We had just left a movie theater in Aix. I sat with my friends on a corner in the parking lot. Our movie was about the history of France and had just let out. Us girls waited, as we planned to throw a boy into a fountain. It was between Ross, and Ryan. Everyone was pleased with their movie, as we had found it enjoyable and had understood it. Comprehension usually wouldn’t be something to be proud of, but the movie was in French, and we didn’t speak French.
It was a beautiful afternoon. As I walked down the main street in Aix, I could practically feel the energy radiating off everything. The majority of the group was behind me, leisurely walking through the streets. The white-tented booths lining either side of the street were enticing; there were magical aromas, attention-grabbing colors, and unfamiliar objects to be discovered. Vendors were selling a variety of goods up and down the streets: products made from the region’s plentiful lavender, a wide variety of jewelry, African drums, and other interesting things. However, one particular jewelry booth caught my eye.
I was traveling with five families, eleven kids and our parents, on a 1 and a half month trip to France, during summer break. We had already been to most of France only a few towns left. All the teens had decided to go by themselves to explore Aix, without the parents. Obviously all our little siblings had begged to come with us, but we left early. I had come to believe that the world was my oyster, and I was capable of navigating it; this was, of course, despite the fact that my French, although not horrible, contained a limited vocabulary and was heavily accented. I was determined to use the language to my advantage, even though I often got flustered while speaking French and would switch to English as soon as I was spoken to in my native tongue.
Walking to the lady determined I boldly said, “Combien coûte ce erm... bracelet?” As I spoke I became less and less confident, but I was determined to get the bracelet. I picked up the bracelet and gave it to her. The lady was old, probably in her 70s or 80s. She had snowy white hair. Her skin was pale and reminded me of a raisin. She was not very tall, probably only an inch taller than me.
“Oh, celui-là, très beau choix, ce sera sept euros,” the lady replied in this heavy French accent. I didn’t understand half of what she said, but I understood sept euros, sept being seven and euros being the currency in France. I reached my phone taking out money from the back of my phone case.
“Tha-Merci,” I had almost slipped. The lady didn’t reply, instead turned her back to me and went to another customer waiting.
After buying the bracelet, I turned around and quickly surveyed the street, figuring it would be easy to spot my friends. There were lots of tourists, but there certainly weren’t a large group of American teenagers wandering the streets of Aix. Unfortunately, it was not quite as simple as I had anticipated. Thinking that they were likely still in that main strip I turned around and did a loop around both sides of the streets, not bothering to pause and look at the alluring products.
Three Euros in cash, a cell phone that functioned only in the U.S., and a bracelet was everything in my possession in this crisis. Going to the ATM and taking out some cash was my only option right now. Luckily, right there on the market street was a bank. There were a lot of pickpockets in France, figuring that I only took out ten euros. “A payphone,” I thought, I needed a payphone to get in contact with someone.
A bill was probably not going to work at a payphone, so my next course of action was to find change. I knew the number of my friends phone, but I didn’t want to ask an unknown stranger to borrow a cell phone. It seemed unsafe to let a stranger in a foreign city know that I was lost with limited knowledge of the language and no form of quick communication. Walking along the street I asked almost every vendor if they could exchange my ten Euro bill for some two Euro coins. After getting rejected by at least eight of them and feeling a bit desperate, I finally came across a man who agreed to make change. Taking the money I headed off to the payphone, figuring everything could get sorted out rather quickly. Now that I was in less terror, I could finally take in the beautiful city. There were large, white buildings everywhere as well as cafes. The light from the sunset made everything more beautiful than it already was. I had been most excited about going to Paris in this trip, but Paris was nowhere as beautiful as this. Paris had smoke everywhere, and when we had gone it had rained all week leaving us only to explore the hotel we were living in. It took awhile, but I finally spotted a payphone.
“I’d find my friends, everything will be okay,” I thought. Naturally, the payphone only took credit cards, and it didn’t seem to take mine. I had wasted about twenty to thirty minutes going through the whole process of getting money from the ATM, getting change, and finding the payphone. Now, I was back to square one.
My mind was racing. As soon as I realized that no one was in the immediate market area, and I felt fairly certain of this, my immediate idea had been to use a payphone. My plan had failed, and I was still lost. I couldn't breathe, it felt as if someone was choking me. My heart was racing and all I wanted to do was curl up into a ball and wait for someone to save me. But no one, no one I knew was here. A choked cry for help forced itself up, and then back down my throat, and I felt a drop run down my cheek. It seemed as if this was the end of the road for me. I wiped away my tears, not wanting anyone to know I had been crying.
