I shall be blogging this trip "out of sequence" simply because my mind is busy trying to put things in order. The first week of my trip was pure joy, spent in the UK with writers I've known on the internet (but never met) and I shall post details about all of it later. But I want to start with the second leg of my journey--the entire purpose of this trip--to visit the resting place of my father, Andrew Lexington Jackson. I had no idea what enormous surprises awaited me, and what a life-altering trip it would eventually be. I am jet lagged beyond belief, so this may take some time. But here is my story.
From London, I took the Eurostar (under the Channel) to Paris on the morning of the 12th and arrived at Gare Paris Nord at a quarter to one p.m. Although I was traveling with light luggage, it was still heavy to roll around and particularly hard to get up and down stairs, so I gave up the idea of the deeply-buried Metro and took a taxi to Gare Paris Montparnasse. 32 Euros later, (and it was an honest ride, a direct route)(I'm in shock at the prices of London and Paris...and the devalued dollar doubles already high prices!) I arrived in plenty of time for my train to Rennes. I must laud the European trains which are clean, fast and ON TIME on each and every occasion I used them. (I can say the same for buses in Paris). In Rennes, I found the train station less attractive and much less friendly to English speaking patrons, but I finally figured out where to catch the local connecting train to Avranches. But I had a two hour layover. They changed the departing gate, so I was forced to drag suitcases up and down stairs twice instead of once (no escalators) so Rennes was not favorite station.
I arrived in Avranches in the evening at 7:23 pm. Unlike Paris and Rennes, this was a tiny railway station, a one-small-waiting-room affair, and all the ticket cages were closed at this hour. Everyone had gone home for dinner, I surmise. Patrons coming off the train quickly disappeared into waiting cars or were picked up, and I was left outside the station with only two other passengers (both waiting for their rides) and there were absolutely NO TAXIS anywhere to be seen. Without a card, the public phones are not usable, and I had not bought a telephone card. (it didn't occur I would need one, nor did I ever see them for sale along the line of RR stations I had traveled). I panicked. The city of Avranches was no village, and I could see no "town" in eye's view where I might lug my luggage. In fact, it looked very much like a suburban area with no commerce at all around. I approached one of the waiting passengers, a young man. In my broken French, I tried to explain my plight. He was standing with a cell phone in his hand, and he looked at me blankly as I chattered and pointed, and tried to make a case for help. He kept shaking his head, until I finally gave up. I then approached the young woman who was standing alone. She had a dear, gentle face and even spoke a bit of halting English. We got the facts straight between us, that she was waiting for a ride and that I needed to telephone a taxi. She too had a cell phone, but no numbers for cabs.
A man parked his car and headed for a nearby apartment door. This angel of mercy ran over to him, chatted, gesturing to me, and he went inside and came out with a phone book. She then called me a taxi! Just about that time, her ride showed up. Everything is timing. I could not have been luckier. The young man had already disappeared, and my friend got into her car and waved goodbye, I was standing alone in front of the gare with the sun setting and my heart pounding. I could only pray that the cab would indeed show up. It did. A lovely young woman driver who took me straight to my hotel. Amen!
The Hotel Altos was a pleasant surprise! From the street, it looked like a purely commercial pair of glass doors, and indeed it was the bargain rates and smallness that attracted me in the first place. The manager (owner?) spoke wonderful English and was warm and welcoming! I could have kissed him with relief. He said there had been a local holiday and thus most of the restaurants had been closed all day, so I would have to walk into town to find food. I was exhausted and this was not good news, but when I got to the room, I was happily surprised to see a big queen size bed, a really modern and large bath, and big windows with lots of light. I had expected a monk's cell and a narrow cot at the price I was paying. I dropped the bags, and went out to find food. Fortunately there was still daylight at 8:30 pm which surprised me, and I hiked toward the town's rond-point and found a pizzeria that was open. As it turned out, it was a charming place with really good pizza, and I enjoyed a couple of glasses of wine before wandering back to my bed to sleep like the dead.
And the dead were awaiting me on the morrow, I realized, when I shut my eyes.
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# posted by bevjackson @ 7:28 AM
