Fuite la France: Deux
As the train traveled towards Bordeaux, my stomach was a virtual roller coaster. I was so afraid that I wouldn't get to the consulate in time before it closed for the day. What then? I didn't even know which direction to turn once leaving the train station.
Breathe.
Before leaving St. Jean I had the good sense to write down the address and phone number of the consulate on a piece of paper. I decided to take a gamble. Using the little money I had left - I would take a taxi. I did not want to risk getting mixed up on the light-rail or taking the wrong bus- I just didn't have the time to make another mistake.
When the train finally pulled into the train station at Bordeaux I hurried to the nearest cab. The rain had cleared and the temperature was beginning to rise but I didn't want to take the time to mess around with my rain jacket. Giving the piece of paper to the cab driver- who muttered something in french and nodded- I threw my backpack into the trunk and hopped in- 10 minutes later the cab halted in front of a large stone complex with french flags hanging from each doorway. This looked promising. The time was now around 2:45. I made it. Looking back at the address i followed the door numbers down a small alley way and stopped. No flags, no signs. just a small door with a ringer. This couldn't possibly be it. I stopped two french girls walking by- neither spoke English but I managed to communicate that I wanted to know if the building that i was in front of was the Embassy. The girls rang the buzzer and spoke rapidly - a woman responded with an emphatic "No, No, No...." This I understood. I was not in the right place. The girls took me by the arm and pointed down the street- on my piece of paper they wrote another address- one that said 89...I looked up at the door ....I was at 3. The consulate had moved.
The time was now 2:55 and I had a little over a half and hour- and no money. I was beginning to get very warm in the jacket but I ignored the heat....
Breathe don't panic.
-
I hurriedly made my way down the road...passing 30 ....50...60...70...85 -
the time was 3:10.
89.... but this looked to be some sort of a school. There were college aged kids hanging around the outside of the door. Where was the consulate. I was almost out of time! I looked up at the building for some sign that something American was attached letting me know where to go. In the far corner of the building was a small place with a head I recognized....Thomas Jefferson. Ok. It had to be here somewhere. Walking up to the group of kids at the doorway- I asked in a mix between both English and french where the embassy was- most of them just looked amused at my efforts. One of them finally replied -thank goodness in English- that it was at the end of the building down the alley- I nearly ran.
I searched that alley top to bottom and did not see anything resembling and embassy. Final I asked a man walking if he knew where the door was. He briskly nodded walked to the middle of the alleyway turned down another little alley way, stopped at a small unmarked door with a voice box- speaking rapidly in french he nodded towards the door - said 'second floor' and walked off. Confused but knowing at this point i really didn't have an alternative- I walked into the elevator waiting on the other side of the door hit the button for floor two . The elevator slowly moved to the second floor and opened........
to what appeared to be a hair styling school- there was a little sign with scissors and a hair dryer. Oh...GOD. It was 3:20.
Then the suddenly back wall of the elevator opened to reveal a security guard...who spoke french. But he pointed at me and said "Susan Kamholz?" YES!
Walking into the a very small office, he gestured to me to wait on the small leather couch next to his desk as he walked through a door at the other side of the office-... I wondered if they would let me crash on the couch for the night.....I took off my jacket and realized I was totally soaked from rain and the effects of the heat. My faced flushed because I knew I looked and smelled like of a seriously desperate crazy person....
Then like a breathe of fresh air I heard voices talking....MIDWESTERN ACCENT VOICES! Like one of them walked out of Fargo THANK GOD!
everything was going to be ok.....
Introducing themselves- they said that they had been in contact with my mother and that they were wondering where I had been. .....are you kidding me.
I had tried to reach this consulate several times at St. Jean and I never got an answer nor did they call the pilgrims office back to let me know they had received my voicemail. THE WRONG ADDRESS WAS ON THE WEBSITE....and they wanted to know where I had been.
Keep your temper in check I told myself- they are going to help you.
