A Humorous Experience about Getting Lost in the South of France - Essay Example

It all happened in the South of France. I was on a high school exchange trip to Bilbao, Spain, which is in the north of Spain, and we went on a day-trip to the southern part of France for a day-trip. The particular place that we went on the day-trip was a popular resort town called Biarritz, also known as St. Jean de la Luz. After going on the day-trip to Biarritz, the plan was that we were going to go on a shopping trip to another location somewhere in France. However, at this time the entire town was empty because all the French were on vacation in March, and obviously since it was still winter there were no vacationers. The place was essentially a ghost town, which made this the perfect setting for the following story, which is a little bit scary for someone who is in a foreign country by oneself, off on her own, doing her own thing—and unfortunately not being smart enough to stay with the group. Let me preface this by saying that originally, what happened was not a very humorous experience. Getting lost in a foreign country is not fun. I had a terrible feeling in the pit of my stomach for most of the experience because I was terrified of being left behind by my group in France. Running around not knowing where you’re going is not fun. Knowing that you’ve made mistakes is not fun. Having that ‘lost’ feeling is not fun. Having to ask strangers for directions is not fun. Looking back, however, it seems very funny. First, I will tell it how the story happened. There were a group of about thirty of us—about half of us were American high school students, and the other half were Spanish high school host students. We were eating lunch on the beach that we had brought from home, and I told the group (I’m paraphrasing here), “Yeah, well, I’m going to head off now by myself.” I told them this in no uncertain terms. No one seemed to think this odd. After all, Biarritz was a little town; it wasn’t very large; how could I get lost? I must preface this story of getting lost with another story of getting lost, however. This was not the first time on this trip I had gotten lost. Earlier on in the trip, I had wanted to buy postcards when we were in a shopping area called Siete Calles, or Seven Streets. Seven Streets is basically is a shopping district of seven streets horizontally lined up next to each other. I had run out of money, which was back then the Spanish peseta and not yet the Euro. I had to ask the people at the store to hold the postcards for me while I ran to the local bank on Siete Calles. When I got to the bank, somehow I was able to jump the line. I don’t know if it was because they were feeling sorry for my plight of being in a terrible hurry or what it was, but I asked some elderly Spanish ladies to translate for me so I could get some Spanish pesetas quickly, in order to get back to the store in order to pay for the postcards faster. Meanwhile, I was late in getting back to our meeting place at the church in the center of town and everyone feared the worst for me since I had not gotten back on time—when in reality I was just buying about 100 or so postcards that were on sale! I promised not to be late again and that was that. Well, little did I know that I would again find myself in another pickle. This time was really not much different. After I had told the Spanish students “So long” at lunch and had gone along on my merry way, I found myself going to various stores in Biarritz, because really this place was quite interesting. They had all sorts of different knick-knacks that were fun to look at, and it really was quite a charming little town. It was the kind of place you could get lost in. That was the key word. The kind of town you could get lost in. Unfortunately, I was going to be one of those people in a few minutes. I found myself finally at a French confectionary and candy store investigating all the different kinds of sweets that this particular place had to offer. There were all kinds of types of chocolates and other delicious sour candies and gummy candies—things kids would go for, that you could take out of the bin. Like a kid myself, I was most interested in buying some gummy worms in southern France—of all places to buy gummy worms. That’s one aspect now that I find quite funny that didn’t seem funny at the time. Who buys gummy worms in southern France? Anyway, it was then that I checked my watch, and realized with horror that I was going to be late in catching my bus to go back with everyone. I was terrified. I had thoughts of being left in southern France, without going home, being penniless on the streets of Biarritz, cold and alone. I decided this could not be a reality. I had to find that bus, come hell or high water or no water at all! I paid for the candy hastily, thanked the woman behind the register, and left. I was out on the cobblestone street. I looked in a few stores, one of them being a store that sold winter jackets. There was no one from the trip whom I recognized that was in the store. I was panicking. I remembered having come through some breach in the street to get to