With A Little Patience and Persistence...

My life as a study abroad student with adventures to share has officially begun.

As if the 11 hour transatlantic flight wasn't proof enough, my traveling savvy has been tested, and the grades are in:

• Ability to keep calm in a high pressure situation: F
• Ability to speak or understand another language: F
• Ability to find an Ikea within 14 miles: A-
• Ability to get to that Ikea in less than 3 hours: D+

On Saturday, my two gal pals and I decided to embark on our first travel excursion outside of Aix en Provence to the well-known Swedish home furnishing store, Ikea. I needed to pick up a few linens and decor for my new villa, and Jill and Brittany (said gal pals) wanted to get some ideas of prices.

We boarded the bus to Vitrolles ( a small town on the outskirts of mighty Marseille) and asked the bus driver if the bus goes to the city, or makes a stop at Ikea, which is also around a large shopping center, or centre commerical. He replies something inaudible, but says, "Oui, Vitrolles".. so we pay him 2 euro and anxiously take our seats.

There I sat, frustrated with the bus driver, angry and annoyed thinking, this would never be acceptable in the States, there has to be some common courtesy.. and so on.

As soon as our bus halts into the city bus station 25 minutes later, our driver hops off and runs to a city bus to ask the driver... which bus to take to Ikea. How DUMB we felt!

What a nice man.

I love the French.

So we eagerly take the advice of the nice gal driver, who's English is welcome to our ears, and take a seat on a bus that smells faintly of unwashed bodies and onions.

45 Minutes later, we arrive in what we now refer to as "East LA". Trash everywhere, scary looking people and apartments, and there were are, sticking out like sore thumbs, our great blue and yellow mecca nowhere to be seen.

How awful.

What are three american girls to do.

The bus driver makes us get off, claiming we must get on the same bus number (24) and go back the other way.

I am starting to get annoyed with Ms. original bus driver who lied to us.

So we cross the street, fearing for our lives, and await the next bus flashing "24"

35 min later, we arrive back at the bus station.

Is this fun?

" I am WALKING to Ikea." I stubbornly claim.

10 minutes into our walk, I get an idea.

We should cross the street, and get on ANY bus going the direction of Ikea ( which is up the road, we saw signs).

Brilliant.

Is it?

We cross the street, and await our beloved line 24.

It will be here in 22 minutes.

We could walk there in 22 minutes.

Let's walk, Brittany says.

Not 4 minutes later, bus 24 comes strolling by, taking with it our hopes, dreams, and patience in one gust of smog filled wind.

It stops a few meters ahead.

So I begin to run.

Do you know how long its been since I've run?

There I am, hot wind of the valley rushing past me, palm trees swaying lazily in it.

My life passes before my eyes, and I raise my hand and yell "arret!" (stop!).

The bus, mockingly speeds away, as my favorite sandals beat against the sidewalk, slapping it with each step.

I stop short, my coach purse flying onto the sidewalk, and direct my gaze and anger, upward.

"This isn't funny anymore!!" I say to the sky.

Our trek continues for close to 30 minutes, and we finally see Ikea on the horizon, calling us home.

Sweaty and tired, we walked through those automatic doors, and all our troubles are forgotten, for the moment.

We ended up having a wonderful time, with a safe and uneventful return back to Aix. It wasn't funny then, on the blazing hot sidewalk, but I am smiling as I am recording it.