...I think that was probably our bus!

On our recent trip to Nice we decided to get up early in order to catch an 8am train.  We checked the bus schedule and found a bus that came at 7:15am.  Although this was early, we decided this would be our bus and we walk outside, finding it colder than we had expected.

“We’ll only be outside for a few minutes to catch the bus,” I said to a group of girls still half asleep.  “It’ll be 10:00am by the time we get to Nice.  We don’t need to go back to get jackets.”

That plan would have worked out well..if we had caught our bus.

After shivering for a few minutes in the cool morning wind, we finally see our bus coming.  At last!  This bus represented warmth, comfort, and hope.  As we gather our belongings, I look up in time only to see the end of hope zooming past my face. 

“Maybe we just thought that was our bus.  Are you sure it had the right numbers on it?” I asked, trying to convince myself this hadn’t just happened.

“Yep.  That was it.  And I didn’t look up when the next one comes.”

As we huddled for warmth, I heard the sound of a bus.  Of course, buses come this way every few minutes.  No need to be discouraged!  As I look up I do not see a bus.  Instead, I see a large garbage truck with a word on it that looks much too similar to “assassinator” for me even consider getting on. 

I guess when I say, "Buses come this way every few minutes," what I really mean is something more like, "Buses come this way every few minutes except when I desperately would like to be on one.  Then they don't come for another thirty minutes."  

While reflecting on how our lives came to this point, we couldn’t help but wonder why the bus didn’t stop.  We decided we must have needed to wave down the bus so the driver would know to stop.  I’ve never really seen a French person do this but just about anything seems like a good idea after standing at a bus-stop for over half an hour on a Saturday morning without a jacket.

When we finally see a bus head toward us we decide it’s our chance to test out our theory.  I lost all my dignity after I realized I don't even know how to shower the right way here.  I've sure got nothing to lose at this point and I'm convinced hypothermia is about to set in.  When the bus approaches our group of cold, sleepy girls, we flap our arms at the driver just long enough for him (and everyone else on the bus) to see.  He opens his doors to us as a sort of prize for figuring out just one more of the secrets the French try to hide from us.

I still don’t know if this is really what’s supposed to happen but it worked once so I’m going to keep doing it.  Sorry if I embarrass you, America!