Trekking in Brittany 2024
Je tiens à remercier Marie, ma chère amie française, pour cette merveilleuse expérience de voyage. Le voyage n’aurait pas été possible sans elle. Je voudrais également exprimer ma sincère gratitude à toutes les personnes qui ont offert leur hospitalité et leur aide. Comme on dit, “ce n’est pas la destination, c’est le voyage!”
Day 1 (4/26) - Seattle to Paris - Nantes - La Trinite-Surzur
The direct flight from Seattle to Paris was uneventful except for the pleasant surprise of seeing an old friend, Caroline, and her husband, who were also on board. We had visited her family in Switzerland years ago. Our children attended the same preschool, and it had been a long time since we last saw each other.
Once at CDG, I had to wait a few hours for the TGV train to Nantes. Riding the train in France was always a bit unnerving to me, even though I’ve been on those trains a number of times. Each train had its own platform, which was only announced 20 minutes prior to departure. There’s actually ample time to make it to the platform IF I knew where I was going. Finding the assigned coach/seat was another story. My journey involved a connection, adding a little more anxiety. The entire trip lasted around four hours. Although the high-speed train reached speeds of 300 km/hr, it was so steady that I didn’t feel it.
I arrived in Nantes at about 10 pm. Marie was waiting for me in a parking area just a short walk from the train terminal. It was dark, so seeing her was a relief, and the feeling was mutual. It was only then that I could breathe a sigh of relief; the prospect of getting lost outside a train station in a foreign country late at night was daunting, especially after being up for over 20 hours.
The drive was about an hour from Nantes to Marie’s town. Her little house was cute, though my recollections were a blur; I simply settled in and collapsed into bed, which was super comfortable.
Day 2 (4/27) - Visited Vannes; stayed at Bernard and Bridgette's house
It was a restful night’s sleep at Marie’s house, which was surprising considering the time zone change and new environment. After breakfast, we set off for Vannes, just a 20-minute drive away. This 2000-year-old walled city had the classic medieval features. It was vibrant and had a good mix of tourists and locals. Despite its charm, I had seen enough of these cities throughout Europe that I became somewhat desensitized to its attraction. We strolled through the city and the farmer’s market, where we picked up a piece of the region’s renowned pastry, kouign-amann. Later, we visited the seafood market and bought a few crabs and some escargots (I think they called it something else), which we planned to have for our lunch or brunch.
After the seafood meal at home, we gathered our belongings and set off to meet Marie’s friends, Bridgette and Bernard, at their house in Lorient, which was an hour’s ride with the ride-share.
Bridgette and Bernard were wonderful hosts who made me feel at home. Bernard gave me a tour of their house, and I was amazed by some of the unique designs and decorations, particularly the picture artwork that was made totally out of metal. With the fireplace lit up, we proceeded with the French tradition of an aperitif, which was followed by a delightful Raclette dinner (a new experience for me and it reminded me of the Chinese Hotpot). It was truly a treat!
The communication (French vs English) went from challenging to becoming a lot of fun, thanks to Google Translate. It was a great evening spent in the house of these wonderful people.
Day 3 (4/28) - First day of trekking
First thing in the morning, Bridgette and I set out to pick up the croissants, as we had decided the previous night. My curiosity about the locals’ preferences—whether they would enjoy the same things as I do—had grown subconsciously with my travels. We had planned to walk, but due to the threatening weather, we opted to drive instead. I often wish the States offered as many pastry shops and the variety found in France; I would have bought three times as many pastries if I were making the purchases. Following a pleasant, simple breakfast, we prepared our belongings and hit the road. On the way to the trailhead, we picked up Dannielle, Bridgette’s friend and a lovely cheerful lady. Bernard was to drop the four of us at the trailhead and later pick up Bridgette and Dannielle at the day’s end, wherever that might be.
