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Lost in Nimes - A Backpacker's TaleTen days had already passed in my two and a half month trip through Europe and I was still in London, trying to figure out what to do next. I couldn't get in contact with my good friend Romain, who lived in Paris and had promised a place to stay as long as I wanted. The big question was should I wait for a response from him or head out on my own, venturing for some spontaneous location? Finally, the decision was made for me. I met a girl who was on her way to Paris and thought, "I'll just go with her and see what happens." Well, it didn't turn out quite the way I had wanted. Within two days, we had said our goodbyes and I was once again left to decide my next step. I got on the phone and tried Romain's number once more, hoping this time someone would pick up. To my surprise, I heard his voice on the other end and frantically began to explain my situation, telling him how I was now in Paris and that I would like to come see him. As it turns out, he wasn't in Paris but rather in Nimes, his hometown in the south of France, attending a family wedding. He said I should leave immediately and join him in Nimes, where I was welcome to stay as long as I liked at his parents place with he and his family. I agreed; I would go to Nimes now and near the end of my trip return to Paris to visit him and see the city properly. I gathered my stuff and headed for the train station. By the time I had my train ticket in hand, I only had a few minutes to find a pay phone and inform him of my arrival time. As you can probably guess, he didn't pick up his phone. Having no other choice, I left him a quick message stating that I would arrive near 10pm. The train ride was uneventful. Night fell and my train arrived in a small station at the designated time. I got off the train and tried to get a sense of where I was and what I should do next. People were quickly exiting the front doors of the station; the place was emptying with a sort of eerie speed. I checked the front doors too, hoping that Romain was standing right outside, but found nothing but a quiet plaza in the evening, spotted with a few locals sipping at coffees or cocktails. The usual insanity of traffic and pedestrians I had grown accustomed to in London and Paris was completely absent from this scene. I dug my France Telecom card out of my pocket and found the nearest payphone. Throughout the duration of my trip, I would find that not having a mobile phone was maybe the single most aggravating aspect of my journey, especially in France. None of the payphones accept coins, only the France Telecom cards that start at around seven euro to purchase. I stuck my phone card into the slot and to my horror, it read zero credit. I had no way of contacting Romain. I took a quick peak into the station: the place was essentially deserted and obviously about to close. I thought to myself, "Metro, buses, public transport, where do I go?" So I entered the quiet plaza with my small roller bag and backpack, knowing only about three or four coherent sentences in French. I stopped at a small table under an umbrella where a thirty-something man was enjoying a coffee and a cigarette. With my frazzled traveler's appearance, I approached his table and tried to make out something in a mix of French and English. He had no idea what I was saying. As I would soon find out, not very many people know English in a small town in the south of France. He did his best to help me, which amounted to directing me to a small bar on the other end of the plaza. As I arrived at the bar, I sensed a sea of stares from the local patrons, a sort of radar for foreigners that has just gone into effect. I asked various people for a phone or a bus or a map, fumbling through my "pocket guide to French" for the right words or phrases, which complicated things more than anything else. I found that all public transportation was closed at this time of night and for one reason or another, I wasn't able to find a phone to use. I must admit, I was shy to ask for someone's mobile, though I'm sure at least one person would have happily offered it for a quick call. After a few minutes, I just wanted to get out of there. I found out the direction to central Nimes and started walking, having no clear idea of what to do next. I only had Romain's mobile number. No home phone, no address. As I have done on many occasions in the past, I sought the Internet as my savior. But where could I find an Internet café at this time of night? I met a few faces as I walked the main street of Nimes and would approach them with a "Parle vous anglais?" Sometimes I would get an apologetic smile and shrug, other times I'd get an answer like "A little bit" and would find out how truly little it was once speaking to them. Finally, an older couple did their best to direct me to a nearby Internet spot. I found the place, got myself a computer, and breathed a sigh of relief to see the familiar Internet Explorer browser open in front of me. It's strange what things can be comforting in an unfamiliar place. I had a mission: locate Romain's address. I discovered that Europe has an online White Pages as well and happened to know the name of Romain's father, so I got an exact match with the address. Then I searched for a map of Nimes and only found a very crude street map without a great deal of detail. It was enough, I'd make do with it. With the help of a guy that worked there, I managed to get some sense of where I was on the map and where I was going. At some time between 11 and 11:30pm, I left the Internet café and headed into the dark night, hoping that my new found determination would guide me to my destination. For over two hours, I explored the many streets and alleys of Nimes. Many of the cities in the south of France were constructed under the Roman Empire and have very complex layouts, with streets that intersect at strange angles, that end unexpectedly, and often narrow into small alleys, with barely enough space for a single car to pass through. Nimes is no exception. With my print-out map in one hand, I struggled to read the names of street signs and match them to the messy scribbling on my map. The town was largely unlit and almost entirely devoid of people, except for the occasional late-night straggler. I kept making mistakes, taking the wrong street and having to backtrack. After the first hour, I felt like I had made little progress and began to realize that for a small town, it wasn't that small for someone unfamiliar with it. Despite my troubles, I was in a state of mind where each obstacle had its own charm. I felt like a determined man and was enjoying my long walk as a sort of adventure and story in progress. It was exciting to be lost in Nimes . These were the sort of experiences that had motivated me to come traveling in the first place. At one point, after realizing I had been going the wrong way for some time, I stopped to take a picture of my surroundings, something I was sure I'd appreciate later on. I took a picture of the path ahead of me, which was completely dark. The flash on the camera cast a dim, failing light on the night and, in retrospect, managed to successfully capture my solitude in Nimes at that moment. But eventually, the novelty of my experience began to wear thin. I had stumbled upon a gigantic boulevard, lined with massive car dealerships. The street was like any other commercial street in the world and definitely lacked the Roman charm of the smaller streets I had just seen. I was beginning to get very annoyed and could feel the hunger gnawing away at my stomach and the lack of sleep weakening my body. I came upon an enormous roundabout and stopped to look at my map. I was very close to my destination but was now faced with a new problem. At this point on my map, the streets became very small and residential. So small, in fact, that there were no names for them, at least not on my map! How the hell was I going to find my way from here? Just as I was about to start again and leave it to good fortune to lead the way, I saw a car approaching on the roundabout, with the horn honking. The window was down on the driver's side and I could hear the familiar sound of Romain's voice as he pointed in my direction and discussed with his girlfriend if the strange man standing at the corner with a roller bag and backpack was actually me. He pulled up close by and the two of them got out of the car. The first thing he said was, "Hey man! How did you get so far?" I simply smiled, shrugged, and said it had been no problem. They had been out of town all the day and had just received my message. I told them my story as we drove to the house. I ate a nice meal, met his wonderful family, and had a very comfortable bed prepared just for me. I had been staying in hostels for nearly two weeks and had just spent two hours wondering if maybe I'd sleep on the street this night, so I must admit, it was very good to be home.
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