Trains, Trains, Trains, Missed Trains, Hot Chocolate, Trains, and a Convent

Avignon to Nouan le Fuzlier.

The story of this day is a story of trains and train stations, mostly, ending in a French Nun community in a very small French town somewhere south of Orleans (which is somewhere south of Paris).

We caught the bus to Avignon TGV train station, which is different to the older station outside Old Avignon as it services the TGV 'fast trains' through the area. We got brekkie at the station (despite the fact that I asked for two pain au chocolats and only got one and then went directly on to serve someone else so I couldn't correct her. Half a pain au chocolat is never enough...) then successfully made the train.

We zoomed along at high speeds to Lyon. That stop proved to be exciting as our ten minute time to transfer turned out to be up and down a million flights of stairs through crowds of people to get to the other platform, with all our bags. Poor Packhorse Greg, he was in a right lather by the time we got on that train!

Then we could relax for a bit before we were deposited in Paris. This time we had an hour to transfer but we had to get to an entire other station, which was only across the river but was poorly signposted. We were sure there was an underground passage there was little to say what direction to go. So we emerged into freezing, overcast, Paris. After two weeks of nothing below 20 even when it rained this was a bit of a shock! Also, a week of small town France had spoiled us and suddenly we had been thrust back into a large, busy, smelly, grey city in the middle of a commuter Monday. We hoofed across two bridges with our bags, feeling a bit lost and put out, as the rain abruptly pelted down.

Drenched for the second time in two days and feeling dazed and unprepared – after all, Paris wasn't even today's destination – we figured out what train we wanted, but it was way to early for a platform to appear on the screen. I insisted that we sit down and have some lunch even though we knew the prices would seem ludicrous and the quality mass-produced here in the station, after what we had been enjoying further south. We successfully negoiated lunch and then it was time to board the third train of the day, to Orleans.

Things went well on this train until we got off. By now we knew the easiest way to figure out what next was to ask at the information desk. The train from Orleans to Nouan le Fuzelier was one that couldn't be booked as a reservation was not needed – just our railpass. So we went to the desk and the lady (once she figured out I was trying to pronounc Nouan le Fuzelier) said “oh, you can take this train or this train, but you need to take it from the Orleans station. You'll have to take the tram”. “Orleans station? I though we were at Orleans station?!”

Turns out we weren't. Turns out there are TWO stations in Orleans, Orleans Aubrais, and just Orleans. So when the train arrived at Orleans Aubrais, at the time that our ticket said it would arrive at Orleans we thought 'great! This is it'.

Okay so we need to take the tram across town, no worries. Oh wait, the next train to Nouan is in fifteen minutes, and then there isn't another one for three hours. Crap. Needless to say, we didn't make the next train. So then we were stuck in the rather barren (nothing but vending machines and a few very hard, cold seats) Orleans train station, with all our stuff, on a grey and rainy day, for two hours. After we had gleaned all the information we possibly could from the info man and the timetable stand, we concluded that there were no other trains coming sooner. A text message to Greg's friend Megan at the convent to explain we would be late gave the reply that the appropriate French word to use in such situations is “Dommage.”

Well, dommage.

We soon tired of the station and decided to head out and have a little look around, maybe find a nice cafe. It was cold and grim and drizzly – it's amazing how a grey day can make a city look really seedy! There were very few inviting places on offer, but eventually we found one that looked moderately friendly. Not really sure how things worked in a city cafe, we stood awkwardly outside with all our bags as I looked up the word for 'hot chocolate' which I figured would be just the thing at this moment. A friendly roundish man with a jolly beard appeared in the doorway and asked us a question in French. I smiled and said precisely this “Excuse me do you have chocolat chaud?”

“Oui, oui” He said and gestured us inside out of the cold. The place was done up a bit like 1950s American diner style and there were a few young people at the bar having an afternoon tipple, while a mix of French and english pop music from the 80s and 90s played from the radio. The chocolat chaud turned out to be divine and if we hadn't been running out of time I would have ordered another. Another disaster that turned into a fun mini-adventure in a city we weren't even supposed to visit! Looking back we did well to to hit Lyon, Orleans and Paris all in one day – three fairly large French cities. But I guess counting Lyon is pushing it a bit...

Eventually we made it on the last train of the day, anxiously counting the stops the whole way to make sure we didn't screw it up. As we pulled into the station at Nouan le Fuzelier, Greg spotted Megan waiting in the car and we knew we had finally got it right! Megan is a friend of Greg's from uni – previously a traffic engineer, she is presently living here in this tiny French town, as an asperient (I guess potential nun?) of the Catholic community there (sorry Megan I'm bound to stuff up the details, such as what to appropriately call your community!).

She drove us to the commune and showed us to our room. Our room was in a guest area and was lovely especially since there was a dish of chocolates on the bedside table and psalms in French waiting for us on the pillows!

After we had dumped our bags and regrouped after the frazzling day of travel, Megan showed us around the place. It's kind of like the places we used to go to for Easter camp at church, only French and much older! There are living quarters, various halls and rooms for hosting retreats, a rather beautiful church, and a beautiful old chateau where the community share meals, take lessons, and generally go about life. The grounds are stunning, the whole place is what you imagine a community hiding in the French countryside would look like, lush fields, a pond, and pretty flowers and bushes growing everywhere (Megan I can hear you laugh as I romanticise away – but honestly it is a beautiful setting!). It's very peaceful and tranquil although I wonder what happens to some of that peace when the busloads of Parisian catholic youths turn up for the retreats!

 

We were invited to join the community for dinner which we were very grateful for! While we waited we enjoyed a sneaky cider and chocolate from a comfortable sitting space and we were introduced to many of the people there. There's no way I can remember anyone's names, but we met some of Megan's fellow asperients, as well as some nuns, priests and soon to be priests. Everyone was extremely welcoming and excited to greet us despite the language barrier. It was very charming to hear everyone stretch their varying English skills on us – which for the most part were just fine and however limited they were always superior to our French!!

To add to the amusements, one of Megan's asperient friends, a Spanish girl who's name I've forgotten, had her family arrive that night from Spain as well. So they soon joined the mix and the hilarity of the three languages all going on at once was rather good. I felt bad for Megan's friend who speaks all three herself, and well, as she tried to switch from Spanish for her family, English for us, and French for everyone else – her poor brain must have been so confused!

The head Priest (I think) declared at dinner time that there would be “An English table and a Spanish table” to avoid too much confusion as we ate.

The "English Table" 

Dinner was exceptional 'home fare', with various courses being served. There was even home brew dessert wine and profiteroles, which Megan advised us were not the normal fare but had been rolled out in honour of the guests. We did feel very honoured – when we decided to come and visit and Megan and take a peek at what life was like for her we didn't expect the whole place to do anything special for us or indeed take too much notice that we were even there! So it was really, really nice.

After dinner everyone pitched in to wash up and Greg got roped into taking a photo of the Spanish ladies, as they all hurried to grab teatowels to make sure they looked busy in the picture. There was a lot of laughs and the whole mess was clean in about 15 minutes flat. Then we made our escape to a library area where Greg ruthlessly grilled Megan on what life was like and various areas of Catholic doctrine. He assures me that this is what normal conversation between them has always been like – very challenging and forthright – so hopefully Megan he's telling the truth! Then Megan's lovely Spanish friend appeared and we all talked for a bit. Then it was surprisingly time for bed – it was close to 10pm but it was so darned light that it felt more like 6pm! Had we really come so far north in just a day?

The next day the plan was breakfast with another lady at the commune, then off to Chambord and a chocolate factory!