After saying goodbye to Bernard, we were off on our hike along the GR34. Unaware of what I was about to get myself into, my spirit was high with a good dose of adrenaline. Initially, the backpack, weighing roughly 25 pounds, didn’t seem to put much strain on my body. I opted to trail behind since I had no idea where we were going and didn’t want to set the pace; it was quite relaxing that way. The GR34’s path was indicated by red and yellow markers, yet one could easily miss a turn without careful attention.
The scenery was nice, the scent of the air after the rain was refreshing, and most importantly, I had great company. My body hadn’t complained yet. It began to rain slightly, but I was prepared for it. The cooler temperatures actually made the hike more comfortable. We stopped at the trailside for lunch, unpacking our ready-to-eat meals, and to my amazement, Danielle pulled out a bottle of Rosé, truly living up to the French reputation! I wondered what it’s like to be intoxicated on the trail.
The trail offered a wide variety of scenery and was mostly flat, which was a good way to ease into using the muscles that I was not accustomed to. Judging from how often the ladies huddled over their phones, it became apparent that we might have strayed from our path, since the GR34 markers were no longer to be seen. Unfazed, we pushed on to reach the destination where Bridgette and Danielle would take the ferry to the rendezvous point with Bernard. We were a bit sad when we parted since we didn’t know if we would ever meet again. Marie and I kept waving at them as the ferry pulled away.
There we were, Marie and I, continuing our trek. The earlier detour had added extra miles to our planned route, and I began to feel tired and anxious about reaching the campsite, while Marie showed no sign of worry. I wasn’t sure if it was her casual approach to planning or just the nature of trekking. She struck up conversations with fellow hikers, and soon, we were joined by Chantel. My French was practically non-existent, so I couldn’t follow their exchange. Shortly after, Chantel offered us her backyard, which was close to our location on the trail. It was a resounding yes for me. Upon arriving at her home, she proposed that we could stay indoors, but we chose the backyard. I was touched by her generosity and kindness, something I had only heard of but never experienced. I couldn’t thank Chantel enough for what she did. This incident marked the first of many where Marie would remind me, “Don’t worry, take it as it comes!”
Marie and I set up our tents before heading out to grab some beers and snacks for the aperitif Chantel had prepared for us, followed with a simple meal cooked by Marie. There I was, spending my first night of camping not at a campsite, but in someone’s backyard in France! In total, we had walked 25 kilometers (15 miles) that day.
Day 4 (4/29) - Joined by Chantel
It was my first night camping out this year, yet I felt comfortable with my small maison. I didn’t forget any of my camping gear and they are all in good working conditions. Marie and I claimed opposite corners of the backyard, leaving ample space between us. Overall, I had a decent night of sleep.
In the morning, Chantel kindly made breakfast for us. Something I noticed, similar to Bridgette’s house, was the coffee cup – it’s the size of a large soup bowl! I always thought French loathed the way Americans drink their coffee in a big cup. Perhaps this was solely a British (Brittany) custom. Then, I learned that Chantel would be joining us on our trek for the day, which was a pleasant surprise.
Like the day before, the trail offered a diverse range of scenery. The most memorable part for me was traversing the walls of a walled city. As someone with a fear of heights, walking along a shoulder-width ledge with a large pack caused me some lightheadedness. The highest point was likely only 10-12 feet off the ground. Had I known the length of that section, I would have opted for the lower path. The two ladies were totally oblivious to that and I never shared my uneasy moments with them.
We made a detour to the town where Chantel was raised and paid a visit to her daughter and grandchildren. It was a delightful encounter with another local family, an experience I wouldn’t have had otherwise. Holding the 4-month-old French baby, I found myself musing over the unexpected journey that led me there. We then moved on, and Chantel walked with us to the halfway point of the day, roughly 13 km away. We enjoyed a roadside lunch of baguette with pâté and said goodbye to each other with a big hug. Chantel kept in contact with Marie for the duration of our trip.
