Oh Shit!!: Spring Break Part II

Breakfast? Pain au chocola-ya-ya-ya-yait!!

I may have mentioned that, when travelling alone, your instincts of resourcefulness kick in very quickly. It happens because the second you leave home, your familiar elements fade from memory and all you can think about is what's happening right now. And that's the first thing you learn when you travel alone: you can't help but think on your feet. The second thing you learn: you have more balls than you previously thought.

Well, thank god it works that way, because the second I landed in Paris I needed those reflexes. All passengers on my flight had to turn off their mobile phones before take-off; so I turned off mine to comply with regulations and mentally prepared myself to leave Spain for the first time since arriving. Granted, I had only been living in Spain for 2 months, but I felt so at home that I craved my trip badly. The excitement of leaving Spain wore off within minutes, as I fell asleep on the 100 minute flight. I never fail to fall asleep on any mode of public transportation, and this moment was no exception no matter how highly anticipated.

When I woke up, the captain was in the middle of announcing that we were ten minutes away from our landing at BVA, 80 minutes outside Paris. As we landed, I took my phone out of my pocket to text my parents and let them know I was safe and sound in Frenchland. But my message wouldn't send. And when I tried again, it wouldn't. Again. And that's when I realized my phone was SIM locked.

That is to say, I was fucked.

With no working cellphone I had no way of contacting my parents, and worse, no way of contacting my lodgings for the night. Upon realising the possibility of having to sleep in the park that night, and that it was supposed to rain, anyone would have panicked. Not I. And I wish I knew why, but I was cool as a cucumber. Mayhaps I figured the local prostitutes would take me under their fishnet wings, or my limitted knowledge of French (read: Je voudrais du pain s'il vous plait) would protect me. I surprised myself, but I had this inner sense that things were going to work out. Because...they had to. I realised that getting robbed, sleeping in the rain, and trying my hand at sex work were not viable options at the moment. After all, I had very little cash and no umbrella. And I had neither enough pleather nor knowledge of product elasticity to break into a foreign financial sector.

Not sleeping in the park: Me greeting the rain at Versailles

So, I pondered my state of jodida (fucked) on the shuttle, as I chatted with a Spaniard sitting next to me. He was a student like me, very affable, and when he found out how stranded I was at the moment, he chuckled. The way you chuckle when you're surprised and awkward, and have no response more creative than to laugh.

"And you're not freaking out?" he asked.

"No."

He laughed again in shock. "Tu eres cojonuda."

"Cojonuda?" I asked him. "Like cojones?!"

"Exactly."

The man says I've got cojones. I was previously unaware of these balls I apparently had, but I'll take it. It was after all, thanks to said balls and some help from this kind stranger that I was eventually able to find my way. After an 80 minute bus ride, I was on the Paris metro on my way to my home for the next three nights.