View Larger Map
Thursday, June 6th – train from Paris to Laon, 4539 km
It is still raining early in the morning. Just to be sure, I check at the reception desk to see if there is any last minute room available for the weekend. There isn’t. I had hoped to meet with the local Servas coordinator today to get lists for Belgium, Netherlands and Luxembourg, but I guess that will have to wait now too.
I am having a problem with my right Achilles tendon this morning. I seem to have strained it with all the walking. With 4500 km of cycling behind me in the past three month it’s hard to believe that is possible, but I think now that that is actually the cause. I haven’t been stretching enough and my calves have knotted up tightly. Walking pulls on the tendon more than cycling, and suddenly it’s injured. I favour my left leg now. With my side still hurting when I turn the wrong way or lift something over my head, now I have an added pain.
The local train to Laon that can take our bikes leaves at 2:45pm. That gives a few hours to see our last of Paris. We pack up our bags and stow them away at the hostel. Then we catch the subway downtown for the last time and head off on our own separate errands. 
The rain continues uninterrupted. It isn’t a good day for walking. I stop into the department store where Guillaume works and say my goodbyes, although I feel he has jerked me around just a little bit. He’s too young to know better, I tell myself, as I half-remember leading older guys on when I was younger. I search out the gay bookstore and pick out a guide for Amsterdam. That’s all I have time for before returning to the CISP.
I arrive back first and load up both our bikes for the ride to the station. I find Mike in the lobby on the phone to Toronto, even though it is 4am there. Apparently, his sister is having problems managing his house. Even I would have problems running my own house at 4am.
The ride downtown midday is not too challenging. Our tickets to Laon cost us 94F each, about $19 Canadian. Rain hits the window of the train as we glide through the city and through the countryside beyond. The reason Mike picked Loan is because a family he stayed with when he was a teenager lives there. Their name is Leleu. The parents are in Spain at the moment but their son Stephan is in town until tomorrow. We are not sure if we’ll be staying with him or at the parents’ home.
The ride to Laon takes two hours. The old town stand high on the crest of a ridge above the train station. Its elegant 900 year old church stands out prominently and
can be seen from a great distance. Stephan is not at the station to meet us. Mike says we need to ride to his place of work, an insurance agency in the old town. The climb is steep and I feel totally out of shape after four days off as I climb the hill in the rain. It begins to pour much harder just as we reach his office. Stephan is at home, not his office. Mike calls from his secretary’s phone and gets instructions on how to get to his parents’ home where we will be staying. We wait until the heavy shower ends before setting off. We only get a couple blocks before it starts to pour hard again. Mike, who has the directions, gets lost while we both get wet. When he does find the street he rushes ahead. I catch up and make some like joke about him trying to catch up with his youth, but as usual I get no reaction. He has learned to shut me out.
Stephan is not at his parents house when we get there. He has told Mike where the door key is hidden and now we are sitting in the unheated guest room (formerly Stephan’s room) in our wet clothes and bare feet. We have left our wet shoes and socks by the door. I want to have a shower but the hot water has been shut off while the parents are on vacation.
Stephan arrives about half an hour later. He is about Mike’s age, not too bad looking, married with two kids, but the rest of his family are with his parents in Spain. He is going to join them tomorrow. He takes us back to his place where we can shower and change in comfort, racing along the narrow one-way streets with their many blind corners as though no pedestrian here ever crosses a street. Thankfully, there are many pedestrians in this weather. He flies by the ramparts of the city’s ancient fortifications, and we stop in briefly at his grandparents home. They are an ancient but sophisticated couple who have purchased a medieval home beside the most beautiful gate in the city. The wood beams, plaster and brick walls are all in good condition, but warped by their long history.
After our showers, he takes us out for a pizza dinner. Pizza for the second night in a row, but I am happy just to have a dry place to sleep tonight, even if it’s not warm. The pizza is good and I am hungry. I can understand most of Stephan’s French. He throws in the occasional English word, but I think that’s all he knows. Afterwards he takes us to a two-level bar full of lively young people. It looks like a small jazz bar one might find in Paris if one knew where to look. After my first beer I feel myself fading. Mike is too, so Stephan doesn’t keep us out long.
PHOTO 1: le Gare du Nord
PHOTO 2: le Gare du Nord, inside
PHOTO 3: the gate into Laon, top of the climb
No comments:
Post a Comment