NICE ISN’T SO NICE
Dear Caroline,
I have arrived in Nice and it’s starting to feel a bit like a repeat of Berlin.
I arrived right on time went to the little EF school kiosk and no one was there. Not a soul. I called the transfer number and they said that they already picked me up. I assured them that unless there are two women studying at the school and arriving today with the name Mediterranée then they did not pick me up. I waited on the phone while they “located my reservation” and then was hung up on. I’m tired from waking up at 4 am to catch this flight and now it seems I am stranded in a foreign airport in a foreign country.
Thankfully I speak the language here. I got tired of waiting at the kiosk and decided to sit on one of the benches in view of the litter blue desk. Finally I see two young adults, can’t be older than 24, sauntering up the corridor in bright pink EF shirts. Not in a rush to come help their stranded student. I grab all my things and walk back to the desk and say “Bonjour je m’appelle Mediterranée et j’attend mon transfer”. I’m completely ignored and they continue to talk amongst themselves in French. I thought maybe they didn’t hear me, it is a loud airport. I tried again and they ignored me a second time. Though this time with a bit of a side eye of acknowledgement of my existence and indicating that I am interrupting their little conversation.
At this point I’m beyond tired, I just want to go to my host, unpack and take a shower. Suddenly one of their phones ring and the guy of the duo answers. It’s the school asking them about me. He turns my way and asks “are you Mediterranée?” It took everything in my soul to not be sarcastic in that moment, he fully knew who I was, I introduced myself TWICE. I have finally been acknowledge. The girl starts looking for my name in their disorganized pile of papers looking for my name. They couldn’t find me. I had to take over, organize the paper work and there I was plain as day. The sheet said my arrival time was at 9:15… it wasn’t. My arrival time was 10:40am, always was.
At this point, in a French accent I do not understand (I later found out that some of the interns, manning these kiosks are international interns learning French too), I am being told that I missed my transport because I didn’t tell them I was late in my arrival or that the plane changed terminal. I wasn’t sure how they wanted me to tell them the terminal changed. I’m a passenger not the pilot I don’t decide where they park the plane. I knew what had to be done. I don’t always bring her out, but it was time for my inner Nicole Lasko to take over the situation. Calmly but assertively I explained that my flight left Rome as scheduled at 9:15am and arrived early by 5 minutes at 10:40am. I showed them the email of my correspondence with the transport coordinator showing intact 10:45am and waited for them to solve the situation.
After ten minutes another guy in a pink shirt shows up and takes a seat next to me just chilling. The one on the phone starts gossiping in French about me not realizing I’m understanding every word and saying some pretty unsavoury things. Finally 40 minutes after landing they tell me my transfer has arrived. The lax guy on the seat next to me saunters over and says that my transfer is here. Here I am rolling a massive suitcase with a carryon and a back pack and struggling and he’s just cooly walking far ahead where I can no longer see him. Instead of helping me with my bags re remarks “might have brought a bit too much stuff to Nice” in a broken English. I was too irritated to reply. He lead me to the tax pick up stand and walks off. No info on who I’m to look for or anything. I wait 10 minutes in the heat and sun, he comes back and says he brought me to the wrong spot we have to walk all the way back to where we originally were.
Finally we found my transfer, well a transfer, it was full of Austrian students who were going to the residence. And I, just like in Berlin, sat in the front seat with most of my luggage on my lap. A short drive and we’ve arrived to my Host family. Again another apartment which is fine but it’s a walk up. No elevators and I have two very heavy bags because of my year long trip. The driver just dropped me off and drove off. I later found out he was supposed to carry my bags up, or at least help.
My host is a small Jewish lady smaller than Mamie and probably the same age. She opens the door to the apartment and it is dark! Very very dark! After I struggle to get my bags up the stairs she walks me to my room. I walk past open doors to rooms with multiple beds with students laying still to avoid the heat. She brings me through a door to a room that has been partitioned into a room with two beds and a loft with another bed. We turn the corner into another hallway where we find my room at the end. Not ideal and not what I expected after the near luxury I was in in Rome, but I can make this work, until I saw the bathroom. I have been to campsites with cleaner bathrooms than this. I also found out that there is 10 students plus our host all using one bathroom. I just went from a single roommate who took 2 hours every morning in the bathroom to competing with 10 girls for a single toilet! This was NOT going to work. I could get past the hostel summer camp feel but not a filthy bathroom.
I’ve been overwhelmed, disappointed, frustrated, ill equipped, but I have never been discourage on this trip and at that moment I was discouraged. I came close when my luggage was lost in Berlin but the knowing that your family (I affectionately call the Utah congregation) really got me through. So I’m hoping y’all can get me through this one too.
Bright side the girls, though 15 years my juniors are very nice and sweet. Oh and I have a fan in my room unlike Rome so that’s good.
First day of class tomorrow.
