Mistakes and change of plans don't matter

The number of times I've done the Geneva-Argelès train run must be approaching 200.

My plan on yesterday's run was to buy lunch at the new place in the train station and write all the way to Valance then read to Perpignan. Nothing went according to plan.

My housemate drove me to the station saying she'd forgotten to give me the hard-boiled eggs to munch on the train.

I bought a salmon sandwich on pretzel bread, a tomato-mozarella salad, water and brownie. My plan? Eat around 2 after I'd done some good writing.

I composted one ticket in the machine to validate it without realizing it was for the second half of the trip. Ooops...there were two tickets. I should have looked.

Although the view is better from the second tier of the train, it does mean lugging my suitcase up the stairs. But I made car 15 place 92 with only a view huffs and puffs. I removed my book before my laptop and a man asked me what I was reading.

We ended up talking until he got off in Lyon. He was a retired Norwegian economist with a home in France. Topics ranged from national identity, literature, economics, politics, his wife another Norwegian he'd met in Paris over 50 years before and an everything-under-the-sun range of topics.

Also sitting in our four seat arrangement was a young man who before departing kept blowing kisses to a pretty young woman on the platform. He joined in. He was on his way to do a three-month intensive French course in Nice. It was out of his comfort zone and he'd quit his job of ten years because of changes he wanted in his life. From Bern, he'd travelled extensively for his work.

The conductor didn't notice that I hadn't composted the ticket when he stamped the naked-of-required mark. I was all set to point out the other part had it, but why call attention to it.

I didn't write a word. Living life is often better than writing about it, although writing is part of my living life.

When my foot touched the platform in Valance for a change of trains, I realised that my lunch was still on the train.

Zut.

I bought an okay sandwich.

Getting back on the second train, I realised that car 15 seat 92 was assigned to me for the second part of the trip. Funny that it would be the same for both. 

It wasn't. 

I'd read the wrong ticket, but wasn't that wonderful?

Had I been in my correct seat I would have missed that great conversation with the Norwegian and my fellow Swiss.

I did write most of the way to Perpignan.

Rick and I have a running joke now when one asks, "How way your trip?"

The other says, "Read my blog."

When he reads this he will know that it was a great trip full of wonderful errors.