Well...they did sort of. Within minutes of me explaining what had happened several conclusions were reached.
A) I did not have a official police report stating what was stolen.
B)This was a post not an embassy and they could not issue emergency passports.
C) They might be able to help me get some money from Western Union but it won't be much because I had no official document saying who I was.
D) unless I was prepared to wait in Bordeaux for two to three weeks I would have to go to Paris
E) however- I was going to have to make my case for an emergency passport because the only thing stating that i was leaving the country was my flight from Madrid to London dated for July 26th well with in the waiting period for a normal passport- regardless of the fact that i had no alternative form of I.D and no money. Technically I was going to be walking out of the country..
oh god I wasn't done with this nightmare yet. ok don't panic.
After talking to mom with the gracious use of the consulate phone several things were decided
A) I would be going to Paris in the morning. (Just for the record the entire reason I originally took the ferry from Portsmouth to St-Malo was to avoid ever going through Paris. I hate Paris.)
B) The consulate woman would take me to the nearest police station to file a report
C) I may be able to get a secondary I.D. via faxing at the embassy in Paris.
D) the consulate woman would then escort me to the western union with report, and passport scan in hand and basically tell them to give me the money sent by mom.
I had a plan of action -
We arrived at the Police station around 4:30 ish- and it took about 45 minutes to create the report (no one spoke English and the consulate woman had to interpret everything)- we immediately went to the western union filed the necessary paper work and I received money. Enough to get me hotel room near the train station, a ticket on the 4:40 am train to Paris, and pay for my new passport.
My stomach while still in turmoil began to settle. It was going to be ok. Maybe I could even go back and still do the pilgrimage. Though the thought of going back to the place where this all began scared the hell out of me. Could I go back ? Did I even want to? I began to think of all the people I had told throughout this past year. How proud I was of myself for doing this walk. Could I give it up simply because I was too afraid at this point to do it alone? No. I was going to get my passport, march straight back to st. Jean and proceed as I had intended. The hell if i was going to let this guy beat me....
Heading back to the area of the train station, I was warned by the consulate woman while Bordeaux was relatively safe...the area of the train station was not. Don't walk around alone at night she advised, once you check in your room stay there. This made me falter a bit in my attempted rally. But really what choice did I have?
I made my way down to the train station immediately bought my ticket and headed for the best western across the street. Settling in I closed my eyes to catch some much needed sleep....and promptly woke up a half an hour later in a blind panic that i had missed my train.
No, there would be no sleep for me tonight. I could not miss that train.
The next morning, after a night of no sleep, I nervously walked to the train station at around 4 a.m. It was still dark and the station itself was locked which meant I would have to wait on the platform. As a I sat with my backpack next to me and my camera case clutched in my arms I prayed for everything to go well that day. For me to get my passport with no problems. around 4:15 a group of loud noisy guys entered the platform area...kicking over trash cans and shattering glass bottles on the sides of the station they made their way towards the benches where I was sitting. I immediately got up and made my way toward the station building ...luckily a gentleman dress in the gray uniform of a ticket taker was standing on the platform...I quickly made my way over to him...hoping that the group would simply pass by.
And with a few curt words from the man in the gray suit...they did. He glanced over my way and smiled. I personally was relieved. Was it just me or had this whole experience completely destroyed my self confidence of traveling by myself?
At 4:30 my train pulled up to the platform and to my surprise the man in gray followed me onto the train. He was the ticket man for my car. He showed me to my seat, helped me with my bag and found me a glass of water from the dinning car. I was the first passenger of the day.
I had three option at this point:
A) get my passport and attempt the Camino again.
B) Go to Erika in Germany
or
C) cut my losses and buy a plane ticket home to the states.
Settling into my seat, I sat back, closed my eyes and considered my options.
What did I want to yet accomplish
What would were the reasons pushing me to continue...
Was it because I still really wanted to walk the Camino at this point
or was it because I was afraid to face everyone back home....
Breathe.
