Bonjour!

I am at Les Aubrais train station near Orleans, France. It's after nine in the evening and it's still light out. It's about fifteen Celcius and I'm sitting outside, alone. Birds are singing. Traffic is buzzing in the distance. It's peaceful here, quiet, humble. Abandoned trains line hundreds of meters of track. I wonder how old they are. They look vintage. Like World War II vintage. My train to Bayonne doesn't arrive until nearly eleven. I have nothing to do, no where to be; I am still. I haven't had wifi since Dublin. No phone, no connectivity, no place to charge my iPad. I sit and wait for my train.

The hours pass easily. The train arrives and I climb aboard slightly less confused than last time; the "voiture" numbering system isn't at all intuitive to me. I am in a sleeper car. I've never been in one nor seen one except on television. I hesitate. I'm not sure I'm in the right place. I am. The attendant has been awaiting my arrival. Number six of six. He quietly opens the door into an abyss and points to my bunk. Top right, two feet from the ceiling. Holy crap! Not for the less adventurous. They kindly left the bunk light on for me; a different kind of Motel 6. I ease my gear down, slip back out the sardine can. Thank goodness I'm not claustrophobic. I find the toilette, pee, wash my hands, brush my teeth. I've been traveling for nearly twenty hours. Last night I slept on a plane, tonight a train. I've barely eaten and am exhausted. I slink back into my rack, settle in, turn out the light. It feels amazing to be horizontal even with my boots still on. What's even better is no one is snoring. The train's rhythm and hum reminds me of being at sea; meditative, entrancing. It won't be long before I'm asleep. I take off my boots, put in my earplugs, close my eyes.

I'm freezing. My legs are on the verge of cramping. I crawl under the provided blanket though I have no idea what I'm touching; it's been pitch black in this compartment since I arrived. I trust it's clean. Warmer now. 

It's nearly 0600. The train is stopped. It's still dark. A gentle female voice comes over the speaker en francais. I have no idea what she's saying but it sounds beautiful, even at this hour. I drift back to sleep. 

I arrive in Bayonne, it's raining.  I meet three other Pilgrims, two Americans, Susan from Michigan and Glenn from Arizona, and an Austrian named Josef. We are at breakfast, trying to communicate with Josef using google translate. It's slow going but at least we have "weefee" in the only open cafe on a Sunday in Bayonne.  We'll be spending the day together waiting for the only bus to St. Jean at three o'clock.