Couchsurfing with Baris -- Nice

After whiling away a few hours by the beach (such is my plight), I slowly made my way to Baris's studio apartment. I was greeted by a German girl who was also staying with Baris, and we introduced ourselves as we waited for our generous Turkish host to get home from his engineering job an hour out of Nice.

Baris arrived a few minutes later, sporting the untamed hair of a crazy artist and the rather disoriented air of someone having just arrived home from a long day of work. Although according to Baris, the French workday is not very long at all. Work starts at around ten, they are given a two hour lunch break at noon, after which they get back to the grindstone and work from two to five. I think this may be one reason the French are exponentially healthier than Americans -- it seems nigh impossible to have stress related illnesses whilst living this sort of lifestyle.

I've decided that I don't much care for the standard American work hours, and I don't understand why working oneself to death has become such a cultural virtue. I would much rather be barely scraping by (financially speaking) with plenty of time to enjoy a two hour lunch, than be financially secure and having to scarf down a hurried lunch en route. But I don't have a family to support, so I suppose a few extra kiddos running around might change things. Also, as I've been volunteering for the past seven months (mostly), my mind isn't really in the money-making mode.

But back to Baris. Who really is awesome enough to deserve my completely undivided attention.

He led Steph (the German girl) and me up to his apartment on the seventh floor. His balcony view of the ocean and the rest of the city is gorgeous (he gets to watch the sun rise over the Mediterranean every morning), and the apartment itself is quirky and fun. It was a studio, so there was just a couch that folded out into Baris's bed, and two mattresses to lie alongside the table for Steph and me. He immediately offered both of us tea or coffee (as is done everywhere in Europe), spent a few minutes talking with his two chatty couchsurfers, and then retreated to the supermarket for some groceries.

I was able to share a few traveling tips with Steph during his absence, and it was really encouraging and validating to be able to share my experiences. I will be a professional traveling volunteer one of these days.

Baris concocted a Turkish goulash for dinner (I've developed quite a soft spot for goulash, thanks to George), and was game enough to give me an interview for my project.

It was a wonderful night. With the three of us crashing in his living room, I felt like a kid having a sleepover (with goulash instead of popcorn and vermouth instead of cola). Except this sleepover was with a Turkish man and a German woman I'd just met, in one of the most breathtaking places I've ever seen. I didn't have nearly enough sleepovers as a child, so I'm making up all that innocent fun in my 20s.

I spent the next morning wandering around the old part of Nice and walking along the beach (it was much nicer without my bag).

Baris had given me directions to the train station before he left for work that morning, so I confidently set out to Bus 23 with the intention of getting of at the Gare SNCF station and being at the station by 12:30 -- giving myself plenty of time to buy a ticket and board the train leaving for Toulon at 1:26. However, the sign on the side of the bus that denotes the station was different from the signs on the actual stops. So I accidentally scrambled off two stops too late, which was more than enough to make me impossibly lost. In my hubris, I hadn't even written down the word for train (I found out later that it was Gare. God, I'm ridiculous), so I had no idea where to even start when asking people for directions. I stopped four or five of the friendliest looking French and tried out my look of desperation in conjunction with wild hand gestures. I got a few different responses with this approach, and I went with the most popular -- which I gathered to be something akin to "Walk straight, take a left."

It took me an hour of confused wandering to find the massive train station. It hides itself admirably well, for a building of its impressive size. I got in line for a ticket at 1:10. I bought the ticket at 1:17. I boarded my train at 1:25. The train left at 1:26.

Win.

I am now on my way to Toulon to join my first host family in France. Wish me luck. :)