I returned home to my little apartment in Dinan last night at 9:30 after 14 hours of sitting on trains. As comfortable as European trains are, I'd rather not set foot in another one for a long time. The trip wasn't supposed to take so long; after staying up all night for New Years-something I haven't done since high school-I was pleased to catch some zzzs on the train from Liège to Paris (2hrs) Sunday morning. The experience was so nice that, after crossing Paris by metro, I did likewise on the train from Paris to Rennes (2.5hrs), and arrived at 2pm excited about the hour-long bus ride ahead of me. I had forgotten, however, that this was Sunday, and a national holiday to boot. The next bus to Dinan wasn't until 6pm, and though I would have relished a nice long walk, my bags were heavy and I was anxious to get home. I returned to the train station and saw that there was a train towards Dinan at 5pm. It seemed well-worth it to cut an hour off of my wait, so I bought the ticket and read in a café until 5:00.
There is no direct train to Dinan from Rennes. Travelers have to change trains at Dol de Bretagne, a small and rather uninteresting town north-east of Dinan. And this is where I took the sleeping-thing too far. I missed Dol and woke up an hour later on my way to Caen. Miserable, I gobbled a few chocolates to keep from panicking. Rodrigo (Coraline's boyfriend) had given them to me as a going-away present.
I hopped off at the next stop, and burst into tears when the stern woman working ticket office told me that I wouldn't get home until 9:30pm. I thanked her and walked out into the rain to hide my embarrassment. Outside, a Tbus was waiting, empty except for it's driver. Feeling I had nothing to lose, I tapped on the door and asked if there was any chance the bus was heading in the direction of Dinan. The driver shook his head and said "Mont Saint-Michel?" He was English. The were, indeed, no more buses to Dinan, and though the driver seemed sorry for me, he didn't hesitate to give me a lecture on European ways of life and how, though it may be a shock for young Americans like me, buses don't run 24 hours a day in France. I didn't bother to explain that where I come from, there is no public transportation, but set out into the downpour to find an open bar. I found one and sat, sipping my beer and dripping pools of water on the floor until the next train.
It is nice to be back, though the holidays in Belgium were great fun. Before leaving for Belgium, I played fiddle with a group of Breton musicians at the Christmas market in town, a great way to celebrate Christmas.
The next morning, Coraline and I got to work cooking Christmas lunch. She had picked out some great recipes, that I never would have thought of making myself--things like a cold apple and cucumber soup for starters. Anyway, by lunchtime everything was ready and family members started arriving. My host uncle and his family were there, as well as "Mamie," my host grandmother, her sister, my host brother, and his wife.
My host uncle, Eric, my host cousins, Marine and Olivier, Coraline and myself with the capon.
The next day, Coraline and I explored the beautiful city of Gent. The Christmas market was still open, and the whole city was lit up.
I've never seen so many Bicycles. Belgium is very flat, especially on the Flemish side, and everyone rides a bike.
Train station in Gent
Hot chocolate at Leonidas
Christmas market in Gent
Vin chaud, or hot spiced wine.
Coraline has been hired as an extra in a film called "Populaire," set in the 1950s in New York (though apparently all the screening was done in Liège and Brussels) so while she was was doing that I happily spent my time sleeping and reading. Jean-Pierre has taken up the drums as a hobby, and on Wednesday took me out to a Pink Floyd concert performed excellently by a German band.
I celebrated New Years with friends of Coraline. They are a great group. Our host, Noemie, prepared a fancy spread, with racklette as the main course. We spent the rest of the night dancing, talking, and trying not to fall asleep.
