I have never considered myself to be a superstitious person until this past weekend.
I looked forward to my first weekend adventure with my roommates immensely. After all, Lyon is considered to be one of the gastronomical epicenters of France! Now don’t get me wrong, I really had a great time exploring the beautiful city of Lyon, but (there’s always a but…) it had to be the weekend of Friday the 13th… At least that’s what I’m blaming for our unfortunate circumstances (which were probably partially self-brought).
Well, our train was supposed to leave Friday afternoon at 4:15 (or 16:15 if we’re being European here). And it did leave precisely at 4:15 on Friday afternoon. The only problem, we were not on it. Now, I shall rewind to the (poor) decisions leading up to the first event in a series of unfortunateness.
Trying to save some money, my roommates and I decide to take a bus from our apartment to the bus station to then change buses to go to the airport (where our bus to Lyon was departing from). When we arrive at the bus station, we see that a way one bus ticket to the airport was 11 euros, much more expensive than a train ticket would have been. So, being the frugal college students that we are, we decide to take a train right next to the bus station from there to the airport. Great idea! Except the train ticket we bought was for a train that went directly to Nice, not the airport. At this point, we know we are in a crunch.
While on the train, I call an Uber to pick us up directly in front of the Nice train station to bring us to the Nice airport. Ok, ok, maybe, just maybe everything will work out. When do buses ever leave on time? We will only be a few minutes late!
Well, the Uber arrives, we hurriedly throw our suitcases in the trunk, jump in the black car, and insist the driver to, “Step on it!” (Except not really since he didn’t speak English.) Then, cue the traffic… Our hope of making the bus slowly begins to fizzle as we sit in tense silence, each one of us wanting to blame the other for the prior decisions leading up to this point.
We finally arrive to the airport at exactly 4:25. A total of 10 minutes late, and you guessed it, the bus had left (along with all of our dreams of a fun, food-filled weekend). But, I don’t give up that easily. Deciding not to let Friday the 13th to get the best of us, we march into the bus ticket office, and the bus turn around and come back for us. Well not really… but we were able to get one-way tickets for the next bus leaving for Lyon (which happened to be more expensive than our initial roundtrip tickets, but you have to do what you have to do).
With about an hour and a half to kill, we head up to a bar in the airport to get a couple drinks. This was probably the highlight of my day. We talked and laughed while we waited to catch our next bus. We didn’t linger too long, though, because there was no way we weren’t getting on this bus.
On the way down to the bus zone of the parking lot, I noticed I did not have the ticket. Brianna and Amy then checked their pockets to discover they didn’t have it either. Deciding we must have left it at the bar somehow (Friday the 13th), Brianna ran up to find it. Luckily, she returned a few minutes later with an oil-soaked ticket (that she had to fish out of the garbage) in her hand.
The story gets a little boring from here. The short of it: our bus was over an hour late, so we had to stand in the (almost) freezing cold for an hour and half. We got on the bus, and in 7 short hours (half of them filled with a wailing baby) we were in Lyon.