Too bad I had to go to France. Since my flight was delayed my parents had to drive me to SFO to catch my connecting flight there. I kissed Katy goodbye, a kiss I will never forget. I can still recall every part of it. My dad jammed down to SFO and I barely made it. I never actually ran through an airport to catch my plane. It felt so cliché, like I was in some movie. I had a sentimental goodbye with my mom, dad, and brother, did the no shoes metal detector dance, and found my gate. After a few last text messages from the two main women in my life, Katy and my mom, my plane took off. I couldn’t help but laugh maniacally. No turning back from here, I’m off..
5600 miles, nearly ten hours, plenty of French practice, and some hard core chick flick viewing later, I arrive in Frankfurt. I was so ready to speak German to find my way through the airport, but as soon as I started to speak it, everyone would talk to me in English. I exchanged my dollars for euros, (got ripped off), then got my first legal beer.
A second legal beer was definitely needed. Luckily I made a friend on the plane who lives in San Francisco but visits Germany twice a year. He gave me the run down on the airport, showed my where to exchange my money, and where to go through customs. He made the experience easier and a whole lot faster. 
Frankfurt airport was not only the coolest, technologically advanced airport I have been to, but the most economically friendly. For example, most of the airport staff got around on bicycles. There were also “smoking cabins” for those that couldn’t make it outside between flights to have a smoke.
From Frankfurt to Lyon I got lucky and occupied the middle seat of three empty ones, so I sprawled out and snoozed for the duration of the forty five minute flight, except for the five minutes I woke up to eat my complimentary sandwich and cookie which was better than any American airplane food I’ve ever had. While I was scarfing down my delicious ham sandwich, I looked out my window and saw some of the French country side for the first time. Small clusters of villages surrounded by grape vines and other agriculture populated most of the rolling hills, dissected by rivers, creeks, and miniscule roads.
The Lyon airport was nothing I wished. I think it has the potential to be a nice airport if you haven’t been flying for eleven hours and wanting to lay down and die. The only part that excited me were the concession stands filled with French pastries, sandwiches on baguettes, coffees, beer, and wine. A lot of wine. Once I figured out how to buy a bus ticket to the Lyon train station, about thirty minutes away from the airport, I realized I was going to be a bit late for my pick up in Toulouse. I didn’t even care. I knew I had made it and I only had one hurdle left, he Lyon train station.
I wish I could remember more of the bus ride to the Lyon train station, but I was 75% asleep for about 90% of the time. All I remember is coming into downtown Lyon and saying “holy shit, there’s a lot of graffiti in France” and of course, getting off the bus. I got off the bus, bought by ticket with ease, and made myself at home at an Irish pub inside of the station. Don’t judge me, I had time to kill, and I’m a fan of all things Irish, especially the beer and whiskey which is what I got right when I sat down. “Shot of Jameson‘s and a Guinness please.” The bar man asked if I wanted a big one or a small one. “I hate that question. Full pint please.”
I wish I could remember more of the bus ride to the Lyon train station, but I was 75% asleep for about 90% of the time. All I remember is coming into downtown Lyon and saying “holy shit, there’s a lot of graffiti in France” and of course, getting off the bus. I got off the bus, bought by ticket with ease, and made myself at home at an Irish pub inside of the station. Don’t judge me, I had time to kill, and I’m a fan of all things Irish, especially the beer and whiskey which is what I got right when I sat down. “Shot of Jameson‘s and a Guinness please.” The bar man asked if I wanted a big one or a small one. “I hate that question. Full pint please.”
Damn good Guinness. I caught my train and was on my way to Toulouse to be picked up by my new family. I think the only train I have ever been on was an Amtrak, slow motion train to Reno when I was younger. This was a whole different experience. The TGV train was a whole lot faster, smoother, and more comfortable all around. After passing through a few sea side villages I arrived in Montpellier for my transfer. I had about five minutes so I got a chance to hop outside the station to snap a few crappy pictures of the city I will be in in August…if I make it that long.
Before I got back on the train, I bought a bag of the best potato chips I have ever had. America sucks solely for not having these chips. Come on, USA. Voila. Roasted chicken and thyme flavored chips..
Watching the sun set over the Mediterranean on my left while rows of grape vines flew past me on my right was beautiful. It was hard to believe I was really there. This was even better than my dreams, and I was only on the train. Across from me sat a student, probably about my age, that lives in Montpellier. When I told him I was from California, he immediately brought up Snoop Dogg and something about “cash money”. He then proceeded to talk about blonde women with big boobs. I could hardly understand him, but I still nodded as he rambled off the California stereotypes. He then told me that Montpellier is the best city in the whole world. I was glad when he got off at the next stop. He was too talkative and I was way too tired and hungry.
I pulled up to Toulouse after the night had taken over the sky and the city. Toulouse is a beautiful city. The neon lights in the night against the ancient, charming buildings strung along a slowly but surely moving river didn’t remind me of anything. This type of city was completely new to me. Little did I know it, but this was the city I would have some of the best times in for the next month.
I pulled up to Toulouse after the night had taken over the sky and the city. Toulouse is a beautiful city. The neon lights in the night against the ancient, charming buildings strung along a slowly but surely moving river didn’t remind me of anything. This type of city was completely new to me. Little did I know it, but this was the city I would have some of the best times in for the next month.
After about forty five minutes of patiently waiting, pondering what Phillip would look like, what kind of car he would drive, how long the drive would be, etcetera, Phillip finally arrived. We shook hands and he asked if I wanted anything to eat. Even though I was famished, my fatigue took over. I said no. I just wanted to get to Chateau Boujac and get some real sleep, in a real bed. Phillip took the long way out of Toulouse and gave me an impromptu tour of the city that I would later navigate solo in the daylight. After flying down the freeway in a two door Peugeot for close to an hour, we exited, went down some tiny country roads, and arrived. Finally. I wish I could call upon my first impressions of the house, but at the time, my mind was set on one thing. Sleep. Phillip took me to my room, located in his parents house on the second floor. My room is Phillips childhood room, and it appeared as if it hadn’t changed since he was six years old.
I washed my face, brushed my teeth, and crashed like a cop car in The Dukes of Hazard. The original one, not the horrible newer one with horrible actress, Jessica Simpson.
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