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Aug. 2nd, 2006 03:26 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
polutropeWe went to the Musée Gallo-Romain yesterday. My thoughts were evenly diveded between 'eee Romans squee Claudius could have touched this very pillar with his imperial hands' and 'Why couldn't those bloody Romans written more clearly and not used abbrieviations?' Because all the incriptions were totally illegible. But it was really cool. I think I wandered around with a silly grin on my face.
Then I decided to go to the music store, so they dropped me off, after giving me fairly simple directions. I spent my time at the music store, left, got pain au chocolate to get change for a Metro ticket (and I'm not coming home until Americans figure out how to make better pain au chocolate) and got on the metro. Everything was fine - until the train stopped a station before it was supposed to.
Now harken unto the wanderings of our dark-eyed heroine.
Having left the orange conveyance, she lifted her head and read with horror the fateful words 'Station Cuire fermé au cause des travails.' Yet this dismayed not the great-hearted maiden, for she had not fear of walking, although she was clad in flimsy sandals. She studied the map of the city, determined her route, and set out, beneath the blazing sun of the eighth month of the year.
But the road was long, and Doubt, foul Rumor's sister, began to creep into her stalwart breast. At last, on the crown of a hill, she beheld the long awaited bus stop. Alas! not the right bus stop. For this one bore the number 41, while the one she sought bore 33. However, fortune favored her, for now at least, for she had taken the 41 some days before, and knew it would take her where she must go.
She waited, apprehensive, on the tilting bus; for she must press the button to tell she wished to descend, and she knew not the stop before hers. And so it was that she watched with horror as the bus pulled away from her stop. Yet still her great heart was undaunted; she would descend at the next stop - for she was strong, and could walk. She pressed the button, and waited. The bus stopped - but the doors did not open. For the second time, fear and doubt entered her mind. But she tracked the turns of the bus, and at the next stop she descended.
Alas for the overconfidence of youth! For indeed she remembered the first turn, but not the second. She took a street that seemed plausible; but when she passed a monastery, she recognized her error. Turning back, she passed a field of sheep. Remembering Odysseus' men, she did not fall upon them and eat them. Also, she lacked the proper tools.
She continued down the hill. It was impossible, she relized, to ask for directions, since the name of the street she sought was unknown to her. Nor would she ask for the 41, for she was too proud to be mocked for the distance between herself and her destination. And still the road continued down the hill, without cross-streets.
But finally, the Rhone lay before her, and with it the road she had taken on bikes. With joy in her heart, she knew she was no longer lost, and that only the long trek up the hill lay between her and home.
And so, finally, only half an hour late, she struggeled into the yard. She said only 'Yes, I found it easily' to queries about her journey. And there ends the saga of the Wanderer.
They say 'Je t'en pris' to 'merci' here. Ils sont fous ces lyonais. I mean, at least 'bienvenue' makes sense in a sort of you're-trampling-on-the-purity-of-the-language-I-hope-all-the-members-of-the-Acadamie-francaise-come-dance-on-your-grave way.
Then I decided to go to the music store, so they dropped me off, after giving me fairly simple directions. I spent my time at the music store, left, got pain au chocolate to get change for a Metro ticket (and I'm not coming home until Americans figure out how to make better pain au chocolate) and got on the metro. Everything was fine - until the train stopped a station before it was supposed to.
Now harken unto the wanderings of our dark-eyed heroine.
Having left the orange conveyance, she lifted her head and read with horror the fateful words 'Station Cuire fermé au cause des travails.' Yet this dismayed not the great-hearted maiden, for she had not fear of walking, although she was clad in flimsy sandals. She studied the map of the city, determined her route, and set out, beneath the blazing sun of the eighth month of the year.
But the road was long, and Doubt, foul Rumor's sister, began to creep into her stalwart breast. At last, on the crown of a hill, she beheld the long awaited bus stop. Alas! not the right bus stop. For this one bore the number 41, while the one she sought bore 33. However, fortune favored her, for now at least, for she had taken the 41 some days before, and knew it would take her where she must go.
She waited, apprehensive, on the tilting bus; for she must press the button to tell she wished to descend, and she knew not the stop before hers. And so it was that she watched with horror as the bus pulled away from her stop. Yet still her great heart was undaunted; she would descend at the next stop - for she was strong, and could walk. She pressed the button, and waited. The bus stopped - but the doors did not open. For the second time, fear and doubt entered her mind. But she tracked the turns of the bus, and at the next stop she descended.
Alas for the overconfidence of youth! For indeed she remembered the first turn, but not the second. She took a street that seemed plausible; but when she passed a monastery, she recognized her error. Turning back, she passed a field of sheep. Remembering Odysseus' men, she did not fall upon them and eat them. Also, she lacked the proper tools.
She continued down the hill. It was impossible, she relized, to ask for directions, since the name of the street she sought was unknown to her. Nor would she ask for the 41, for she was too proud to be mocked for the distance between herself and her destination. And still the road continued down the hill, without cross-streets.
But finally, the Rhone lay before her, and with it the road she had taken on bikes. With joy in her heart, she knew she was no longer lost, and that only the long trek up the hill lay between her and home.
And so, finally, only half an hour late, she struggeled into the yard. She said only 'Yes, I found it easily' to queries about her journey. And there ends the saga of the Wanderer.
They say 'Je t'en pris' to 'merci' here. Ils sont fous ces lyonais. I mean, at least 'bienvenue' makes sense in a sort of you're-trampling-on-the-purity-of-the-language-I-hope-all-the-members-of-the-Acadamie-francaise-come-dance-on-your-grave way.
