Part 7: Banged up in beautiful Amiens

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I learned to tango in Amiens. I never expected to tango, but when the opportunity arose, I defined the first rule to live by on my trip: I am not allowed to refuse an invitation to anything. The point of this thing is to expand on every element of my social being, and the only way to do that is to get out and DO THINGS.
Tangoing is actually pretty easy. Tangoing WELL requires a few lessons. My SERVAS host, Jason, is a math teacher by day who moonlights as a tango instructor. He is a short, endearing 30-something year old man who loves comic books, and who (like many French people I’ve met) seems to have a closet that consists almost exclusively of striped, Marcel Marceau-esque shirts.
My time in Amiens was actually just a couple of nights, but it felt longer because I did so much.
Jason met me at the tower in Amiens, across from their large train station. My luggage had managed to stay on the bike for the 150 Kilometers or so I’d ridden from Calais, however, as I neared our meeting place, suddenly all of my baggage flopped off to the left side of the bike (still tethered by my tie downs), right in the middle of the city’s largest intersection at rush hour. I had to pull over and correct this immediately, feeling rather intense and worn out all at once.
I found our meeting place, and called for him to come and meet me. As I waited for him, I tried in spite of my frozen and inflexible hands, to re-tie that luggage to avoid a similar incident. I failed. As soon as he arrived (and gave me my first French cheek kiss, which I’m accustomed to now, but wasn’t yet at the time) and indicated for me to follow him, my luggage fell off dramatically again. He pulled over, helped me untie the damn things, and loaded them in his little car. He said I shouldn’t worry or get upset, and it would be funny tomorrow.
When we arrived at his place (only a few blocks away), we had to tackle the question of what to do with my scooter (since I didn’t have a lock for it yet). The first idea was to bring it into the hallway of his townhome. That didn’t work, and a couple of scrapes and a cracked blinker later, we decided to lock it to a signpost outside on the corner, and used his bike lock for the night. I would buy my own lock the next day.
Jason didn’t speak a lot of English, but we were able to communicate. His other half, Anne, arrived shortly after we did and Jason prepared a special meal of roasted beef, onions and other vegetables (some of which I’d never heard of).
Next, Anne had a band rehearsal/discussion, and I was invited to attend. There was some music at that start, friendly people and Kronenbourg. I enjoyed listening to their discussions in French, a first for me. I used the computer in the room, and every once in a while one of the men would come over and look over my shoulder to see what score was in a football (soccer) game. I must be in Europe.
The next day I saw the town. Everything I’d seen in pictures, everything I’d heard in songs, none of it could prepare me for actually BEING in a brilliant old city. You can brush your hand against a stonewall, and realize that that same wall existed exactly as you saw it, before your great grandfather was born.
You can sit at a café along the river, and drink a cup of the finest coffee in the world. And it honestly doesn’t cost any more than drinking a cup of horrible coffee in some cancerous chain restaurant in America. Denny’s might be a little cheaper actually - but do you really want to eat at Denny’s? They don’t have them over here. Okay, enough about Denny’s.
I spent much of the day wandering around the cathedral, dodging the rain, and waiting for a little bookstore to reopen after lunch (in Europe, most small shops close between about 12:30p and 3pm for lunch). They re-opened at about 3:15, and I went in to buy a copy of Les Miserables (which I would read with the assistance of an English-French dictionary). Though I enjoyed the appropriately artful Leonard Cohen they were playing in the store, they didn’t have a copy of the book and referred me to a larger bookstore anyway. I might add that when I did find the book, a new copy was only €2,80 - I assume because the French government subsidies the publication of French classics to encourage people to read. Not a terrible idea. Tell me what you can buy at Borders for less than $15?
The cathedral was so amazing, I couldn’t help from stammering, “My God…” probably about eight times. It really was that brilliant. You can see the picture I took of the statue of someone being beheaded. Not exactly what I expected to see in there. The French have a thing about beheading.
Later that evening, Jason took me to an indoor market, where he helped me pick out some delicious French food. Beef with mushrooms and some veggies… mmmm. I also picked up some bread and wine to go along with it. I should note that Jason has the unfortunate condition of not being able to indulge in the well-noted extremely good quality French cheese all around us. This is very sad and unfortunate, and I feel for him. In another matter, he does not partake in wine indulgence either, so I doubly feel for him.
Then, to tango class. After a mini feast, and finishing a small-bottle of red while watching everyone else get warmed up, I was ready to embarrass myself. I really didn’t do too bad, and was able to flatter several ladies without flattening their feet. Just a few easy steps, then repeat, repeat, repeat. Easy as pie.
On my last day there, I was fixing my directional blinker on the bike, when I noticed a young woman making a new fashion statement. Now try and wrap your head around this. She was wearing a white scarf, with the end of it trapped between her legs as she walked. It gave the impression that she had something like a rabbit’s cottontail as a decorative element in the crack of her pants. At every step she took, it did a wiggly dance back and forth. Now, I’m assuming this was accidental, but was certainly an attention grabber. It reminded me of the way bonobos and many types of animals will signal the opposite gender… Anyway, many new fashion crazes originate in France, so be on the watch. I’m calling it a crotch twinkler.
Leaving Amiens was a minor disaster. I needed to fuel up before leaving, and as I attempted to do so in the rain, I slipped on patch of spilt oil. The bike went off to the right, and I fell down on the left - directly in front of about 30 people who were all waiting for a bus. Since I was traveling cautiously in the wet conditions, the 5 mph spill barely left a mark on me or the bike. However, I lost the glass cover for my father’s watch, which I’d worn almost every day for the last couple of years. I suppose I’ll replace it when I’m apprenticing for a Swiss watchmaker next year.

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Photos

practical joke1
Good joke

Amiens at its best
Wow

joke2
this man mus be the fire watcher

beheaded
Anybody need a head?
This is inside the cathedral

joke3
some kids had fun with this statue

Hamburger
let's see, delicious French food, or overpriced hamburgers