16 Nov--Tea, pt.4

In Jamie's hand was a small pamphlet he picked up from the ticket office in Angers. On it was a colourful version of Paris found only on bus station brochures: where the train station was large and easily seen; where there were only four streets in the whole city; where those four streets were either yellow or blue; and where the Eiffel Tower had bulging eyes and an open-mouthed smile.

This was his map.

The "ample time" Jamie had allotted himself to change from train to bus was fast disappearing. The 30 minutes he spent spelunking the Paris metro was proving costly as he frantically looked for the 300ft baguette his map told him was in front of him--right where the blue and yellow roads meet to create a green intersection. He was almost a kilometre from the station now. Flanking him on both sides were tall, brick houses who's tops were obscured by ancient sycamore and poplar. He looked at his map and figured he was probably on one of the blue roads. "This is useless," he puffed. Irritated and tired, he threw the map in the nearest waste bin. It was the smartest decision he'd made all day.

"Sorry, are you looking for the bus to the airport?" He head a voice with an English accent say. He turned around and saw a middle aged woman carrying a paper bag of groceries.

"Yeah. Yeah, actually I am. How did you know?" Was it written all over him?

"It's written on your hand." She replied. "The bus is just down this road, then take your first left. But you'd better hurry."

"Thank you. Thanks. Really." Jamie turned and jogged as best he could. Sure enough, around the corner was one, lone bus. He checked with the driver to ensure it was the right bus, and between Jamie's broken French and the driver's broken English, they reached an agreement: Yes, this was a bus. Jamie decided to take the woman's word for it. It was too late to reconsider, anyway. But it wasn't until the bus pulled away and finally headed in the correct direction did Jamie relax. In half an hour he would be at the airport, and a short time later on a plane to Israel. He closed his eyes and let a easy wave of relief pass over him. He could do the airport. Airports were easy.

Of course they were--unless you're traveling to a country at war.