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Young Backpackers in FranceWe were 18, single, free from pressures of work, and had what felt like one final free summer before our university courses were to begin. Having spent a couple of weeks with some friends on a French campsite in the Dordogne, John and I were heading off for a solo adventure of our own, to the West coast of France. We had no idea where we were going to stay, or even what we might find there - but ideally we wanted a nice spot near a beach. We needed to depart early, and had decided in our wisdom to take our tent down the day before to save time. I slept on my airbed, under the stars and awoke slightly hungover and soaking wet from dew. I located John, who had sneaked into a tent with some friends and was amused to discover that in our alcohol-induced daze I had not been quite so astute. We were dropped at the station, weighed down with our rucksacks and clutching our inter-rail passes. This was it... a 20 hour train ride straight to the coast. Perfect. The train was so old it looked like something you would see in a museum. The kind of train that leaves on the first day of every month and chugs along so slowly you wonder if you should jump off and walk the rest of the way. Unfazed, we hopped aboard and immediately found ourselves a small cabin. Friends had warned us about sleeper trains, so we carefully locked the door and tucked our bags out of sight. We awoke as the train pulled in early the next morning. We had slept well, and had a rough plan to get a bus for the final part of the journey so we could see a bit of the area and find somewhere to stay. The town was small, and the bus depot was conveniently located right outside the station. We had successfully deciphered the bus maps and clambered on to the next bus that arrived. John reached in to his bag to pay the driver, and then realised he had a problem - his wallet was missing. Shit. We got off the bus and John checked through his rucksack. His walkman was gone too. It must have happened while we slept on the train. I checked my things, luckily my bag was untouched, however, we had carefully budgeted our trip, and as John had just lost 50% of our total funding we now had a serious problem. Fortunately John's father had given him a telephone number to ring in case of emergencies; it transpired he would be covered under his travel insurance provided he could get a police statement. This could be interesting. We found the police station a couple of streets away, a tiny building that resembled a bungalow. There was a small, empty waiting room, and a tiny office at the back. We called out, and a gruff voice responded from the office. "Oui?" We walked in, to find a man with a huge grey walrus moustache sitting at a desk. He looked like a sheriff from an old American film. "Parlez vous Anglais?" Our usual stock phrase when we needed to ask for something slightly more complicated than a croissant. "Non" Fantastic. What sort of Police station is this anyway, we wanted to say. And so began John's memorable attempt at explaining our situation. "Don le tron de nuit, mon monet ey mon walkman ey.... phwuit" The last word was actually more like a whistle, but the glint in the gendarme's eyes told us he knew what we meant. He said something in French, but neither of us understood. He said something else, and we looked at him dumbly. He ushered us out of his office, and we sat in the waiting room and considered giving up. Moments later a young blonde woman walked in, greeted us, and then walked into the Sheriff's office. They spoke in French for five minutes or so, and then she returned. "Quel est le problème?" John and I looked at each other, resigned to another ten minutes of being misunderstood. "Don le tron de nuit, mon monet ey mon walkman ey.... phwuit" The woman smiled. "It's ok you can speak English. What you need to do is write all the details on this form and take it away with you" We laughed. Suddenly things were looking up. And even though we only had half our money left and had to live off frankfurters and baguettes for the rest of the holiday, we made it to the beach, and we even made it back to England.
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