Last Wednesday, Candace and I had a school break and went to Spain, where the sun still shined. We purchased our plane tickets and packed our bags.
First, we overslept and had to run the mile to the train station to catch our 6 a.m. train to Paris. Wednesday was a French national holiday, which means that no one works. The ticket office was closed and we could not print our purchased tickets.
With seconds to spare, we got on the train ticketless. When the train attendant came by to check our seats, we explained in broken French and hand gestures. I expected him to check in the computer and come back, but he just walked away and didn’t check on us again.
Once in Paris, we took the subway to another train station. The Paris Metro requires you to have a ticket to enter and leave, but our tickets disappeared.
We had to find alternative means to get out. I snuck by with a family traveling with big suitcases. Candace tried to slip by behind a man, only to get her head stuck when the doors closed. A man who had pushed her out of the way as we left the subway held the doors open for her when he went through.
From Paris, we took another train to the airport in Beauvais, France. When the attendant came, we tried the same speech and showed her our reservation numbers.
She explained that we needed tickets printouts and had to pay an extra 35 euros but that we could get our money back at the ticket counter.
When we left the station, we saw the airport shuttle pulling away.
Unworried, we thought we would catch the next one. But, the next shuttle was in three hours. Our plane left in two.
We set out to find a city bus that stopped near the airport, walking around downtown for half an hour with even the tourist office closed.
Two men we saw, Jehovah’s Witnesses, were little help.
After 10 more minutes, we found the bus stop.
The bus had left two minutes ago. We sat defeated at the bus stop.
Candace took out her tobacco and rolled herself a cigarette, a French move. I just leaned on the wall trying to figure out the map.
We saw that the street would lead us straight to the airport, so we decided to take a chance and walk there.
After 45 minutes of walking, we grew nervous that we might miss the only flight to Spain. We started to consider hitchhiking when a car pulled up behind us and we heard someone yell for us. When we turned around, we recognized the Jehovah’s Witnesses. One told us that he was worried and had gone back for his car to look for us.
He drove us the last half mile to the airport. We made it to our gate with plenty of time to spare.
We arrived to Tarragona, Spain, a beautiful city by the coast with Roman ruins and almost no tourists. After a long day, we relaxed at a café. We drank sangria, ate paella and were so sublimely happy that no problem in the world seemed to touch us.
Yohanna is studying abroad in France this semester.
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