Before leaving St. Jean I had the good sense to write down the address and phone number of the consulate on a piece of paper. I decided to take a gamble. Using the little money I had left - I would take a taxi. I did not want to risk getting mixed up on the light-rail or taking the wrong bus- I just didn't have the time to make another mistake.
When the train finally pulled into the train station at Bordeaux I hurried to the nearest cab. The rain had cleared and the temperature was beginning to rise but I didn't want to take the time to mess around with my rain jacket. Giving the piece of paper to the cab driver- who muttered something in french and nodded- I threw my backpack into the trunk and hopped in- 10 minutes later the cab halted in front of a large stone complex with french flags hanging from each doorway. This looked promising. The time was now around 2:45. I made it. Looking back at the address i followed the door numbers down a small alley way and stopped. No flags, no signs. just a small door with a ringer. This couldn't possibly be it. I stopped two french girls walking by- neither spoke English but I managed to communicate that I wanted to know if the building that i was in front of was the Embassy. The girls rang the buzzer and spoke rapidly - a woman responded with an emphatic "No, No, No...." This I understood. I was not in the right place. The girls took me by the arm and pointed down the street- on my piece of paper they wrote another address- one that said 89...I looked up at the door ....I was at 3. The consulate had moved.
The time was now 2:55 and I had a little over a half and hour- and no money. I was beginning to get very warm in the jacket but I ignored the heat....
Breathe don't panic.
-
I hurriedly made my way down the road...passing 30 ....50...60...70...85 -
the time was 3:10.
89.... but this looked to be some sort of a school. There were college aged kids hanging around the outside of the door. Where was the consulate. I was almost out of time! I looked up at the building for some sign that something American was attached letting me know where to go. In the far corner of the building was a small place with a head I recognized....Thomas Jefferson. Ok. It had to be here somewhere. Walking up to the group of kids at the doorway- I asked in a mix between both English and french where the embassy was- most of them just looked amused at my efforts. One of them finally replied -thank goodness in English- that it was at the end of the building down the alley- I nearly ran.
I searched that alley top to bottom and did not see anything resembling and embassy. Final I asked a man walking if he knew where the door was. He briskly nodded walked to the middle of the alleyway turned down another little alley way, stopped at a small unmarked door with a voice box- speaking rapidly in french he nodded towards the door - said 'second floor' and walked off. Confused but knowing at this point i really didn't have an alternative- I walked into the elevator waiting on the other side of the door hit the button for floor two . The elevator slowly moved to the second floor and opened........
to what appeared to be a hair styling school- there was a little sign with scissors and a hair dryer. Oh...GOD. It was 3:20.
Then the suddenly back wall of the elevator opened to reveal a security guard...who spoke french. But he pointed at me and said "Susan Kamholz?" YES!
Walking into the a very small office, he gestured to me to wait on the small leather couch next to his desk as he walked through a door at the other side of the office-... I wondered if they would let me crash on the couch for the night.....I took off my jacket and realized I was totally soaked from rain and the effects of the heat. My faced flushed because I knew I looked and smelled like of a seriously desperate crazy person....
Then like a breathe of fresh air I heard voices talking....MIDWESTERN ACCENT VOICES! Like one of them walked out of Fargo THANK GOD!
everything was going to be ok.....
Introducing themselves- they said that they had been in contact with my mother and that they were wondering where I had been. .....are you kidding me.
I had tried to reach this consulate several times at St. Jean and I never got an answer nor did they call the pilgrims office back to let me know they had received my voicemail. THE WRONG ADDRESS WAS ON THE WEBSITE....and they wanted to know where I had been.
Keep your temper in check I told myself- they are going to help you.
Well...they did sort of. Within minutes of me explaining what had happened several conclusions were reached.
A) I did not have a official police report stating what was stolen.
B)This was a post not an embassy and they could not issue emergency passports.
C) They might be able to help me get some money from Western Union but it won't be much because I had no official document saying who I was.
