CARE FOR SOME MOO TEA?

We were standing at the ticket counter anxiously hoping we didn’t have to do this everyday in Lyon too. When in Paris we paid our homage every single day to the booking office en route to the tourist spots. This time my plan should work. Here was my rationale; Lyon was in the South of France which meant it was closer to Italy. Besides it wasn’t going to be nearly as busy as Paris. Therefore getting those tickets to Italy should not be onerous. Revati chuckled and said the Taurian in me never gives up, but she secretly hoped I was right.

“Two pass holders’ reservations to anywhere in Italy please.” I couldn’t emphasis more clearly how we didn’t mind any number of legs, any time of the day or coach class. We were desperation and flexibility personified, standing before this Goddess who alone could hand us our two week old dream. She finally spoke after several insufferable seconds, “There are many open tickets available to Rome, Milan, Siena etc etc..” My heart was racing, I though I could explode with joy. “They are available for next month” she continued. Next month! Are you crazy woman?  My dissertation was due the following month. How dare she speak of the ‘next month’. I’m was there to live in the moment and embrace Europe.

Revati was not as upset as I was. She was more willing to let go and spend time in Lyon. We had seen pictures and they were rather impressive. On the way to our hotel, we walked through a farmers market that was vibrant and bubbling with happy folks. I did not think until then that man made things can be very delightful too. The view of the city from the top of the Basilica of Notre-Dame de Fourviere was breathtaking. The greenery, the summer flowers and the Saone river with several little bridges over it, all of it made me think it was going to be alright. Perhaps it was true that its never about the destination, its about the journey. I took a deep breath and decided to hike back down.

All the while we had been using Revati’s camera to take pictures. I couldn’t find mine, it was at the train station ticketing counter. Naturally we heading back to pick it up. The office was closed for lunch. We hung around for sometime, drank some Macchiato from the kiosk. It was the worst coffee I had ever had. Revati had no idea her patience was going to be tested yet again. As the office opened I went in to collect my camera and decided to enquire about tickets again. This time it was a jolly rolly-polly chap, a man of few words but constantly hummed a tune. How much would have things changed within couple of hours, said Revati, with her eyes.

The suspense was building. He keyed in something. Deleted it. Keyed in some other combination. In few minutes he finally spoke, “There are exactly two quota seats to Rome, the day after tomorrow. Are you interested?” How about that. Of course we said and just jumped at it. “Hang on!” he warned us, “The train is an overnight train from Tarini. You will have to make arrangements to take a bus to Tarini or Turin or some such place from Lyon.” Before I had fully assimilated the provisos, I had said ok to completing the bookings. Little did I think it will come and kick me in the tail later. Thoroughly overjoyed and in half disbelief we decided to check-into the hotel.

The hotel was small, old and quaint. We loved our room for it had a queen bed and a private attached bathroom. We thought we had hit the jackpot. In hindsight however,  it was no more ‘quaint’ than a motel, but at that time it was an upgrade from the bunk beds in a hole.

Once we checked in with this elderly French gentleman, we tried asking him for a map and sight seeing destinations. The language barrier was a waste of time. The guy offered some tea. Sure but do I have to pay I asked showing him my bank card. He shook his head and said “Free free.”Free Tea? Why yes I’d love some!” I’m willingly drink tea at the drop of a hat. He handed me a cup of black tea. ‘I cant have black tea’ I though, ‘I need milk and sugar, the desi style’. Now, what was milk in French again? I walked up to him and confidently asked for, “Latte s’il vous plait.”

“Latte? Excuse moi?”  He looked like a living question mark, in the words of Wodehouse. Yes white liquid thing that some folk like with their tea. He just didn’t get it, and I just didn’t give up. Well, I finally get free hot tea and the most sought after ticket to Italy, I’m too happy to let this latte go. I had to think of a creative way to explain to him. Revati probably was embarrassed by me but it was my very determination and perseverance that had got us this far.  Eureka! A brilliant idea. I remembered what the word for a cow in French was. It’s a Vache. After-all the two years of elementary French didn’t go to waste. Gesturing excitedly to the old man,

“Vache Vache”, milking the udders of a vache, up in the air as I also mooed like a cow. “Aah!” he said, “lait”. “Oui, mercy” I responded, this time calmly.  And so I had my tea, the desi way, toasting away in honor of Rome.