Chapitre 2 : From Nantes with Love

Bonjour à tous et bienvenue au chapitre 2!

I hope this chapter finds you well, and leaves you smiling J

So, where were we? Ah yes ... you will remember that the last chapter ended with me fighting to pull the age-ridden suitcase out of a rut in a cobbled Parisian side street; and consequently my discovering that, as slight as I am, I had somehow managed to break one of only two wheel axles on my suitcase? Well, I wasn’t going to let the suitcase get the better of me, no sir. So suitcase in one hand (and map in the other) I carried on walking along la rue. Having stayed in this very hostel during previous ventures “dans Paris”, I recognised the area and was sure we were practically there. The Perfect hostel had been perfect both by name and nature; clean, friendly, comfortable and most importantly to a student ... CHEAP; and being pretty shattered by this point Mum and I were simply looking forward to getting there, settling down for the night and having a decent cup of tea - of course I had packed British tea bags!!! But then, whilst fixating on said cup of tea, a terrible thought suddenly occurred to me ... had I ever actually confirmed the hostel reservation, after the incident?

The secret to the art of organisation is making lists, and many of them; and in doing this I generally remain organised, which I do like to be. After all, I don’t resent OCD - I enjoy every minute of it; but even for Mr. Organised, booking the “séjour” to Nantes had been a massive effort, and I mean massive. What with the trains, planes, trams and hostels, going about organising our precise (and pretty rushed) itinerary had been no mean feat; and the sense of relief I felt, hovering the mouse over the final “Confirm reservation” button, was HUGE. And then, it all went wrong. I clicked confirm and the page came up saying “Payment Unsuccessful”, explaining that my MasterCard had rejected the payment; so I rang the helpline, and MasterCard informed me that they had ever so helpfully cancelled ALL of my recent transactions ... and the next thing I knew my phone was ringing – this time a call from Santander Fraud Squad, enquiring about said recent transactions on my other card! Having already had one payment declined, I was suddenly questioning whether any of my bookings had actually been successful. I guess I should be thankful ... my credit card had just been used at 3am in the morning, on a French website, to pay for a one-way flight out of the UK.

So we walked into the hostel and I explained to the man at reception (in dreadful French) that I had reserved a room ... and thank god my booking was valid.  Although even if it hadn’t of been I’m not sure it would have mattered ... anything goes en France ... we paid cash-in-hand after all! So we caught the coffin-sized lift up to our floor, after bumping into a pair of French lesbians (who were still kissing in the lift when the door opened) on the way, and found our room ... and it was surprisingly familiar – quite possibly the exact same room that I had stayed in years before when visiting Paris with Pye!

Since there was a severe lack of a kettle, and we were both starving, we decided that we should go for a wander and get something to eat ... we were in the capital city of a country renowned for it's excellent cuisine after all ... and we ended up in a kebabby! But it was a wonderful kebab, with skilfully salted chips, and ketchup second to none (except Heinz), believe you me; and so, not knowing quite what we had just eaten, we returned to the hotel for a decent night’s sleep. However, be it due to my nerves, my “kebabulous” dinner, or the stupid American tart sat outside of the bar next door who chose to speak so loudly and so often ... the night’s sleep left a lot to be desired. And in true Cottrell style, the next morning when we (kind of) woke up, we were in foul moods.

Not to worry I thought, a decent shower will wake us up and prepare us for another rollercoaster of a day; and then mum emerged from the bathroom ... “The worst bloody shower of my life! What is the bloody point?! I had to lean with my head against the wall the whole time, and I still hardly got wet at all!” Of course, the shower head WAS detachable, but mum hadn’t realised. I pointed this out to her, as nicely as I could, after my fully invigorating shower, but she was having none of it. “No Liam, it will have to do! I had a shower and that is that. I don’t want another shower. I’m dry now, its fine.” And after an equally rubbish breakfast, (having stayed in hotels in England where you can eat as much Full English Breakfast as you want, a stale piece of bread and a milk-less cup of tea don’t really compare do they?) we set off for the Metro.

Exercise number 1: the suitcase lift.

·         Drag broken suitcase uphill to "nearby" subway stop.

*** Subway line at least three flights of stairs underground required.  (Parisian Metro strongly suggested, where escalators ‘n’existent pas’)***

·         Go with someone who can’t be expected to lift 20kg of suitcase.

·         Carry their 20kg suitcase down the stairs. As well as your 20kg suitcase. Both at the same time.

·         Lift suitcases on and off of packed trams. During rush hour. Repeat as appropriate on all line changes. Minimum 3 changes.

·         Why not go from one side of Paris to the other if you have been overindulging on pain au chocolat recently?

·         Total calories burned – 800.

·         Total sockets disjointed – almost two.

So after my work-out,  to make up for the calories I had lost, I enjoyed a croque-monsieur with French fries whilst waiting for the train to Nantes; and the next thing I knew we were getting off the train at Nantes, and walking out of the station into the sunshine! So this is where I’m going to be spending the next 5 months of my life ... CRAZY ... and we walked over to the taxi rank, not really fancying figuring out the transport system just yet! But after 15 minutes there was no sign of a taxi ... so we had to battle with the overcharging ticket machine in the end anyway, and started making our way to stop Number 1 - the “Guichet Unique”.

Having decided that it would be a better idea if we didn’t take the misbehaving suitcases, I left mum in a random park, by a random tree, whilst she read her Twilight book, and I set off alone. The “Guichet Unique” would be where everything was sorted out for us, where we would be told exactly what to do, where they would know everything ... or so we had been told. After eventually finding the place, and discovering that it wasn’t the least bit organised, a lady sat at a desk looked up at me, said simply “Bonjour” and then stared at me blankly ... and on the brink of tears I started trying to explain why I had come to see her. I realised then that my time in Nantes was going to be an absolute scream. “AHhhhhh” she said, sitting me down with a huge smile on her face, simultaneously snatching the application papers out of my hands and ruffling around to find her glasses. “LEEEEEAM? Oui?” “Non, Liam!” “LEEEEEEEM?” “Non, Liam!” “LEEEEEUUUM?” “Non, Liam!!!” “LEEEEAAAAM?” “Oui, Leam if you want!” And then... “AAAAAHHH STUDI ITALIANO! SONO ITALIANA!” (Ah you study Italian, I’m from Italy!)  - So I just arrived in France, and now she was talking to me in Italian - just to make it easy, you know?! And then, with constant disruptions, giggles, random pieces of paper thrust upon me and a helpful mixture of English, French and Italian she vigorously explained to me what I had to do over the next couple of days ... and sent me on my way again to find my halls of Residence. So I retrieved mum, and headed towards the number 11 bus stop in the centre. Stop Number 2 - Cité Casterneau, La Résidence Universitaire.