Damn the luggage...

I had to get out of the apartment today--I couldn't wait around forever for my luggage to arrive.  I went in search of some toiletries, like shampoo and deodorant and a new SIM card for my cell.  Someday I will take the map with me, but I have a pretty good sense of direction, so I never do.  I wound my way around the Place Carnot and headed in what I know to be the general direction of the train station.  Jason had told me that there was an Orange store near there and I knew that if I couldn't get a new SIM card from them, I would be able to get a cheap mobile phone with a SIM card.  I needed to get wired into the world.  My God, did I just say that?

 This is the square where they have the flea market on weekends.  It's packed with cars and people then.

  

I also found a Monoprix, sort of like a Fred Meyer (those of you in Brookings will get the reference) only much smaller. And while you can buy a handbag and some yogurt and toiletries, you can't buy a gun (again, those in Brookings will get the reference) It's rather smaller than what we are used to in the US, but it is perfectly adequate. I bought a wash mitt and some necessities and a smallish clothes hamper for the apartment. Most importantly, I got a reusable shopping bag--mon sac.  Now I can go to the market tomorrow morning without looking like an idiot.  And feeling like one, too.

While I was in Monoprix, I was in line in front of a group of young men who looked to be 14 or 15.  It's a little hard to judge, because teen boys here are smaller in stature than the young men I am used to seeing at Brookings High School. I asked them if they could help me.  As one, they nearly jumped to attention and said, "Yes!!  They train their young men early here in France to help women. I asked if they knew where the Orange store was and while they didn't know exactly, they volunteered to accompany me, asking random people along the way where the store was. They were utterly charming. When I told them I was from the US, they were curious about where.  (Everyone seems to know where California is) I replied that I lived in the Pacific Northwest--they told me how beautiful it was.  I told them I had come to France to learn to speak French. One guy told me he was a teacher.  I replied that I was the Queen of England.  They got it, and we all laughed.  When we finally arrived at the Orange store, we had a photo session and off they went. I told them that they were my heroes.

mes heros

The Orange store was closed for lunch--they wouldn't reopen until 1:45, so I went to sit in the shade of some sycamore trees in a big park right next to the Canal du Midi, in front of the Gare de Carcassonne.  It was so pleasant; the temperatures are shirtsleeve weather and the sun is warm.  While I was sitting there, I guess I caught the eyes of a group of French men, gathered around a bench, shooting the breeze.  Men the world over sit in parks or in coffee shops and do this. They sort of nodded and then the bravest of the bunch got up and came over to the bench where I was sitting.  Ah yes, I had forgotten about being a woman traveling alone. He strolled by and then stopped to make conversation.  I told him that I was waiting for the opening of the Orange store. He asked if I was English.  I replied that I was from the United States.  He looked back at his cronies and in a loud voice broadcast, "Ah, je suis americaine."  He obviously had been sent over as a scout.  I felt a little flattered, but mostly amused.  

 Sycamore trees?  and the Gare du Carcassonne in the background

Bottom line is that the store opened, my old French phone works just fine, but I have a new phone number. I returned home and began using my now-working phone to call British Airways and the courier services to find out where in the hell my suitcase could be.  They seem to have no idea. They also have NO idea just how persistent I can be. 

Oh, and did I mention that I brought home a baguette for dinner?