D) unless I was prepared to wait in Bordeaux for two to three weeks I would have to go to Paris
E) however- I was going to have to make my case for an emergency passport because the only thing stating that i was leaving the country was my flight from Madrid to London dated for July 26th well with in the waiting period for a normal passport- regardless of the fact that i had no alternative form of I.D and no money. Technically I was going to be walking out of the country..
oh god I wasn't done with this nightmare yet. ok don't panic.
After talking to mom with the gracious use of the consulate phone several things were decided
A) I would be going to Paris in the morning. (Just for the record the entire reason I originally took the ferry from Portsmouth to St-Malo was to avoid ever going through Paris. I hate Paris.)
B) The consulate woman would take me to the nearest police station to file a report
C) I may be able to get a secondary I.D. via faxing at the embassy in Paris.
D) the consulate woman would then escort me to the western union with report, and passport scan in hand and basically tell them to give me the money sent by mom.
I had a plan of action -
We arrived at the Police station around 4:30 ish- and it took about 45 minutes to create the report (no one spoke English and the consulate woman had to interpret everything)- we immediately went to the western union filed the necessary paper work and I received money. Enough to get me hotel room near the train station, a ticket on the 4:40 am train to Paris, and pay for my new passport.
My stomach while still in turmoil began to settle. It was going to be ok. Maybe I could even go back and still do the pilgrimage. Though the thought of going back to the place where this all began scared the hell out of me. Could I go back ? Did I even want to? I began to think of all the people I had told throughout this past year. How proud I was of myself for doing this walk. Could I give it up simply because I was too afraid at this point to do it alone? No. I was going to get my passport, march straight back to st. Jean and proceed as I had intended. The hell if i was going to let this guy beat me....
Heading back to the area of the train station, I was warned by the consulate woman while Bordeaux was relatively safe...the area of the train station was not. Don't walk around alone at night she advised, once you check in your room stay there. This made me falter a bit in my attempted rally. But really what choice did I have?
I made my way down to the train station immediately bought my ticket and headed for the best western across the street. Settling in I closed my eyes to catch some much needed sleep....and promptly woke up a half an hour later in a blind panic that i had missed my train.
No, there would be no sleep for me tonight. I could not miss that train.
The next morning, after a night of no sleep, I nervously walked to the train station at around 4 a.m. It was still dark and the station itself was locked which meant I would have to wait on the platform. As a I sat with my backpack next to me and my camera case clutched in my arms I prayed for everything to go well that day. For me to get my passport with no problems. around 4:15 a group of loud noisy guys entered the platform area...kicking over trash cans and shattering glass bottles on the sides of the station they made their way towards the benches where I was sitting. I immediately got up and made my way toward the station building ...luckily a gentleman dress in the gray uniform of a ticket taker was standing on the platform...I quickly made my way over to him...hoping that the group would simply pass by.
And with a few curt words from the man in the gray suit...they did. He glanced over my way and smiled. I personally was relieved. Was it just me or had this whole experience completely destroyed my self confidence of traveling by myself?
At 4:30 my train pulled up to the platform and to my surprise the man in gray followed me onto the train. He was the ticket man for my car. He showed me to my seat, helped me with my bag and found me a glass of water from the dinning car. I was the first passenger of the day.
I had three option at this point:
A) get my passport and attempt the Camino again.
B) Go to Erika in Germany
or
C) cut my losses and buy a plane ticket home to the states.
Settling into my seat, I sat back, closed my eyes and considered my options.
What did I want to yet accomplish
What would were the reasons pushing me to continue...
Was it because I still really wanted to walk the Camino at this point
or was it because I was afraid to face everyone back home....
posted by susan at 3:20 PM
2 Comments:
It's like you were in a sort of nightmarish cartoon about bureaucracy.
Hang in there Susan. You're finding out you're a lot stronger than you think. You've got lots of family and friends rooting you on, including your Uncle Brad.
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