Here came the same challenge I faced the day before – where’s the campsite? There was none nearby, a detail Marie had mentioned earlier in passing. The concept of bivouacking, which I had learned before the trip, suddenly became my reality. We found ourselves in a residential area, which, despite my initial discomfort, proved to be a suitable spot. I had never bivouacked before, not in France or anywhere else. Marie talked with some locals who reassured us that it was fine to camp there. Ultimately, everything turned out fine. I even managed to fire up my camp stove and cook. Afterwards, we both retired to our tents for the night.
Day 5 (4/30) - A rainy evening
It was windy throughout the night, and there might have been rain as well. My sleep was fitful, and I felt a bit of a scratchy throat, typically a sign of me coming down with something. As dawn broke, I messaged Marie, who appeared to have slept soundly in her tent, to ask if we should delay our departure until the rain stopped. Her reply was “Il fait beau, pas de pluie.” Stepping outside, I found she was right; there was no rain. Perhaps it was the wind’s beating on the tent that made the sound of rain, or maybe it was just my typical pessimism. With no facilities around the area, I hastily packed up and, not even taking a sip of water (though I might have brewed a cup of coffee, my memory is hazy), we started the journey of the day.
Throughout the day it was a bit damp with light rain on and off. Shortly after we started walking, we came upon a small village town by the sea. An elderly man named Richard, who was cleaning the outside of a house, engaged Marie in conversation as we passed by and kindly invited us in for a drink. This gesture of hospitality seemed to be a recurring theme of our trip. As usual, while Richard and his wife were chatting amicably with Marie, I remained smiling, unable to understand a word they said. Through Marie’s translation, Richard shared that his family had been in the fishing industry for many generations, and he showed me the ancestral photos hanging on the walls. They also brought out maps to discuss trekking routes with Marie, revealing their passion for hiking. Eventually, the time came to part ways, and we expressed our deep gratitude for their generosity.
Following Richard’s suggestion, we took a small detour to a renowned spot called Saint Cado and dined at the local restaurant. The packed restaurant confirmed Richard’s recommendation. Despite developing a runny nose and sore throat, I didn’t let it stop me from enjoying a glass of white wine paired with our order of mussels and chicken salad. The mussels were exceptionally tender and served in a generous portion. Marie and I shared them, leaving most of the salad untouched. We took the salad to go, which proved to be an excellent choice for our dinner later on.
That day, Marie had already picked out a campsite. Roughly 45 minutes before our arrival, a heavy rain began to pour. My raincoat and backpack cover were on, yet my legs were completely soaked. The campsite was quiet, with no other tents in sight. After registering at the front desk for eight euros each, we were at a loss about what to do next due to the persistent rain. Luckily we found a rather large and clean bathroom, which we used as a staging area. The hot shower was blissful. However, the rain continued relentlessly. I then suggested we pitch our tents inside the bathroom to keep them dry before moving them outside. Despite some struggles with the wind, our strategy succeeded. Afterward, we had our chicken salad from earlier in the bathroom, gathered up our belongings, and transferred everything into our tents. By then, the rain may have already stopped.
Day 6 (5/1) - Arriving at the campsite where we stayed for 3 nights.
The sky had cleared overnight, but everything outside remained damp. We got up and tried to dry our tents as best we could. Making my cup of coffee took a little bit of work but it worked. Knowing that I needed breakfast before we began our hike, Marie found a nearby spot where we could grab some pastries and come back to retrieve our belongings. What followed was a nice digression of the plan: Initially, Marie had arranged a camper with the RV to keep our backpacks while we fetched breakfast. Shortly thereafter, the camper rode his bike up to our campsite, offering to pick up the breakfast for us, as it would be much faster by bike. And that’s what he did – he took off and returned with a couple of croissants and a baguette in no time. A small gesture for him but it left a lasting impression on me. We thanked him dearly for that.
The walk was rather unremarkable. I didn’t take many photos, nor could I remember much from that day. Yet, the one photo Marie snapped of me strapping a baguette to my backpack stands out as the most memorable.
