I had been looking forward to my arrival in France since the beginning of my backpacking journey. I knew I would end up there at some point in the summer. It was September and the weather was perfect. I did not have an itinerary, I just knew that I wanted to see some more of the country. The previous summer, I visited Provence, The Luberon and the magical cliffs (les calanques) between Marseille and Casis. I wanted to land in France and see where the wind would take me. I was excited to speak French and see more beautiful nature.

In France, I would try to experience my backpacking a bit differently. In many of the hostels I had visited, I met other backpackers who told me about a web site called Workaway. Workaway is a volunteer work exchange program where you work around five hours a day for five days a week doing manual labor at a farm or a bed & breakfast. In exchange, you are fed three meals a day and given free accommodations. I thought this would be a good way for me both save money while backpacking France and also get my hands a bit dirty.

I was flying in from Porto where I found a super cheap Ryanair flight to La Rochelle, a famous marina town an hour or so north of Bordeaux. I figured I could easily go to Bordeaux and see the new tram system (built without overhead electrical lines). From there maybe I could go to Toulouse and Montpelier and make my way to the Alps. Reality would end up being a bit different. I never made it to Bordeaux and Toulouse but I did get to see the other places on my list. When I was in Vianha do Campo, I started ferociously emailing Workaways letting as many French bed & breakfasts know that I would be arriving shortly and that I was available to work.

I spent so many hours creating a profile, sifting through profiles and writing unique messages introducing myself to each. I discovered that, in France, the Workaways are almost exclusively run by British expats who had bought land in the French countryside and renovated properties and are now looking for cheap labor to basically be their butlers. There was no real manual labor available: no farming or gardening or building. I interviewed with three different hosts, all native English speakers, who wanted me to do things like set up their yoga mat for them in the morning, or figure out how to write code for their new programmable toy. They did not even speak a word of French! My final interview was with a Swiss citizen of American origin who spoke French fluently albeit with a dreadful American accent. He was merely looking for companionship on his country estate. It sounded too good to be true. He just wanted to have someone to enjoy meals with because he was lonely. I could play with his farm animals and enjoy the swimming pool and catch up on my writing. We did not set any strict boundaries about this but he seemed genuine on our video chat.

From there, my plan became clear: fly to France with the cheap flight to the west coast of the country and take the trains to the east side of the country where the Workaway was. The French train system does not really have east-west routes as everything goes through Paris. This makes east-west travel extraordinarily expensive. I paid over 100 EUR to get to Macon, where he would be picking me up. I figured I would be spending about a week on a country estate and not paying anything so the money I would have spent on lodging in a hostel instead will go towards the long train ride. In any case, I enjoy long train rides.

The airport in La Rochelle is quite small. There is a bus to the city center but signage is quite poor, which is very unusual for France. I asked the bus driver which stop to get off at so that I could go to the train station (to pick up my ticket for Macon). He mumbled something unintelligible and I figured I would be able to get there on my own given how easy it is to navigate French towns. I ended up being quite lucky that I was sitting next to a French local on the bus. We almost immediately became friends. He did not know where to get off the bus either, but seemed confident with his sense of direction. I merely followed him and we spent a few hours together walking around the old city of La Rochelle, enjoying the views of the marina and having a beer together. He introduced me to a classic refreshing French drink of menthe and seltzer. It looks and smells like mouthwash (and maybe it actually is mouthwash) but the French drink it for a refreshing flavor on a hot day.

I learned a lot in La Rochelle, specifically because the Airbnb I had reserved cancelled on me without telling me. La Rochelle is a city for the wealthy who own sailboats. There are no affordable hotels. There were no hostels listed on Booking.com or Hostelworld, so Airbnb had typically been my go to in situations like this. I arrived at the apartment complex and rang the bell to the apartment and there was no answer. After waiting some time, I called the phone number but no one picked up. I rang again and this time a man answered in a place with a lot of noise in the background. All in French, he told me that the reservation was cancelled because it is his son’s birthday. So, I politely wished his son Happy Birthday and told him that in fact I had not received a cancellation. He said, well, it’s cancelled. I knew the partial solution was to just call Airbnb and get my full refund but where would I sleep that night?