where I was now, but I could find any gap in the street, or exit to lead me to where the bus would be. I also clearly remembered a long, stringy line of knobby-kneed banana or baobab trees that led up to where the bus was sitting, but I saw no signs of any such trees—anywhere. This was also disappointing. I was really beginning to get frustrated. I must have walked up and down the cobblestone street where all of the little shops were located about ten or fifteen times, because I was trying to look for the opening where I thought the exit in the street was so I could get back to my bus. Finally, exhausted with running and walking up and down the cobblestone street and frustrated from not having found the opening, I went to the end of the street and turned left. There, on the left, I found two Frenchmen, who were casually sitting at a table. The table had a white tablecloth, and they were, I gathered, sitting down for a meal. I don’t remember if they were at some kind of a restaurant or an eating establishment of some sort, but they must have been considering the circumstances. I believe it was an outside café setting. At any rate, I came up to their table and pulled up short, rather rudely in fact I might add, and interrupted their conversation to bother them because I was so flustered about not being able to find my bus. Here is what happened, roughly: I said, “Excuse me.” One of the men answered, “Yes?” “I am lost, and I cannot seem to find my bus. Can you drive me there?” I asked impulsively. “Drive you to your bus?” the Frenchman laughed. “I cannot. I am in the middle of lunch!” “I’m sorry. That was rude of me. It was a bad idea,” I admitted. I was desperate at this point to find the bus. I was really worried about being late, being scolded for being late—or worse, being left behind! “Where exactly is your bus?” I then proceeded to explain where I thought the bus was but that I couldn’t get to it because it was on the other side of the town, but that I couldn’t get there because I couldn’t find the exit in the street that would lead me to the other side. Further, I didn’t see the banana trees that I saw when coming in to Biarritz, and this was all very confusing. I asked the first man if he knew what I was talking about and he seemed to shake his head yes. “I believe I can help you.” “You can?” I said. “That would be wonderful, thank you!” “All you have to do is go to the mailbox and turn left. Then go straight.” “It sounds easy enough. But I’m not sure.” “You’re not sure?” “Yes, I’m not sure. Could you draw me a diagram?” Now, I know this sounds ridiculous, but I was so worried I was going to screw up his directions that I asked him to draw a diagram. So, without further ado, the Frenchman whipped out his little French planner and drew a diagram. I found this aspect completely hilarious! It was a beautiful drawing, complete with the table we were at, mailbox, and correlating arrows as to which way to go. He ripped the page out, and handed it to me, wishing me good luck on the search for my tour bus. I was very thankful for his guidance and told him so. “Thank you so much. You’ve been an enormous help.” “You’re welcome.” To my chagrin, the directions did work. I went down to the mailbox on the corner, made the turn, and headed straight. I saw the banana trees, thank goodness, and eventually was able to see the tour bus in the distance. Even more importantly, I saw a Spanish exchange student headed my way in order to greet me before I arrived at the bus. She said, “Where were you? Everyone was so worried!” I said, “Yes, I know!” My teacher scolded me, saying, “That will be the last time you are late, alright?” And I said, “Yes, yes.” My teacher laughingly rolled her eyes, however, sort of acknowledging that I had once again slid by, in this comedy of errors. I repeated my story about finding the two Frenchmen dining at an outdoor café to the other exchange students on the tour bus and they thought it was absolute hilarity, me asking one of them to drive me to the bus! It took a lot of moxie to ask that to a total stranger, especially someone in the middle of his lunch hour. Additionally noteworthy was the fact that I asked the same man to draw a diagram to get to my bus, when he had given clear oral instructions. But I argue that I’m a visual learner, and that I don’t do well with verbal instructions. So sue me. Still, I find it very funny that he had to draw a picture. It’s one for the ages. Since then, I have learned from my mistakes, and make sure to always try and be on time for appointments and other cogent meetings. If I’m late, I always try to give notice if at all possible. Being lost in a foreign country is not a pleasant experience, and I daresay it’s one I will ever have to go through again. I hope not. But if I do, I would hope to be able to come across such fine people as the one who helped me out in this particular circumstance to find my tour bus in Biarritz, France. Sometimes we certainly can’t control our circumstances, but can control how we deal with how we react to those circumstances and how we deal with the outcomes. In retrospect this was very funny. Read More