The epic train ride, round two: En route to Chamonix

(Note: this post is very past due, but it is too good not to share, so enjoy! And hopefully you can learn a thing or two as well.)

Yes, when there is a round one, there must be a round two. And probably three and four in due time, so no worries. This life will never be boring. It can’t be, especially when you’re traveling. By train. In a foreign country.

Allow me to explain the trip to Chamonix in the first place. It’s no simple task, I assure you.

Step 1: Train from Montreux to Geneva. Easy enough.

Step 2: Find and get on Geneva metro/tram to get to Gare Geneve-eux-vives--or within walking distance of it.

Step 3: Pay attention to signs on metro/tram in order to know where Gare Geneve-eux-vives actually is. Walk/run to train station.

Step 4: Board train for St. Gervais Les bains Le Fayet at Geneve-eux-vives. (This is essentially the French train station for SNCF trains. Of course having French and Swiss trains in the same station would be much too complicated.)

Step 5: Get off at St. Gervais and find Mont Blanc Express Train to--you guessed it--Chamonix.

So that’s what we were dealing with in the first place. We should have known that this train ride would be memorable. Perhaps Marki’s words from the last train adventure, “Why can’t anything just be normal?” should have tipped us off. But no. We were naive and too excited about our final destination to think much about the joys of public transportation.

And now hopefully you’re starting to wonder. . . What happened? Given our recent train history, maybe you’re thinking that we took the wrong train? Ended up in Italy? Or got stranded in the middle of nowhere with no one and no phone reception?? No, no, and no. This is so much better than that.

Steps one through three went fairly smoothly--except for one small mistake with the metro. No biggie. But things got interesting on the train to St. Gervais. First, there was an issue with Marki’s ticket. Long story and I don’t have the patience to tell it here. All you need to know is that we sweet-talked the conductor and violà. We were good to go.

Now allow me to set the scene: Marki and I are sitting on the deserted end of the third train car, chatting, reading, picnicing, and taking in the scenery of this tiny corner of France. At one of the many stops we made on the way to St. Gervais, a young woman got on and made her way to our end of the car where she proceeded to stand in the hallway talking on her phone mindlessly and staring out the window. Just after her, a young man came down to our end of the car as well but he was, well, slightly strange. He had a limp in his walk and seemed to have some sort of mental disability--or at least I’d like to assume the later considering his consequent actions.

He stopped right next to Marki and I and stood there, staring at us for at least a minute while we were in the middle of a conversation. We continued talking--or Marki did--and I did the best I could to hold back fits of laughter. (Yeah, I’m one of those people that often laughs in the most inconvenient and uncomfortable situations, a quality I’m not proud of since it usually makes the situation even more unbearable.) Eventually--thank GOD--the boy decided to sit down and abandon the conversation he had awkwardly invited himself into. My back was turned toward him, but Marki still had a clear view and was keeping an eye on the little creeper while we tried to figure out what the hell he was doing.

All of a sudden, Marki gasped. Her face quickly turned to one of shock and disgust, followed by several ‘Oh my god’s in rapid succession.

“What’s wrong? What happened?!?!” I asked, too scared to turn around and survey the scene for myself.

“Oh. My. God. Holy shit.”

And that’s when I figured out what this young man was doing--although I was really hoping that I might be wrong. Can you guess? And yes, you can let your mind go there, if that’s what you’re thinking. While staring down the girl talking on her phone at the end of the train car, the guy stuck his hand down his pants and, well, you can fill in the rest.

Without much hesitation, Marki and I grabbed our things and were practically running to the opposite end of the car where there were more people--thankfully none of whom where jacking-off to keep themselves busy. Marki went in search for the train conductor to try and explain the situation... “Monsieur, il y a un homme malade et un peu bizarre qui regarde une fille et...” One problem. I never learned the term for ‘masturbate’ in my French class. Damn vocab lists. Whatever happened to learning useful things in college?

And to make the situation even better, the ticket man was nowhere to be seen. That’s when we figured out that the man who checked our tickets when we first boarded the train was the same man who was now driving the train. Not very good planning. I mean, what the hell are you supposed to do if there is an emergency? What if someone has a heart attack? Or there is a robbery? Or a young man decides to masturbate in broad daylight? What are you supposed to do then?

Thankfully, Mr. Creeper I-can’t-keep-my-hand-out-of-my-pants-for-five-minutes left the train a couple stops later, though I still felt violated for the rest of the train ride. Yes, I am aware that sex is less taboo in Europe--all you have to do is watch tv, pick up a newspaper, or look at the next billboard--but masturbating on a train? Really?

So the next time you find yourself traveling by rail in Europe, remember to keep some Purell handy. And never expect the ride to be just normal. Nope, it doesn’t work that way. However, if it’s an adventure you want, that you will get! Bon voyage!