The Nanny Diaries: L'édition Française: Bons Baisers de Bruges

I just booked a day trip to Bruges, Belgium. I had one trip left on my Eurail pass and figured I'd try out a country I've never visited.

Unfortunately, I have a bad feeling about this little excursion. First off, the pass is for first class travel. All you have to do is reserve your seat on the train. Well, I went to do that today--waited in the obligatory french line (which I'll come back to)--and sat down with the lady to make the reservation. Now, I could have sworn my dad told me that the reservations are dirt cheap. So there I was thinking I was gonna ride like a queen to Bruges and pay nothing.

WRONG.

The train lady looked and me and said that round trip reservations in first class will cost me 88 euros. WHAT?! Let me clarify. That's not even a ticket. Just a seat reservation. I have to pay 88 euros to have a seat on this train? Apparently. She looked at me like I should be glad I wasn't paying the full ticket price. I cringe to imagine. I politely asked for second class and still wound up paying 56 euros. 2/3 of my weekly paycheck. So, it looks like I will be touring Bruges on whatever money I don't spend at the bars tomorrow. This could be like 5 euros. Photos of the trip will surely include me schmoozing with a trappist monk for beer (a belgian specialty) or sneaking samples from all of the chocolate stores.

But back to the line thing. I went to the train agency today and as to be expected, there was a line. There was also only one woman working. About halfway through my forty minute wait (despite the fact that the electronic ticket the machine spit out for me when I entered told me my wait would be twenty-three minutes) another worker arrived. Now, it was about 11:30 when she strolled in. As far as I know, no shift ends or begins at 11:30. I am absolutely positive that this woman had just finished her morning routine of finishing off an ulcer-worthy amount of espresso and hand-rolled cigarettes and had, only after taking her precious time, arrived at work.

She strolled in, but she most certainly did not get to work. I was the next in line, and I kept nervously glancing in her direction to see if she was going to bing my number. The whole atmosphere was tense in there. You know how it feels when you're in the waiting room and everyone wants to be called next? The guy next to you is ripping off his fingernails and the girl in the corner is checking her phone, watch, and the wall clock every thirty seconds. And you're sitting on the edge of your seat because you don't want any of those other sons-a-bitches to cut in front of you. Even though you've given your name/taken your number/whatever the case may be. It was like that. And she just puttered around the office, doing god knows what and chatting to some other guy who potentially was a worker but maybe just had nothing better to do with his life.

Finally, forty minutes later, I was called. Typical french waiting customs.

Speaking of french things that don't occur in the U.S. Fish with bones. Tonight we had sardines. Which you are all probably making gag faces about right now. But they're actually good (canned and fresh). The only thing that is extremely distasteful is that I spend at least thirty minutes picked out the hair-sized bones. When a girl is hongray she wants to eat, not pull out her microscope to make sure she doesn't inhale, or even worse, chomp on, a sardine bone. What's more is that fish here is served whole. Head, fins, tail, skin. That doesn't bother me so much though. If you don't look your meal in the eye, it's not terrible.

I'm pretty sure I had additional things to write about but I took a break for dinner and lost track of all things not related to our massive cheese plate. With the excitement of school (for the kids) being almost over (two more weeks!) and my return approaching, I can't seem to keep myself focused.

So here's to hoping I see him (you're kidding yourself if you think I mean the guy on the left)