I’ve somehow walked through my television screen and straight into one of the French renovation channels that Clive and I watch on YouTube.  At least that’s what it feels like!

After saying farewell to my lovely host of the past four and a bit weeks, I caught a morning train down to Angoulême.  Now let me clarify that.  To get down to Angoulême, I first had to catch a train up to Paris and then change trains to head back down again, this time in the direction of Bordeaux Saint-Jean (ALWAYS know the final destination of your train!).

After my nerve-wracking journey from London to Quimper, France (note to self:  NEVER, EVER catch a bus again!), I was not particularly looking forward to my travel day.  However, everything went smoothly and after the four hours up and the two hours down, we were finally nearing Angoulême station.  I had been warned that luggage-snatchers are an increasing problem on trains these days and Madame Julia had given me something with which to fasten my suitcase to the luggage rack once on board the train.  I had managed to score a rack fairly close to my seat, so was able to keep an eye on my green suitcase with The Yellow Ribbon (refer to my Yellow Ribbon post for that previous suitcase-snatching Aussie near-miss (and by the way, ALWAYS have something that yells “I Am Yours and Yours Alone” on your suitcase!)).  Secured to the luggage rack, I felt at least mine would not be an easy grab.

Now I’m not one to catastrophize. Ok, who am I kidding?  Catastrophizing happens to be one of my superpowers.  But just in case I would a) have trouble managing to undo my cleverly secured suitcase from the luggage rack and/or b) cause a major passenger jam in the aisle whilst doing so, I got up from my seat in plenty of time to collect my suitcase and make my way clumsily down the aisle to stand by the train doors, trying not to take anyone out with the head rest pillow attached to my backpack.  A few exiting others arrived as the minutes passed, one of them carrying a small cat in a small cat carry case, and we all stood quietly in the “in between carriages” department, which by the way didn’t have any air-conditioning.  And then the train stopped.  No station was in sight.  A few puzzled looks were shared between the waiting group and then a message came over the speaker system.  (Yes, trains actually have speaker systems – UNLIKE CERTAIN BUSES I KNOW!)  The message was in French, but I made out the words “problem” and “signals” and then I sighed.  We were so close!

Several minutes later, the train started up again but at the pace of an escargot.  The scheduled time for our arrival at the station had come and gone and I received a message on my phone from Nerida, who had driven forty minutes from her home in Courcôme to collect me.

“The arrival board says your train has arrived, but I don’t think that’s correct.  Are you ok?”

I replied, explaining the situation, but just as I pressed send, suddenly our speed cranked up and we were racing along once more.

I sent another message. “All go now.  I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

Then the train stopped again, and we heard another announcement about problems, signals and a delay of “quinze minutes”.

“Cancel that.”  I messaged to Nerida.  “Delayed another fifteen minutes now.  So sorry!”

It was getting pretty hot inside our crowded little area by the carriage doors, and I started to think that at this point walking might be a faster option.  I peered through the gauze window of the small cat carry case next to me and wondered if its wee occupant had been through all this before because he was incredibly calm.  Then again, maybe he’d been slipped a dose of Kitty Xanax.  It’s a thing.  I know, because Madame Julia told me about it.

Eventually the train started up again and this time we continued until we reached the station at Angoulême.  Hoorah!  I was thirty minutes late, which can be a real problem if you’re racing to catch another train, but thankfully this time my transport was a big white van driven by the gorgeous Nerida herself.  (Total respect to her for managing to do the whole drive-on-the-right-hand-side-of-the-road thing.  That’s a skill I’m yet to learn.  Look out world!)

It was so good to see her, and I burbled out all my experiences of the last month to her as she drove us toward her French home.  As we were nearing Courcôme, she pointed out the steeple of the village church, standing tall above the rooftops and after a few more minutes we drove through tall metal gates and into her driveway. 

And that’s when I walked through my television screen…

Tune in next time for “Have Ivy Got News for You – Stepping into A French Reno”