We arrived at a pleasant campsite by the water. By then, I was exhausted from the consecutive days of trekking. My cold only made matters worse. The thought of putting on the backpack the following morning was dreadful. I considered suggesting a day’s rest to Marie but decided against it. Fortunately, the campsite had a restaurant, a welcome relief as it spared me the need to venture out for food or cook myself. Surprisingly, the food was excellent. The fish and chips was one of the best I’d ever tasted, and I ended up ordering the same thing for the next two evenings. Ideally, a beer would have complemented the meal, but I didn’t want to exacerbate my cold. Marie, as she often does, engaged the owner in lively conversation, resulting in hearty laughter. Whenever I needed to request something, Marie insisted, “en Francais.” After dinner, we retreated to our tents for the night.
Day 7 (5/2) - The Quiberon Loop
From what I recall, the night was calm and the sky was clear when we got up in the morning. This, coupled with the standard campsite setup, gave me a sense of normalcy after a few days of unusual lodging conditions. And that normalcy included none other than the freshly baked croissants available at the campsite, a treat I’ve always cherished while camping in Europe. Strangely absent, however, was coffee. I guessed this was partly because many campers had RVs equipped to brew their own. Making my own cup of coffee took some work, but that also gave me the sense of self-reliance. Typically, I would pick up two plain and two chocolate croissants, sharing them with Marie.
Following breakfast, the daunting reality set in. The prospect of putting the backpack on and trekking 10+ miles remained unchanged. Miraculously, as though my plea was answered, the day’s segment of the GR34 was a loop, which meant we would return back to the campsite. This loop, the longest stretch of our journey at over 25 kilometers, felt considerably less taxing without the burden of a 25-pound pack.
The loop formed a segment of the GR34 hiking trail encircling the Quiberon Peninsula. Heading south, our journey took us in a counterclockwise direction. Along the west coast, the trail hugged the shoreline, traversing terrain from rugged cliffs to expansive sandy beaches. Despite the day’s calm weather, waves relentlessly battered the rocks, carving out magnificent arches. For lunch, we stopped at a restaurant; Marie opted for mussels, while I was pleasantly surprised by a flavorful fish soup that bore no resemblance to fish. The southern tip of the peninsula is a town called Quiberon, a very lively and touristy area. The east coast was a lot less charming with more commercial developments. There weren’t a lot of good sceneries that I can remember. At that point, I was just looking forward to returning to the campsite.
The loop didn’t begin at the campsite; it was a bit south of it. To avoid backtracking that section of the route and extending the already long day, Marie decided we should hitchhike for this part of our return. I couldn’t recall ever hitchhiking before, especially not abroad. It was an unforgettable experience, and that wouldn’t be the last. While Marie confidently stuck out her thumb, I walked with my back to the traffic, too shy to participate. After what seemed like an eternity, but was really 10-15 minutes, an older car stopped. The driver, a friendly young man named Janice who spoke good English, rearranged his car to make space for me in the back. Marie engaged him in animated conversation, which I couldn’t follow. At one point, he handed us flyers from under the compartment box and asked if I was interested in sailing. I declined, assuming it was just another tourist trap, and I’ve never been keen on sailing. However, Marie was excited and persuaded me to consider visiting Belle-Ile. Agreeing to her proposal meant another day free from my backpack, which was a relief. I was happy when we returned to the campsite, with plans for Janice to pick us up at 8:30 the next morning, setting the stage for yet another adventurous day.
I was so tired at that point. We dined at the campsite’s restaurant again that evening. The fish and chips were just as good and the service was excellent as well. The owner came and talked to us (Marie) and was pleased to see these returning customers. Afterward, we retired for the night.
Day 8 (5/3) - Belle-Ile
The day promised to be an emotional roller coaster from the moment we woke up. Per our arrangement, Janice was supposed to pick us up at the campsite at 8:30. I was a bit disappointed that I will have to skip the croissants and coffee, nonetheless I got myself ready and waited by the campsite entrance. However, Janice was nowhere to be seen for nearly an hour. As time went by, Marie grew increasingly anxious, knowing that we were running out of time to reach the ferry dock. I didn’t feel the same way, as I was unfamiliar with our destination. I was simply content with the thought of another day free from my backpack’s weight. I considered grabbing croissants several times but decided against it, knowing Marie wouldn’t like it. She made a few phone calls but didn’t get any responses. At that point, we both thought it’s unlikely that we would make it to the island that day. Then, unexpectedly, Janice called. Following a brisk exchange, Marie signaled for me to get moving. Without full knowledge of the plan, I followed her lead.
We walked quickly to the main road and, mon Dieu, we were hitchhiking again! I held out little hope due to the previous day’s experience. Surprisingly, a BMW SUV pulled up in less than five minutes. The driver and her passenger were both women. As usual, Marie did all the talking while I offered my well-rehearsed apology, “Je ne parle pas français.” Marie told me later that they were immigrants from Romania. At one point, the woman driver showed her hand to Marie, apparently making a point that their skin tone was different from the French (Marie told me later). Well, I couldn’t tell any difference. Eventually, she stopped at a spot where we could see the ferry dock for the sailboat. We expressed our immense gratitude, bid them farewell, and hurried towards the dock.
On our way to the ferry dock, we walked past several pastelerias and I was salivating. Unfortunately, there was no time to stop for a croissant. At the sailboat ticket booth, we met Janice, who was deeply apologetic about the earlier miscommunication. He explained that he forgot he had a work meeting at 8 and he couldn’t contact us without Marie’s phone number. To compensate, he offered us the ‘young adult’ rate, a 25% discount of what we should have paid. Everything was good and we were off sailing.
I had never been on a catamaran, so it was an exciting experience. I put on all my warm clothes, knowing that it could get cold at sea. I was also somewhat worried about motion sickness, as it had affected a few passengers during the ride. Fortunately, I was spared. The catamaran departed the dock using engine power. If the wind had been favorable, they would have used the sails a short distance from shore. However, the wind was uncooperative, requiring a detour to reach the island using more engine power. The sails were enormous, and raising them was a spectacle, with passengers assisting the crew. It turned out I was the only person on board who didn’t speak French, so the staff had to personally relay safety and other information to me. Nonetheless, the journey was more than worthwhile. I even enjoyed a cup of coffee and a croissant from the small galley. The voyage lasted approximately 1.5 hours before we docked at the town of Le Palais. Upon arrival, I immediately requested another blister patch from Marie, which might have been her last.
Belle-Île has breathtakingly beautiful landscapes, possibly the most picturesque I have ever seen. I hope the photos I took do them justice. We traversed a section of the complete circuit (83 km) along the island’s northern side, which was not too challenging, especially compared to our previous days’ activities. Our lunch was a picnic on a scenic rock overlooking the sea. The hike lasted about three hours before we arrived at a major stop, from where we took a bus back to the city. Marie and I got front-row seats, making for a delightful sightseeing ride.
Upon our return to the city of La Palais, we stopped at a restaurant to try out their crepes. Despite the numerous creperias I had come across over the previous days, this was my first try on this trip, and they were quite good. The ferry returned us to Quiberon, and as planned, we waited for Janice to finish up at the shop so we could ride back with him. On our ride back to the campsite, we learned that Janice was the co-owner of the sailboat company, an impressive feat for his age. His mother-in-law, whom we met earlier, also served as a crew member on the boat. We thanked him dearly for his accommodations as he dropped us off at our campsite.
Keeping our tradition, we returned to the same restaurant where I ordered fish and chips for the third and final time. The smiles on the owner’s face told me that he probably thought this Asian dude must have some diet issue. After dinner, we settled into our tents for the night.
Day 9 (5/4) - Last Day of Trekking
It was raining lightly on and off throughout the night. That again posed the challenge of packing our gear. I texted Marie from inside my tent asking whether we should wait it out and she said no, which I thought was reasonable since we wouldn’t know when the rain was going to stop. On the other hand, if it rained while we were packing, it would get messy. Searching for shelter for a staging area. I spotted a small area beside the restaurant with the awning, about 30 yards from my tent. Seeing there’s a break from the rain, I hurried to move my belongings under the awning, requiring several trips. I didn’t see any movement on Marie’s side but I didn’t have time to worry about that. The next critical task was to dismantle the tent and get them to the covered area before the sky changed its mind. That all went well according to the plan and I felt pretty good with myself. Now I could just take my time and get my things packed up. That’s when I saw Marie come out of the tent with the backpack. She had everything packed except for the tent, which was probably the right way to do it. I was quite impressed with that. She could do that because she carried her tent outside the backpack, unlike mine which was inside. I then helped her move her tent to the sheltered area.
Marie finished packing well before me and went to pick up the croissants from the camp store. While she was eating, she struck up a conversation with the restaurant owner who was finishing up a food delivery. She then told me that the owner had kindly offered me coffee (Marie doesn’t drink coffee in the morning) even though the restaurant wouldn’t open until lunch, I was touched by the gesture. That morning, I enjoyed both my coffee and the freshly baked croissants. I used as much French as I could muster to tell him how much I appreciated his hospitality.
Marie and I agreed that it would be the last day of our trek. She had run out her supply of blister patches (all but one was for me). Besides, she was due back at work the following day. Despite trekking the last two days without our packs, we still managed to cover a respectable distance. She told me a few options that all involved someone picking us up at the end of the day, and I really didn’t have any opinions on that. Strapping my lovely backpack on me again, we left the campsite and proceeded onwards.
We walked past a few commercial oyster farms along the coastline. We stopped at one to check it out and ended up having some fresh oysters and escargots there. The setup was impressive, and it seemed deserving of more business than just the two of us. Marie explained that it’s because the vacation season, usually associated with warmer weather, hadn’t started. Surprisingly, the bill was only about 20 euros, quite affordable compared to prices back in the States.
At some point a phone call or text message came through from Marie’s daughter Vanessa, saying that she and her daughter Anae would be at Carnac Plage that day. This was a complete coincidence and had not been planned in advance. They arranged to meet there, and Vanessa would drive us back to Marie’s town. With a clear plan in place, my spirits were lifted.
We could not have walked the entire way from where we were to Carnac Plage; it was simply too far. So for the third time on this trip, we were hitchhiking. By then, I was seasoned and no longer as sheepish as before. For the record, it took 15 and 5 minutes for the first and second time respectively. And for this third time, it was a whopping one minute wait! A car pulled up with an older gentleman driver and his wife in the passenger seat. When they popped the trunk open, I saw a pair of trekking poles in there, a good sign that these people would be more receptive to giving a ride to hikers like us. A lot of conversation took place, some seemed a bit intense at times. Again, I had no idea what they were talking about. Only later on Marie told me that they had a mutual acquaintance, and that they insisted on taking us farther than what Marie had asked for. The couples were incredibly kind. Using Google Translate, I managed to have a meaningful exchange about their grandchild’s wife, who had emigrated from China. Once we got to the drop off point, we continued to talk for a while and exchanged well wishes before parting ways. What another wonderful experience!
From there we walked a fair distance to our meeting spot at Carnac Plage. I was definitely feeling the blisters on my feet, but the excitement of nearing our final destination made the discomfort bearable. Arriving early, we went to a nearby restaurant to grab a bite while we waited. Soon after, they arrived, and I had the pleasure of meeting two new French friends – Vanessa and her daughter Anae. Communicating with an adult is one thing, but interacting with 7-year-old Anae was a different challenge altogether. Thankfully, Google Translate stepped in, making for a fun experience.
On our way home, we made a stop at the grocery store to pick up some items, which included my meals for the upcoming days at Marie’s place while she’s at work. That evening, we enjoyed shrimp and escargots (probably not the correct name) for dinner. Marie teased me about how Anae could pick out the escargot meat quicker than I could, and indeed, she was right. It was yet another delightful experience of a lovely home-cooked meal in France.
The ‘real’ bed in Marie’s home was a welcoming treat to wrap up another day filled with wonderful adventures.
Day 10/11/12 (5/5, 6, 7) - Maison La Trinite-Sur
Marie’s home served as my recovery quarter for the next three days before my return to the United States. The little house was nice and cozy, it didn’t take me long to settle in. Marie started working the day after we returned from the trip and would work every day until I departed. I was just amazed with how much energy she had, I didn’t come close to that. We had dinners together for a couple of nights when she got off work early, and I got to try the famous crepes dish of Brittany.
I walked around town during the day. It’s a small quaint town and didn’t have that many shops. The bakery offered few selections. I ordered their sandwich combo one day for lunch, not knowing exactly what I was getting. It did not look much different from a typical Subway sandwich but all the ingredients, including the bread, were fresh and flavorful. It was a good way to unwind before making my way home.
Day 13 (5/8) - Departure Day
The final day in France would have been unremarkable had it not been for two unforeseen events: missing my train stop at the airport and receiving an upgrade to business class on my flight from Paris to Seattle.
We had to get up at around 3:30 am to reach the train in Nantes, which was about an hour away by car. Parting with Marie was a bit sad; I didn’t have enough words to thank her for this incredible experience. At the station, finding my train proved challenging as the sign only displayed the train number and an obscure destination, and no mention of the airport. Once aboard the correct train, I settled in, relieved, anticipating a smooth three-hour journey to the airport. However, when the train stopped at what appeared to be the airport station, no one else in my carriage disembarked. Assuming there was another stop for the airport at the line’s terminus, I stayed put—a big mistake, as this was not the final stop. Once the train started moving again, my GPS quickly indicated I was now miles from the airport – the train was traveling at a speed of 300 km/hr. Panic set in, but fortunately, my flight was still six hours away. I explained my situation to a woman who had just returned to her seat next to me, and she promptly offered to seek assistance. Soon after, two uniformed staff members approached; one spoke fluent English, simplifying the explanation of my predicament. He checked my ticket and instructed me to get off at the next station, where he would meet me on the platform. Once we were off the train, he walked me to another station employee who was already informed and awaiting our arrival. I thought that was some efficient communication. I thanked the staff immensely before he left with the train. The next train was an hour away, and the station attendant reassured me there was no need for an additional ticket and advised me to wait in the lounge area, promising to fetch me later. When the train finally arrived, the station staff guided me to speak with the train manager. The manager then led me to an available seat on the upper deck, kindly reminding me to disembark at the next station. I arrived at the airport with ample time to spare. As with many of my travel mishaps, there was a silver lining to the error. This act of kindness was a direct result of my mistake, for which I was immensely thankful. My deepest gratitude extended to all the wonderful individuals involved.
The second incident was a stroke of pure luck, not a mistake. I didn’t have any issue getting my standby seat. They put me in Comfort+ class, second from the aisle, in a row of four seats. I was initially apprehensive about being trapped in a middle seat for the entire flight. However, as luck would have it, a family had booked the other three seats with a 1, 2, and 4 seating arrangement, hoping to deter anyone from taking the middle seat. So I ended up sitting on the aisle and I was totally content. Then, unexpectedly, two flight attendants approached me—a situation usually ominous for us standby passengers. After asking for my name and passport, volia, I was upgraded to business class! It felt surreal. I didn’t think I would ever fly in business class again after I left Microsoft. The return journey was super comfortable, a perfect end to this chapter of my adventure.