As I started walking different ideas swirled around in my head, the better ones coming to the forefront of my thoughts, only to be discarded because of their complexity. I just needed a simple plan. It needed to be something that I could easily execute, and I didn’t want to put myself in danger. I knew I did not remember how to get back to the Hôtel du Globe from where I was. I also had no clue as to where the others had gone. Determinedly, I walked back to the movie theater, deciding that the best idea would be to use a phone at a business, where I would be safely surrounded by many people.
I went up to the front desk at the movie theater and hastily explained my situation, using French as my aid as well as google translate.
“Je suis perdu,” This came out in the most American accent ever. Why does God give me a mouth if I have nothing good to say?
“Pardon?”
“I,” I said, pointing to me, “lost, phone?” I tried to use my hands to help me a little, but I didn’t think they understood. After five minutes of describing my troubles, the workers looked at each other and laughed a bit. I felt sort of stupid, especially when they asked why I couldn’t use my cell phone, which I clutched in the palm of my hand. They seemed skeptical of most of what I had said. Still, a woman at the front desk reached down into her purse and pulled out a phone, passing it over to me. I called my friend Ross’s cell phone number. The dial tone went on and on; no one was picking up. I left a short, frantic message, and I decided to call again. There were two other numbers, I should have written down. My friend, Allison had a cell phone as well, and in my confidence that nothing would go wrong, I had not bothered to write it down. Sara, an older girl who was fluent in French, also had an international plan. I had known her number at one point, but it was written on a scrap of paper that I had surely lost. My hand shook as I dialed again. The woman whom I had taken the phone from was starting to get antsy. I knew this would probably be the last call I could make from this phone. As dumb as I had been not to take down the other numbers, I was hopeful that things would go my way. I did not want to have to walk back to the hotel by myself, alongside streets and alleyways, when I didn’t even know where to go.
When Ross answered the phone, my tension was relieved.
“Hey, Ross?” I asked.
“Yes, this is Ross, who is this exactly?”
“Oh, sorry, it’s Aditi, I’m at the movie theater, I got lost, and then tried to use a payphone but my credit card didn’t work, so I tried searching for the group, and then I couldn’t find you guys, so I came back here but I’m still lost, and then I asked to use a phone, and they finally let me talk to you,” I was on the verge of tears, the only thing stopping me was Ross’s calm tone.
“Aditi, slow down, where are you right now?”
“Where are you? I’m at the Cezanne movie theater.”
“I’m back at the hotel, I didn’t feel well and went back. Why don’t you call Allison?”
“I don’t have her number,” I cursed myself thinking, I should’ve written it down somewhere.
“Ok, let me call her for you and they can pick you up at the Cezanne, ok?”
“Ok, thanks,” I knew I had to end the call, or else I would’ve cried, and that was the last thing I wanted, seeing that the Cezanne movie theater was a public place.
Within about five minutes, Allison arrived. She had tears in her eyes; it must have been a very difficult situation for her as well. When she had been left alone with a group of boys, she had managed to lose one of the few girls. She was also the oldest, so if they hadn’t found me all the blame would be on her. For me, the experience had not really been so awful. I had the opportunity to speak some French, and panic brought out the best French I had spoken in my entire life, excluding the horrible accent. At that point, however, we were all just tired and hungry. For about an hour I’d been lost, everyone had gone to eat, realized I was lost, and they had searched the main area for me.
Unfortunately, my idea of what to do had differed from their ideas of what I might do. Still, I was now safe and sound, and we headed to dinner. I realized that the world, even at night, on your own, in a foreign city, is really not such a dangerous place after all. Sure, a few vendors had been a bit rude when I asked them for change, but my butchery of their language and lack of purchase made it understandable. All in all, I realized that I was capable of being a lot more independent than I had previously thought. Just a few weeks earlier, going somewhere in my hometown with a group of friends would have seemed slightly risky to me. The situation was also a stressful, scary one. Many people would be terrified if they were alone and lost in a foreign country. I had kept my cool, and after being lost at night in a French city, I certainly had a different outlook on things. As we walk to a restaurant to get some food I turn around and take one good look at the Cezanne movie theater.
“So who did we decide on throwing in the fountain?”