel lobby (where there were no rooms available at 11 p.m. by the way) while Tony and I, thanks to the kindness of Claude the night manager, tried to rearrange our train tickets via the internet.
That didn't work out since our ticket did not register as ever having been purchased.
Claude sneered at us for reproducing too many times but did call over to the Best Western around the corner, explaining that they might be able to accommodate a party of our enormous size. For the right price.
We peeled the kids from the Ibis Hotel's lobby, where they had all sat drooling patiently on the plastic furniture, watching bad French TV. We led them to the Best Western, where we paid the right price for a tiny but tastefully decorated room that would allow too many children to sleep on various surfaces not really meant for sleeping.
I suspect that Claude got a kickback but at least we were not sleeping in the cold train station with the homeless woman whom Tehva inexplicably had named "Sex Worms".
On the way to our room in the Best Western, Tehva managed to break their classy throwback elevator. Fortunately they did not charge us for this infraction, but they did suggest that we might want to pay another $100 US for breakfast the next morning. In response we wearily asked how long we could stay in the room before they would evict us the next morning and then, like a couple of cheap whores, calculated how much money we were paying an hour for the room. It made us feel a little bit better.
But I am so not complaining because in the end we got where we wanted to go, and we got to ride the train first class, "JUST LIKE HARRY POTTER!"
But that is something else to celebrate entirely.
TMI? I think not, for it was the yeast infection that should have stood as a warning for the rest of the day--a day for which Mastercard is made, if you can find a place that will accept a Mastercard that is not EuroMastercard.
But I am not complaining.
We took the tram to Parc Fleur de la Source, exiting at the end of the line instead of at that stop that said "Parc Fleur". Two hours of towing our luggage around behind us later, we found the park.
 |
| Look who was waiting for us in the park. |
 |
| And the peacock was waiting, too! |
But I am not whinging. It was food and it was hot, and I didn't have to clean up after us.
We got to the train station at 10:30 p.m., ready to board our overnight train to Toulouse at 11:55 p.m. I took Tehva to the station toilet where she managed to catch the door as another passenger exited. But the minute Tehva closed the door the room went dark and the floor erupted in a geyser. That sign that said, "Toilet cleaned after every customer" was totally true.
But no complaints. Our ankles were very clean and Tehva catching that door saved us 30 cents.
As I exited the toilet, I saw a scrolling message. In effect, it translated as, "There are no trains tonight because of the French strike. Thank you for your understanding, suckers." That explained the fact that we could not find our train on the marquis when we walked in.
But I am so not bitching about this. I booked the tickets in April, talked up the whole sleeper car thing for weeks, and suddenly found myself stuck in Orleans, France. But of course I was not alone in this endeavor--all of France knew not to be there, but Tony was there. And so were the three children who proceeded in the next hour to get wobbly lower lips and then confess all their troubles to a random Londoner in the Ibis Hotel lobby (where there were no rooms available at 11 p.m. by the way) while Tony and I, thanks to the kindness of Claude the night manager, tried to rearrange our train tickets via the internet.
 |
| Nope...no train |
Claude sneered at us for reproducing too many times but did call over to the Best Western around the corner, explaining that they might be able to accommodate a party of our enormous size. For the right price.
We peeled the kids from the Ibis Hotel's lobby, where they had all sat drooling patiently on the plastic furniture, watching bad French TV. We led them to the Best Western, where we paid the right price for a tiny but tastefully decorated room that would allow too many children to sleep on various surfaces not really meant for sleeping.
I suspect that Claude got a kickback but at least we were not sleeping in the cold train station with the homeless woman whom Tehva inexplicably had named "Sex Worms".
On the way to our room in the Best Western, Tehva managed to break their classy throwback elevator. Fortunately they did not charge us for this infraction, but they did suggest that we might want to pay another $100 US for breakfast the next morning. In response we wearily asked how long we could stay in the room before they would evict us the next morning and then, like a couple of cheap whores, calculated how much money we were paying an hour for the room. It made us feel a little bit better.
But I am so not complaining because in the end we got where we wanted to go, and we got to ride the train first class, "JUST LIKE HARRY POTTER!"
But that is something else to celebrate entirely.
 |
| First class! |
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