An Endless Night

I awake with confusion and fear as I look up to see two ominous looking German Shepperds and three armed guards standing above us telling us to leave immediately. It is 3:30am and there is a frigidness in the air that I have not felt in months. My body aches, worn from the previous nights’ restlessness combined with a seemingly endless day on a bus, as I slowly bring myself up off the filthy and inhospitable train station floor.

When I started my journey, backpack slung haphazardly across my shoulder, I never dreamed that one day I would be staring into the eyes of a muzzled guard dog after having spent three hours acquainting myself with the subtle nuances of the Gare De Nord train station floor. Call me crazy but when I had envisioned my nights in Europe this particular scenario had not made it onto the list of desirable experiences.

There were nine of us that had sought refuge in the bowels of the station that night, including a six month old baby resting quietly in his stroller. He was the only one left undisturbed by his current surroundings. We had met him and his youthful parents across the street earlier as we were searching desperately for places to stay for the night. They had missed their connecting train to London only hours before and had no choice but to stay and hope that they would make it there early enough in the morning to catch their flight home.

The rest of us, our excuse was not so dramatic. We had been caught up in the passions of the sandy Spanish coastline, living our sangria and tapas dreams. The siestas had been plentiful and our nights had stretched far enough to meet the morning rays of twilight. All our life’s worries had disappeared, left far behind us in places we could hardly recall anymore. Not one of us had considered looking ahead for accommodation. Not one had realized that we would be arriving to town right in the middle of the world renowned Paris fashion week. All of us were turned away from the hostels and hotels being told that every room in the city was spoken for.

This is how we ended up huddled together on that worn train station floor, dreaming of the hard mattresses and flattened pillows of hostel bunk beds past. Hours before, we were complete strangers, carelessly wandering the globe in different directions. But now we are all friends, passing around a warm bottle of champagne recounting tales from our months on the road, lulling ourselves to sleep knowing that the morning would come soon enough and our night would be behind us.

Until we are awoken, escorted out and told to wait the hours outside until the station once again reopens. Unsure what to do or where to go we turn, exhausted, to the cafe across the street where cappuccinos are ordered and we recount more tales ‘til morning comes.