Ridin' the Rails: Part Deux

So, we had a great time partying it up - 8 people squashed together in one tiny couchette (that's what they're offically called). However, as two a.m. rolled around, we really needed to try to get some sleep since we had class at 9 that morning (our train left Sunday evening at 8 p.m. and arrived in Dijon at 5:30 a.m., and then class started at 9 a.m.). So, we started pulling down the bunks and getting arranged. But then two of my college classmates decided to literally SHARE a tiny bunk - not even the size of a normal twin bed - which was maybe 3 feet away from me. Shenanigans ensued, which featured nausea-inducing slurp noises and such like. Also, the Italian man who spoke no English promptly fell into a sleep in which he frequently called out in either Italian or French random things. All of a sudden he'd turn violently and shout "Oh la la!" or some such. And he was in the bunk directly above me. I took to walking from car to car, as the train swayed dramatically. It was also going very fast, so the wind was whistling and rattling the cabin windows. Also, going between the coupled cars was an adventure, as they were shaking and getting the doors open and closed was difficult in the dark. But I couldn't sleep. I even went into the one of the bathrooms and sat on the toilet seat, writing in my journal for a little while until someone padded out in the night to use it. Here's some of what I wrote:

"Right now I'm sitting in the bathroom because Person A and Person B are sharing a bunk and being disgustingly loud. I've been so homesick today. I'm locked in a toilet in a dirty night train. It's so weird. Dr. Miller (our professor here in Dijon) said that oftentimes students on the study abroad program have a great first week, are up and at 'em every day, but then by the second week become massively depressed and homesick, and then sort of come out of it by the third week. I don't want that to be me. And I don't feel like actually going home; I just have a vague empty feeling that nags at me sometimes at night. It's stupid because I'm having a great time and I love everything I'm seeing and doing and all of my new friends ..."

Later, when I was back in my bunk and the shenanigans in the nearby bunk had subsided, I wrote some more by this weird blue light that are in all the couchettes. I suppose it's some sort of night light, and maybe they think that blue is the least disturbing, but frankly it makes everything look eerie and surreal. And there's no way to turn it off - we tried several times. Here's what I wrote by the eerie blue light:

"Still on the night train and can't sleep as the weird Italian man keeps calling out and moving or groaning. So. Night trains are first of all noisy: the creaking of the rails, a steely high-pitched whine and the howling wind. Earlier, when I was walking the narrow, slightly spooky halls, the windows were shuddering and teh steel floor boards fluttered from the wind. Then there's the sound of the snoring ... a pretty funny symphony of sleep, which between the Aussie husband and the Italian, is a chorus of bad sleep by itself. As for the smells - well, these bunks are clearly unsanitary, made of the same plastic-y material they use for airplane seats, but scratchier and older. They smell of world-weary travel - the bad kind. In my coach, it also smells of stale alcohol, spilled Fanta and the Aussie wife's fading perfume. Little bottles of grappa and Bailey's are rolling down the hallways because of our room's little party earlier tonight ..."

So, that was as far as I got before I fell asleep on my book. Only to be awakened a few minutes later by more French phrases and coughing. I'd look up once in a while and the Aussie wife, Sana, and I would just shake our heads at each other as if to say, What can you do?

I'm planning on taking a nap today and then doing some laundry. The laundry here is expensive. Must go eat lunch ... love everyone and miss everyone muchly. :)

A Beaune to pick

We went to the Burgundy region last week on a little bus excursion for class. We saw the small neighboring town of Beaune, a lot of vineyards, as well as one little family-owned vineyard, owned by the family of our own tour guide, the awesomely funny Claude. And believe you me, a funny Frenchman, a truly funny one, is very rare indeed. Here are the pics of the Burgundy region ...



The small town of Beaune ... Claude told us that the conservative townspeople didn't want the railroad coming through their city ... so instead, Dijon got the train and subsequently became much more modern and populized (a word?). Now Beaune is just this little antiquated city on the outskirts. Some people think it's good that way, some think it's bad.



A large vineyard we stopped at on the way ... it was a Clos du something (don't remember?). A Clos is very different from a Chateau, and one cannot just call themselves these specific names. There are definite reasons for both, which I do not recall at this moment ... I shall consult Wikipedia in the near future. :)



I took this while on a hill overlooking the Burgundy region near a beautiful old castle ... we walked through the remnants of where the moat used to be.



We visited an old "hopital" in Beaune ... not in use anymore, clearly, but it's still set up so that you can see how they used to run things. This was a large room lined with red-colored beds. The beds are all too short, because they thought it was a bad idea for sick people to lay down - they thought they would die, so they made them sit up in short beds.



Scenario picture! We were making the first face that came to mind when we said, "Someone just left this winery to you in their will!" Jen and I on the bus. I look a bit worse for wear, but oh well. That's travel. :)



Claude the tour guide's winery! Or at least his family's. He lives in the village nearby. We got to see all the workings of a tiny, 5-acre winery ... including the wine cellar underground. We also had a wine tasting - it was a bit dry for my taste but I still drank it all!



The wine cellar ... it was very dank and moldy and cold down there. Also, the ceilings were extremely low, and covered with a fine black mold and smelled strongly of alcohol. I liked it, but some people really felt claustrophobic down there.



And one more installment in the Strange Signs Across Europe Series ... a few little posters for some kind of who knows what, hanging in the doorway to an ancient wine press. Out of place much?