Mind you, while in Europe, I was trying to take advantage of the EU rules about allowing you to use the same SIM card at no extra charge between EU countries. It is called free EU-Roaming. The problem is that when you go between EU countries, sometimes this wonderful gift from the EU simply does not work. Sometimes it takes a day to kick in. Sometimes you have to email the company and tell them you are not in Germany any longer. In La Rochelle, my cell phone was not working and that is why I had to make a friend on the bus. I could not access maps and I had no idea where I was. In a moment of Internet magic, my cell phone started working when I arrived at the Airbnb so I was able to call the gentlemen and use Google to find a new place to stay. It was nerve-wracking.

Googling “hostel” and “La Rochelle” was not working. I decided to put my French skills to use. “Auberge de jeunesse” did the trick. Almost 2 miles away was a place called HI La Rochelle, pronounced “hee”. I learned that HI France is France’s bureau of the Hosteling International chain, before of which I had never heard. I called them up and they said they have dorm beds for 18 EUR. That is a fantastic price. There was no bus that goes there, I had to walk 40 minutes with my luggage. This is why we pack lightly, kids!

I mention this whole thing with HI because it comes up a few times later in my France experience. This particular HI had a restaurant overlooking the marina. I learned that many HI hostels are built in beautiful settings. It’s part of France’s socialist culture that says just because you are not incredibly wealthy, it does not mean you should not be able to enjoy a beautiful vacation in nature. I ordered supper watching the sunset over the marina (with a beer, of course).

My roommate in La Rochelle was my first taste of what kind of people stay at the HI. Sometimes it’s backpackers and other times it’s drifters, the mentally ill and other sorts of people you don’t really want to share a room with. My roommate came in after I had set up shop. Immediately he asked in French if he could smoke a cigarette out on the balcony. I know from other hostels that the wind blows directly into the room and I politely told him I would prefer he smoked in the smoker’s area of the courtyard. He huffed and puffed. Even though the hostel had a no-smoking policy in the room, I don’t think he expected me to reject his wish. This began the infamous tirade against Anglo Saxons. That’s right, you heard it. He asked me if I was an Anglo Saxon and I was terribly confused. We had another roommate join us later in the evening. I was already falling asleep but the first roommate had started telling the second roommate about me, in French, and calling me an uptight Anglo Saxon.

The next morning at breakfast, this crazy guy sat next to me. I had a train to Aix-Les-Bains at 8am, so breakfast was quite early. This meshuganeh decides he wants to start talking politics. He asks me where I’m from and I tell him I’m from New York. He says, “Ah, Wall Street, les esclaves”. He’s calling the people on Wall Street slaves. I said the people on Wall Street are not slaves at all, they choose to be there and can leave when they want. I started thinking, “Maybe he was trying to make an anti-capitalist jab” but then I was like, “What the hell it’s 7:30am. This guy is really nuts.” So he got flustered again and got up and sat next to someone else in the cafeteria and proceeded to loudly retell the story of what had just occurred, calling me an Anglo Saxon again. What a nut!

Before my Workaway would begin, I had a relaxing trip to the spa town of Aix-Les-Bains. I figured this would be a good way to transition back into the working world.

Layover in Paris

To go across the country from west to east, you have to stop in Paris. My trip would take me into Gare de Montparnasse. From there I would take a bus to transfer to Gare de Lyon where I could depart for Aix-les-Bains. Gare de Montparnasse has many things in common with New York’s infamous Penn Station. A beautiful historic station was destroyed in the 1960s and the tracks were buried beneath a massive skyscraper. This was a big deal for Paris because it was the first skyscraper built within the city limits. Even though Gare de Montparnasse is the ugliest of all of the Parisian train stations, you can see that even though the station is underground it does not mean the station is doomed architecturally. There is even a massive reconstruction project to make it even better.

Gare de Lyon

This station has been written about everywhere. There’s not much more for me to add here except that I found an area in the rear of the station, behind the glass shed where I was mostly alone and found some peace and quiet.

TGV Sud-Est to Aix-les-Bains

The ride from Paris to Aix-les-Bains via Lyons is on the tracks of France’s first high speed line, the TGV Sud-Est. There views are spectacular: