to buy coats. He started to get very excited. I don’t know how much wine we were drinking; we were getting loud, and there seemed to be empty bottles rolling around the room everywhere.
“The first thing we have to do is buy a map. How are we ever going to find our way to the East, to Afghanistan to India or even maybe ‘to meet the Czar?’” I finally put forth.
“It’s easy, we just go to the Champs-Élysées and turn right and ride the rails towards the rising sun.”
“Imagine,” he said. “The Pyramids, Mecca, Masada, and then to the shores of Babylon. Think of the mystery, the adventure of it all.”
“That’s right. Then after that, all that’s left is to climb a mountain and look down the other side to Afghanistan just sitting there waiting for us…it will be easy, you’ll see,” Doug related, nodding and handing me another bottle of wine to open.
As I continued to drink into the night long after Doug dozed off, I was concerned with my financial situation. I boarded my Icelandic flight with exactly $900. I’d watched my spending in Paris, but this city was a killer; everything cost more than in the US. I wasn’t sure how much the Orient Express would cost, but it didn’t matter—we were going, end of story. But the reality was that we better strike it rich quickly with this idea. I knew that not every city was as expensive as Paris. But every city would cost something. I was guessing I’d leave Paris with $600-$700 in my pockets. Afghanistan was a long way away and probably an even longer way back, as we would have to find a way to transport all those coats.
From meeting on a plane a matter of days ago, to going into international business together, my relationship with Doug had evolved quickly. My companion, a writer by trade, also had the feeling that it was his time to see Europe. As New Yorker, his manner was much more aggressive than mine. He was one of the over 500,000 who had lived through and been deeply affected by his experience at Woodstock in August of 1969. It had been great to have a companion in my first days overseas. I was incredibly lucky to have someone to commiserate with, laugh with, eat and drink with, and, of course, someone to translate until, day by day, I got more comfortable with communicating—sort of—in a foreign land. We got along and were both wide-eyed about all we had seen so far.
We rose the next morning to a sunny day and made our way through the French Quarter to buy our Orient Express tickets. Nothing seemed to be easy, even with my companion’s ability to speak some French. It took forever, and at the end of the experience, I was hoping more than knowing that we were scheduled for the right train. What I did know was that we were now set to leave Paris in a couple of nights and, implausible as it may sound, we were going east. “Going east to meet the Czar”, as Jim Morrison would say, voyaging to some of the world’s most exotic and unknown lands. And I couldn’t help but imagine the trip, journeying through many of the capitals of Europe to those somewhat secret lands of Eastern Europe, then to Constantinople with its history and then the land of the Crusades and the Middle East and eventually, I could barely say it, Asia, and adventures halfway around the world.
And those adventures started on the world’s most interesting train, The Orient Express.
I wondered if I would be in a train coach with European royalty, or possibly a movie star from Italy. Might I pass a spy from Berlin as I walked down the hallway to what I was sure would be a fabulous dining car filled with some of the most interesting people in the world?
The day passed slowly as we walked the Champs-Élysées, that avenue of avenues that ends with Napoleon’s Arc de Triomphe, so massive and beautifully positioned. Along the way I bought a map, what would be the first of many maps, I thought, as this one only showed Europe to Istanbul. I say “only” a little tongue in cheek, as the map, laid out, covered a large café table and made Istanbul look thousands of miles away, even though, as best we could discern from the ticket agent, the ride from Paris to Istanbul was only about a day and a half. Buying a train ticket in a railroad station is one thing, but to now have this map to look at—this was adventure; this was really the start of something exciting. Doug eventually got bored with my insistent opening and looking at “The Map” as we made our way from one café to another. As it was now late, he said he’d meet me back at the hotel. I walked for a while and again ended up near the Black Jack Discothèque.
I had stopped the other night for a while talking to the doorman or at least trying to in some broken French. We had spent an hour that night watching a young French prostitute soliciting possible clients walking by, laughing and shaking our heads at the success and failures she experienced.
My friend was there again. He greeted me, “Bonsoir, Chicago,” and I called out “Hey, Jack, how’s it hanging?” I’m sure his name wasn’t Jack, but that was the name on the sign above the door, and he seemed to understand my intent. Even though I was running out of Marlboros, it was an obvious choice to hand Jack one. An hour passed as we talked and watched an unbelievable assortment of unusual late-night characters walk past us. Michelle, as Jack had named the prostitute, was not having much luck. As he had the other night, Jack attempted to get me to spend some time with Michelle. At one point he even went over to her and seemed to argue with her. I think he was trying to get her price down for me.
Even though he was a doorman, Jack didn’t seem to care who came in and out until a big limousine pulled up in front, and several guys in black suits got out. He rushed over to them quickly. I was left alone, trying to imagine who these guys were. Were they hoods, were they celebrities, were they French or from some far-off land?
Just then there was a tap on my shoulder. Michelle was standing almost right on top of me. “Ainsi, vous avez peut-être comme moi. Cet homme affirme que nous devrions faire un deal.” I wasn’t sure what she had just said. Of course, she said it very fast and again, with my almost nonexistent French, I could only guess. However, as I was starting to be totally captivated by her perfume, I noticed Jack, still holding the door for the limousine occupants, motioning to me with one hand, rubbing his thumb and forefinger together in a circular motion, indicating, I believe, “negotiate with her.” With Michelle now standing so close, I noticed how young and attractive she was. I asked, “Combien?” As a new world traveler, I had learned how to ask how much for a bowl of soup and now, you see, I knew how to ask a prostitute her price. By now she knew I was American and probably able to speak very little French. She saw the doorman motioning to me and made a face in his direction, mumbling surprisingly in English, “Screw him” and proceeded to say, “Il vous en coûtera 250 francs pour être avec moi.” I only understood the 250, which she said in English. My quick math told me she probably wanted $50.
“No, no—no way” was my instantaneous response. She again made one of her faces and started to walk away. But after only five or six steps, she turned around and started to look me over, head to toe, seemingly trying to judge what to do next. I took out a pack of Marlboros and motioned would she like one. She smiled for the first time and walked over to me, taking one from the pack. “Merci.”
As she turned against a slight wind to cup her hands over my lighter lighting her cigarette, I again began to feel hypnotized by the fragrance coming off the back of her neck. I took the opportunity to put forth, “One hundred francs.”
“Non, ce n’est pas possible” came her quick reply. She turned up her nose and started to quickly walk away.
But then, again, she stopped and turned toward me. Quickly, sensing hesitation on her part, I immediately began a hopefully pity-producing monologue that went something like this.
“Mademoiselle, I have been on a long trip. I’ve had great adventures, met lots of interesting people and have seen many beautiful things around the world, but never have I seen anything like you. You are truly the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. I leave tomorrow to fly back to America, and I have spent all my money.”
