Stranger on the Train
[My wonderful gypsy friend, Kate, sent this to me yesterday as she’s in the midst of backpacking through Europe. It was too good not to share.]
After navigating the maze that is the Paris metro system, I finally found my platform and elbowed my way through the seething crowd onto the train. I might has well have been carrying around an obese monkey on my back. My pack was huge and my other bags cumbersome. I really need to learn to pack lighter.
I looked at the map and had 12 stops until mine at the end of the line. Twelve, backbreaking stops. I sighed and pushed my pack up against the wall, hoping to relieve some of the weight on my burdened, throbbing shoulders.
There were two seats open toward the center of the train, but I could only reach it with much difficulty and jostling my fellow passengers with my luggage. Twelve… backbreaking… stops. I couldn’t take it anymore.
“Desolee. Pardone moi. Desolee. Sorry.” I reached it, 2 rows of seats facing each other, and began the awkward process of removing my pack without removing the heads of the people next to me. There was a dark, mysterious, handsome Frenchman sitting in the seat adjacent, which made my awkward struggle even more awkward. It would have been easier if he were a frumpy old lady.
I was wiggling around with my bag something fierce, finally removed all the buckles and straps, and as I lifted the bag, I started falling over because of the weight.
Suddenly, the weight was gone. The handsome stranger had grabbed my pack and lifted over everyone’s heads, placing it in the seat next to me. I just stared at him, jaw dropped, and muttered a “Thank y-…Merci.”
“No problem,” he replied, flashing a slight smile with perfect straight teeth and a deep French accent.
Good gracious. He probably could have made baggage sound sexy.
“You have many bags. You have been traveling a long time?”
Good gracious. He made baggage sound sexy.
“Uh…oui. Two months.”
“Are you from United States?”
“Oui. Je suis tres American.”
He chuckled and stared out the window. By this point I figured he only had 8 stops left to propose and name our first three children, but I wouldn’t have been surprised if he had gotten to the 5th. We continued to talk a little and settled in, as we were both getting off at the last stop.
“So, where have you been and where are you going?”
Ah. Classic international existential question. I have had far too much time to think about this question from traveling by myself, pondering the meaning of life while flying across Europe by train. Oh God, what a question.
“Yesterday I was on the coast, tomorrow I will be in Italy, but tonight… tonight is Paris.”
Oh God. What an answer, including a dramatic pause! Who says that to a handsome stranger? I have been traveling by myself for too long. I’m no character in a cheap international chick flick. I’m just Kate, that awkward sweaty girl with too much baggage (double meaning!).
He smiled again and asked if I knew where I was going that night. He offered a map of Paris he had in his bag. I told him I did, and thanked him tremendously, secretly hoping he would ask if I wanted to go out for a drink or baguette or mime watching or something.
But it was not to be. We were to remain perfect strangers. He waited for me on the platform until I gathered all my things.
“Well, auvoir. Nice to meet you,” he said and did a cute little bow and a wave.
“Oui. Merci again for helping me. You are very kind.”
His perfect smile spread across his face and we went down our separate paths of the Metro Maze… which of course I promptly got lost and climbed on a train going the wrong direction.
I don’t think it will ever be like the movies. Not that I’m trying to meet handsome strangers or anything, but can any sort of substantial relationship vaporize out of thin air and a fat backpack?
I’m on a train to Italy by myself now. We’ll see what’s in store for me there. Perhaps I should get rid of some of my baggage.
