A Memorable Maiden Voyage

I was to be met at the airport in Paris by my cousin Alex, who was on exchange at a university an hour's train ride north of Paris. I had bought a ticket which took me to Paris via Taipei and Frankfurt- the cheapest but most convoluted route available. That seemed like a good idea at the time – but it wasn’t.

The Departure

The first leg of the trip was fairly uneventful- the infant sitting next to me wept for hours, and I kept pace with him, remembering that I had forgotten to say goodbye to my cat, I wouldn't see my parents for 6 months and my sister would almost definitely take over my bedroom whilst I was away. I also had my period, and wanting to save myself the anxiety of digging through my travel bag under my travel mates' watchful eyes (undoubtedly they would be watching my every move) whenever I went to the bathroom, I had stocked every single pocket of my cargo pants with at least two tampons. When I woke up a bit later, my head lolling over my armrest, I saw that a good number of these had fallen out and were rolling around the aisle. Mortified, but also puzzling over how many had been able to escape, I decided to cut my losses and assumed the expression of somebody affronted to see so many stray feminine hygiene products in a public thoroughfare.

Stopover One: Taipei

My 7 hour stopover in Taipei was fine. I did get a little bit hungry, but I found it impossible to navigate the seeming miles of tunnels that made up Taipei airport, and had no extra cash to buy food even if I could find it.

The first serious hitch in the trip came when there was a delay on the Taipei to Frankfurt leg of the trip, which meant that I missed my connecting flight to Paris. I'm apt to cry at the drop of a hat, so the prospect of being stranded in Germany, not having eaten for several hours, and being in the weepiest stage of my period had my lower lip aquiver before I'd even stepped off the flight. To cap off my mood, my luggage, when it came around on the conveyor belt, was ripped open, and shoes, clothes and underwear were spewing out for all the world to see.

By the time I had managed to negotiate a seat on another flight to Paris in four hours, and been told that I couldn't check my torn luggage, I was trying to stifle great big rasping sobs. The staff and other travellers were a bit startled by the noises my efforts were causing, so I gathered up my belongings and found a quiet seat in a dark corner of the airport. As luck would have it there were public phones there, and I spent close to 40 euros trying to contact Alex, eventually waking my parents up in Australia and making them promise to let him know what was happening. For the next three hours I sat alone quietly weeping amongst my dishevelled possessions, watching happy families reunite outside the arrivals gate.

Stop Over Two: Frankfurt 

I managed to get a seat on another flight, but couldn't check my bags in for another 3 hours, and once again hid myself away in a quiet area of the airport. My mood was increasingly dismal and my stomach increasingly growly, but all I could do was wait. I eventually boarderd the plane, and endured the thankfully short flight, hoping against hope that somehow my family at home had got on to Alex and he would be there for me at the airport, waiting with a cup of hot chocolate, a gigantic roast dinner and a stretch limo to take us to his accomodation. 

Arrival at Paris: No Alex

I had finally arrived! A lady helpfully told me when we alighted that the luggage that I was carrying had ripped. Mon dieu! I had no idea!

As expected, Alex was not still at the airport 4 hours after my scheduled arrival time, although I sat and waited for him in vain for a good 45 minutes, desperately wishing that he had decided to stake out the airport.

When it finally sunk in that he wasn't coming to get me, and I was feeling thoroughly dejected and abandoned, I took myself downstairs to the train station and muddled through the purchase of a ticket to one of the main train stations in Paris. Once there I managed another broken-French ticket purchase from a helpful staff member who then sent me to the wrong train. I managed to get off that train right before it left the station when I realised there had been a mistake. I lugged my stuff over to the correct train, and spent the hour-long trip anxiously looking out the window for a sign that I was on the right train.

Arrival at Compeigne: Worse News

I finally arrived at my destination thinking, "Alex will definitely be waiting at the station for me". Alas! I waited at the station for a full hour hoping he would turn up and he never came. My train had been the final one that Sunday afternoon, so all the people at the station gradually filtered home, leaving me with my luggage, and 3 teenage girls who were milling around. They told me that yes, there were public phones near the station, but they only took special phone cards, and all the shops close in summer, especially on a Sunday, so there was no chance of getting such a card. The girls left, and I waited for another half hour, formulating plans for accommodation that night. This was a country town- surely I could find a field to sleep in? Or if I slept at the station would I be able to wake up before the morning commuters arrived? Would I be able to make it another 12 hours without eating? Wouldn't Alex feel like a monster when he realised what a hard night I had passed in a field? A FIELD!

You can (almost) always rely on the kindness of strangers

None of my dramatic imaginings ended up happening, because a lady strolled up talking on her mobile phone, and I managed to convince her with a combination of sign language, tear-stained face and mangled French to let me borrow her phone, and I finally got in contact with Alex, who explained that I could take a taxi quite easily and cheaply to his apartment, which was about fifteen minutes away.

And so that was the beginning of my big, fantastic world adventure. At the time it felt like the most traumatic thing that could happen on a solo trip but, with the benefit of hindsight, it looks like not such a challenging set of events after all. You should hear about the six weeks I spent living in tiny villages in the north of Central Java!