"Home"

Best Week(end) Ever - Epilogue

It feels both strange and perfectly normal to call Lisieux home. Hence the scare quotes. Returning “home” from Caen, though it would seem an insignificant part of my weekend, was almost adventurous. Allan (C’s husband) dropped me off at the Caen train station and I assured him that I would be able to figure out how to buy my ticket back to Lisieux. In truth, I’m not so capable. I know the words, but I followed the sign for billets and they did not lead me to a ticket window, as they should have. They led me back to the street instead. So I found a couple of billeteries automatique (ticket machines) but they had long lines of people and I had to get on the train. I figured that when the ticket-man came to me on the train I could explain that I hadn’t had the time and maybe I could buy one from him. And if not, then I could play up the idea that I am a dumb tourist who doesn’t speak much English. The whole time on the train I was dreading the ticket-man, but to my incredible luck, he did not come! The train was Paris-bound, and my stop was at the very beginning, so maybe he just hadn’t made it to my compartment yet. So I got out of paying entirely! I’m sure that karma is going to get me for that one at some point, but hopefully it waits until I have some money to spare.

Pulling into the Lisieux train station was the weirdest feeling, because it really felt like I was home. After spending a weekend in the next town and seeing foreign sites that I never thought I’d see, Lisieux was home. Here I am, back in the town I know. I know how to get to Lycee Gambier from the station. I don’t need a cab or directions. I know the landmarks I am going to see on the way: there will be a maison de la presse on my right, then a rapid’flore around the corner, then the medi@theque, place Mitterand, and then I will be home.

And this got me thinking about the moments, and how they only happen once. Never again will I step off a train in Lisieux and feel like a foreigner. That may happen in Falaise or Rennes, or San Francisco or even Trenton, but it will never again happen in Lisieux, France. I can remember stepping off the train one month ago. I was tired, and probably smelly, and reeling from Paris. And Lisieux felt so calm and peaceful compared to the whirlwind of travel I’d been through. At that moment, I took a deep breath and collected myself. I really, really appreciated the moment. And I’m glad I did because I will never have another exactly like it.