While we’ve been traveling I’ve been horrible at keeping up with the news. Maybe I wanted a break from good old Donald’s hilarious tweets. That guy just cracks me up. Just cracks me. Cracks me right in half. Oh, the pain he causes.
Anyway, we’re waiting on the platform for a tram in France and I was getting a weird vibe (I have horrible anxiety that likes to pretend it’s psychic). An announcement from a human (not a robotic pre-programmed message) says something somber in French and some people leave. My weird vibe mixed with my lack of terrorism knowledge (the news) put me on edge, you could say.
We board the tram anyways, while aboard the driver makes another announcement and a lot of people get off at the next stop. At this point, I believe we’re riding into Hell (with a capital ‘H’), but I didn’t want to prove to the universe my superstitious nature (huh? that must be the anxiety talking).
We arrive safely and everything is fine, but when we try to go back home that night the tram stop is blinking a message in French and there is no timetable. We walk along the tracks to the next stop and it has the same message.
People at the stop began to gather and discuss in French (my eavesdropping skills were of little use, so were my Spanish skills…).
Just as we were about to give up and walk home a bus drove down the tram track and pulls up like the freaking Knight Bus in Harry Potter (go watch it, for real, you are so behind on everything) and brought us home. Anyway, we still don’t know what happened but no one died. The end.
Update: The Knight Bus returned the next night! This time we knew what we were doing and waited “patiently” at the tram stop to be whisked away.
A woman approached me (everyone in the world freaking approaches me, more on that here) and starts speaking to me in French. I detected a light accent (what the hell is a light accent? Idk, you said it) and said “Angles?” in my attempt at a French accent (so many accents flying around). She said yes in an American accent and then we chuckled wholeheartedly at our idiotic attempts to talk to each other in another language (you had to be there).
Anyways I was feeling pretty superior when I told her the situation about this magical bus that would appear when it felt like it. She returned to her family to relay my expert knowledge. (Her husband couldn’t have bought a more realistic ‘tourist’ outfit at a Party City, he had on a khaki cargo vest and a camera slung around his neck, I thank him for the Halloween costume idea, I call dibs.)
My time in the sun (not literally, this was at night, you see how I set the scene there?) was over quickly as an actual French woman approached me and didn’t trust my information because I wasn’t from around there. Then an older gentleman from Armenia tried to hold a conversation with us completely by miming.
He danced around and patted his stomach like he was hungry and then pretended to fall asleep. It was pretty effective if he was trying to tell me he was hungry like the wolf. The sung was stuck in my head all night.