Take a Train back to Juan (aka Home away from Home)
While on the train I begin looking through one of the press kits that I snagged during the day. I show it to the other UGA student that has decided to ride back with me.
“Is that a restaurant menu?” asked a guy who we’d been introduced to earlier at the station.“No. It’s a press kit from the festival.” I respond.
We talk for a bit and go through our usual script of why we’re in France. After talking for a while, we learn a lot about the stereotypes that are probably prevalent abroad. In a matter of about ten minutes, we had become acquainted with a guy from the UK. This guy was a PR executive turned French Army man. He joined some kind of French army because of a dare he’d lost. His word vomit made the train ride go by a little faster.
“I’m sorry but I didn’t think there were black people in Georgia.” He said naively.
“There are definitely black people in Georgia.” I responded.“You’re from Georgia so do you own a gun?” He asked next.
Questions like that kept coming our way. We nicely corrected him every time he said something out of the box. Perhaps the funniest thing had to be his obsession with Texas. Before going to Texas he thought everyone drove big trucks, was mean, and had big guns. Promptly after visiting Texas he’d fallen in love with it, and vowed to move to Texas after finishing his army term.
Some of the amusing lessons that he’d learned in America included:
- Trench coats are laughable. Especially in Boston and New York during the winter.
- Never light a cigarette for a woman, especially not in L.A., because all women are independent and can light their own cigarettes.
Once back in Juan, we started talking about the conversation that we just had on the train. We couldn’t believe the amount of naïve people that we had talked to over about a week. I guess we were a bit loud because two girls excitedly stopped us.
“Are you guys American!” She asked excitedly.“
Yeah.” I responded.
We went through our normal routine of why we were in town and where we were from. We learned that the girl and her from were both from America. Although the girl was from America, she had been living in France for six years. Her friend had been studying abroad and would be spending most of her summer in Juan. As we were exchanging contact information, we were approached by a young suspicious-looking guy. He said something quickly in French. Our new friend responded.
“You guys don’t want drugs right?” our new acquaintance asked.
“No,” the other UGA student and I responded in unison.
The guy walks away, unashamed. We continued exchanging contact information and planned to meet later that night.
We end up going to a small bar and spending a bit of time there. We ordered a few drinks and got to know each other a little better. We later headed to a club that was just down the street. From the outside, it looked like a quiet restaurant. The things that gave it away were the line that seemed to form out of nowhere, and the bouncer at the door. There was also a guy dressed in a headdress, who seemed to be having too much fun dancing with fire.
Once inside, there was a pay window, similar to the ones that adorn skating rinks in America. No one was willing to pay the 15 Euro fee, so we begin to turn around. Another bouncer nodded his head towards the first bouncer and then the window attendant, and then promptly let us proceed without paying.
The club was indescribable. There were lots of lights, smoke, and a lively group on the dance floor. There were tables in the center of the floor, specifically designed for those who wanted to stand on tables to dance. There was a semi-creepy guy on the main stage dancing. He was in his own world, and the crowd seemed to love him.
We danced to the shockingly American-heavy DJ set, we danced on a few tables, and we jumped around uncontrollably. A French guy even pretended to throw money at us while we danced. It was a fun night. We ended up leaving around 2:30 AM, and the party was still going strong. We all headed our separate ways.
Once back at the residence, I hurriedly blog about my day and prepare to do it all again the next day.
*This post was originally posted on my Cannes blog “Pommes et Bannanes a Cannes”
