Dead Quiet -- Lille, France

I arrived in Lille at about three pm on the eighteenth of May. My host for the following two days wouldn't be able to meet me until five o'clock, so I bumbled into a cafe, bought a shitty cappuccino, and settled down to wait. 

France. You have all the resources to make coffee as nice as Italy. But you don't. Which seems rather belligerent of you. When I order cappuccino here, you either give me scalding milk with a hint of coffee flavor or hot chocolate. Which is not a cappuccino, not matter how adamantly you insist that it is.

WTF, France?  

I glared at my derisively at my defective coffee and then texted Emily, letting my Couchsurfing host know that I'd arrived. 

I cannot. Wait to meet this person, I thought, feeling a bit jittery. But... I'm also nervous. Holy bananas, I haven't been this nervous about meeting a person in a while. She's so awesome and I... I really want her to like me. 

...

Most couchsurfing profiles have bits and pieces that stand out. That make me laugh or resonate with me on a deeper level. 

Emily's profile? 

It made me want to be Emily. 

"I have a cat called Figaro whom you don't call, you sing for." 

Figaro

"I've done a bit of tattoo calligraphy in my wild hooligan past --" 

"I took part in a Viking folk metal band for a few years --" 

Yup. Screw meeting Emily. I want to BE Emily. Please?

So I sipped my contemptible cappuccino and flipped open Shantaram, anticipating that I'd be lingering over the sad excuse for a beverage and my book for the next two hours. 

So much of my life is waiting. It's full of empty spaces. The space before a bus arrives. Before a host can meet me. Before a host comes home from work to let me back inside after a day of wandering. I've become somewhat of an expert at filling the gaps. With writing, knitting, reading, skyping. Some of my happiest, most meaningful moments occur in my "gaps". 

I will never finish this book, I stared in defeat at the 930 pages of Shantaram. I'd read about 600 pages from the front and 30 pages from the back (because I need to know how stressful books end), so I had 300 pages to go.  And even though 300 pages was only a third of the book, 300 pages always feels like forever. 

A figure flashed in front of me and a woman with blond hair sat in the opposite chair. I smiled a little awkwardly and kept reading. 

Wait... there are heaps of tables here. Why would she sit at my table unless...

"Emily?" I asked, embarrassed that it had taken me so long to make the connection. 

She laughed. And told me she'd gotten off work early, so had just come over to collect me. We chatted for a bit, and then moseyed back to her home. Where we dropped off Fat Ellie and Emily offered me tea. Like the proper British woman she is.

I suppose if I can't BE Emily, getting to live with her for two days is the next best thing, I thought, gazing in wonder at my host's teetering mountain of tea boxes. 

"Ready to go?" Emily asked a few minutes later. 

"Sure," I replied, not at all ready to leave my half-drunk tea, but knowing that English lessons would not, could not wait for me to finish my drink. 

Emily is an English teacher at a middle-school, and offers some private lessons on the side. She'd invited me to accompany her on two of her classes that evening, and I was thrilled to get to meet more people. Like the somewhat backwards introvert I am. So I spent an hour talking about Coloradan animals to a precocious teenage girl. Who now knows that "puma" means more than a shoe, "cougar" means more than a middle-aged woman with a penchant for younger fellows, and that "porcupine" and "porc-épic" sound quite similar. 

And I learned that porc-épic is the best animal name of all time ever. Sounds like an epic pig. Which fits porcupine pretty well, and might be what I call them from here on out. 

Emily then whisked me away to the home of a cheerful, curious older couple who wanted to improve their English before retiring to Miami. 

WHY? Why would someone from FRANCE want to retire to the US? I don't understand. 

Final lesson finished, Emily and I opted to walk back to her city center home. We shared stories and she introduced me to some of her favorite bits of Lille. Including Palais Rameau, which was given freely to Lille by Charles Rameau. The one condition was that when Charles died, Lille must forever keep a strawberry plant, a rosebush, a potato plant, a vine, a tomato plant and dahlias growing on his grave. 

 Potatoes? he wanted POTATOES growing on his grave? Least interesting vegetable ever. If I had to pick a vegetable, I'd choose something like an artichoke. 

I'm so judging Rameau's potatoes. I'm a horrible person. 

She also pointed out the random boob hanging under the window of an old bra shop. 

 

"This golden arm points to the most expensive street of Lille."

"When the angels face each other, it means it's the same flat. When the angels are back to back, it means a different flat has started. That's how people could tell from the outside how to do the property taxes." 

Once home, Emily whipped up a dinner for me and her other couchsurfer. We talked about traveling over the rising din from the busy street below. 

"When I was looking for places to live," Emily began, "I found one nice apartment next to a cemetery. But you open the curtains and that's the view. Graves. Now, I like quiet as much as the next person --" 

"Just not "dead" quiet?" I interrupted rather cheekily, and wished Boy could have been there to witness my horrible pun. 

Emily was generous enough to let me stay with her even after the pun incident, so I slept soundly in my own room, relishing the rare privacy offered by a door that closes. 

Yes. I'm a backwards introvert. Or just a masochist. I love privacy so much, but I write an exceedingly personal blog and usually live in people's living rooms. 

We had to abandon the apartment, the cats, and the teetering mountain of tea bright and early, as Emily needed to work (like most normal people) and didn't give perfect strangers the keys to her apartment (which is... also like most normal people). 

I will catch up on my blog today. All of it, I thought, marching through the rain towards the nearest Costa Coffee with grim determination. Costa. You are not my favorite. But at least I don't feel guilty buying your cheapest coffee and then lingering for hours in one of your seats. 

"Hey! Hope your day is going well so far. I thought we'd get smelly cheese and potato pizza tonight, does that sound good? My treat," Emily texted me from work. 

"Haha. I've been hanging out in Costa Coffee writing and reading all morning. Really getting my introvert time. :) but I'm starting to get funny looks from staff, so I should probably change cafes soon... Oh dear. That pizza sounds wonderful. And it's so kind of you to offer. Thanks a bunch, Emily." 

"Reading your blog post about Paella McTapas now and feeling bad because I couldn't give you keys (I only have one set and can't make more because one is apparently some special security key)... and the weather is not nice." 

"Hey, don't feel bad. I get it. It can make days pretty long for me, but I understand that not every host can give a key. Paella McTapas was just extra hard because he didn't even engage me at all... it was weird. I still feel super lucky that I get to stay with you."   

Paella McTapas didn't even care that I was stuck outside in the cold all day. He came home late and didn't apologize. He hardly talked with me. It was 117 percent different. 

But... not being able to take a nap right now is the worst. Maybe... maybe the barista won't notice if I... if I just kind of fold over on the table... I could put my book upright and pretend to be reading it. With my chin on the table. Yeah...

Hobo points. 

I finally left Costa Coffee and scampered through the rain to Starbucks. Where I did the exact same thing for the afternoon. 

Yes. I am the queen of productively filling the waiting time in my life. 

That evening, Emily invited some of her friends to join for pizza and board games.  

These are the best couchsurfing moments. Food, games with random, hilarious people... a cozy kitchen... cats... hooligan calligraphers...

Emily took me and her South African couchsurfer to a park with giant heads covered in shrubbery the next morning.  

She interviewed us for her English students, asking questions about what life is like in the places we call home.

We saw the South African off to the bus station, and then Emily waited for me until my next host arrived.

I'm so bummed that I can't spend my whole four days in Lille with this person. I know that four days is a lot to ask from anyone and I'm grateful for the two days I had with her... but... damn, I hate saying goodbye to people like this.