home again, home again

Home again, home again
jiggerty jig jiggerty jig jiggerty jig jiggerty jig jiggerty jig jiggerty jig jiggerty jig jiggerty jig jiggerty jig

Okay, so last Thursday I couldn't get back to Genève from Argelès because of the train strike in the South east of France. Even had I wanted to drive it all rental cars were long gone. The option to have someone drive me to the border take a train to Barcelona then fly back to Genève also wasn't an option, thank you very much Iceland.

Now, I wouldn't dream of comparing my situation to those at an airport, with no room left on their charge cards and no idea how they will get home. I was cozy in my apartment, eating tapas at Les Flowers, sitting in a café, writing as normal. And compared to having to get to a sick relative fast missing some of the Visions du reel film festival doesn't even begin to register on the tragedy scale.

However, when a neighbour with a second home in Argelès let me ride with her to the train station in Mâcon, where the TGV comes through twice a day and is not on strike I jumped into the car and the 600 km. flew by as fast as the bright spring scenery.

The train was at 16:46. We arrived at the gare at 16:31.

There was a line but by 16:40 I had arrived at the window.

Fermé. The sales clerk closed the guichet.

The train pulled in.

My friend rushed from the car with my computer and suitcase. I ran up to the conductor.

"I don't have a ticket because the man closed the window. I got stuck in Argelès with the strike." I knew my French was perfect for once in my life. Glory! Glory!

"Do you have your old ticket."

My pocketbook has multi pockets, I fumbled and fumbled and fumpled some more. I think someone was adding pockets, but finally I found it.

The conductor took it and scribbled something on it. "There's a place in car 2. The train is full because of the volcano."

My friend followed me and we waved goodbye and I was on my way to Genève. At last.

Jiggerty jig.