22 hours in the sphincter of France.

-originally written on March 9, 2010

WELL. We’re not in Barcelona.  In fact, we’re not in Spain at all.  We are currently in Montpellier, France, which is the knife-crime capital of France, and known for its hate crimes and anti-racial/foreign sentiments.  Great, huh?  You may be wondering…just how the hell did we end up here, of all places?

Yesterday we got to Pisa so early and thought we were really okay with everything…takeoff went flawlessly, life was good, and we thought we were doing well.  Until the pilot came on the intercom to explain that there was such heavy snow in Barcelona that we would have to circle for a while.  Then we were told we would have to go refuel in Montpellier before returning to Barcelona.  Then we were told we were de-planing in Montpellier to be bussed to Barcelona.  Before we knew it, we were in a random provincial airport in a fricking French resort town with no Ryanair liaison, no information about how we were supposedly going to catch this “bus” to Barcelona, and no idea what the hell was going on.  The Ryanair flight we were on had literally refueled and turned around and left us alone in Montpellier with absolutely no recourse...no information, definitely no “bus” to Barcelona, and no idea what to do next.  I have never been more thankful that I chose to study French in my life. 

We got croques-monsieur for lunch and jumped into action…rallied up with the rest of the people who Ryanair had abandoned, got a tram to the center of Montpellier, and started trying to figure out what the heck to do.  Thank God for McDonalds.  I know I couldn’t possibly sound more American or gauche but we have been to the McDonalds in Montpellier no less than SIX times in the past 22 hours…free WiFi, cheap food, and relative safety…you KNOW the city you’re in is sketchy as hell when the place you feel safest is the McDonalds. 

We met up with three other American girls who were in our same boat…two of them, both Laurens, needed to get to Malaga for their spring break and there was also a Beth trying to return to Salamanca.  We all got to a hotel where we were able to get two pretty-nice suites and talk to the concierge, who I literally adore.  He was SO helpful and made me feel better right from the start. 

A large group of moderately crazy Italians who were also on our flight were convinced we needed to start immediate legal action against Ryanair and so we got sort of dragged into that by merit of the fact that I was the only one of the group of (now about) 20 who could speak French.  I talked to Ryanair’s “service hotline” (what an oxymoron!), got yelled at by the personnel at Montpellier Aeroport, who had already filed a formal complaint against Ryanair for shafting them off with 100 tourists and no aid, and attempted to try to diffuse all the information I was getting through the group.  Turned out that Ryanair had officially stated that we had landed safely in Reus, one of their Barcelona airports, and were being bussed to Girona, our original destination.  F-ing liars.  Gaaaah I HATE RYANAIR. 

Anyway, we spent the night in the sphincter of France.  Montpellier is apparently so dangerous for women/Americans that the US government advises that they not go out at night, never travel in small groups, stay only on populated, public, well-lit streets…in short, do everything we couldn’t do.  If ANYBODY is planning a trip to southern France, don’t go to Montpellier.  It is sketchy as all get-out. 

After a very intense night of trying to figure out what the heck was going to happen, Peter, Charlie, Coleen, Kate and I pushed all our beds into one big long bed, had a pillow fight/snugglefest/planning session, and ended up having a slumber party for safety in our hotel.  We were up again at 6am, at the train station by 6:45, and informed that there was still no way to get to Barcelona at all by about 7:00.  We immediately decided to just cancel our Spanish leg of the trip…too much hassle, and to be honest, we all just wanted to get the hell out of Montpellier as soon as was humanly possible.  We booked TGV (bullet-train) tickets to Paris, and I’m currently sitting on the train at the station waiting for it to depart. 

Part of me is very, very selfishly excited that we are getting two extra days in Paris…but I do feel really bad that we’re missing out on Barcelona.  I was so excited to see the Gaudi architecture, Sagrada Familia, etc…but c’est la vie.  I think we’re going to try to plan a trip to Normandy for tomorrow if it’s easy/cheap/not too far…we’ll see. 

The best part of being in France?  Using my French.  I am apparently a much better French speaker than I gave myself credit for being.  The concierge said my French was “impeccable,” the staff at McDonalds were impressed with the speed and fluency with which I could communicate, and this morning a random older woman in a café said I had “la plus belle accent d’une Americaine qu’elle a jamais entendu…” the most beautiful accent she had ever heard from an American.  I’m very content with my skills/abilities and I can’t wait to see what six more days of French speaking will do for me/my comprehension/my speaking ability. 

Aaaah.  The adventures continue…more updates as soon as I can get them!  In the meantime, à plus tard!!